This post is the fifth in a series hosted by UC Berkeley’s TAUG and the Claremont Colleges’ hearhere. In this weekly series, staff writers from both journals will be sharing their perspectives on the COVID-19 global pandemic. Click here for more information on hearhere. Why is it so hard to get out of bed? As the semester rolls to a close, motivation seems to be evaporating at a greater pace than before, even as our workload continues to increase. The last few weeks of a normal school year are nearly always the busiest — final exams, projects, and papers are compounded by the need to bid farewell to our peers. Yet this spring, it feels incredibly different. Online classes seem to be sputtering to a close rather than charging through the finish line, and each Zoom call seems to be longer than the last, with fewer compelled to show up while the rest trickle in wearing pajamas. Our seemingly universal loss of motivation and energy belies a deeper explanation for our hollow lack of vigor, and should prompt us to consider the underlying foundations of our motivation. By comparing our situation to the parable of two houses from the Gospel of Luke in the Bible, we can better understand why sources of internal motivation serve as a solid, lasting foundation, whereas sources of external motivation only generate the illusion of permanence. As we examine our array of external motivators, we start to see just how rapidly they have lost relevance and meaning. Take, for example, the dwindling job market and the bevy of canceled internships. Our once hopeful and competitive outlook on our future prospects has been swiftly replaced by a somber sense of resignation and uncertainty. As we scramble to find contingency plans and remote opportunities, the overwhelming feeling of futility can quickly diminish our motivation to keep searching for the next resume-building opportunity. Similarly, the once-pervasive need for productivity on campus — to be a holistic student not merely invested in academics, but also a wide range of extracurriculars — has been replaced with a desperate search for ways to entertain ourselves. Week after week, new trends, memes, and forms of entertainment have taken hold, from playing Animal Crossing to baking sourdough bread, as evidenced by the sudden scarcity of Nintendo Switch consoles and all-purpose flour. Even being in community, where expressions of selflessness imbue our lives with much greater meaning, has been undeniably difficult. As we reduce all of our normal human contact to video and audio channels, our mental health has understandably taken a toll. According to a recent article in the National Geographic, spending hours calling on video communication platforms is “extremely hard on the brain,” leading to fatigue and overstimulation. Holding onto the false expectation that virtual communication can somehow serve as an adequate substitute for productive, physical interactions only leaves us tired, jaded, and unfulfilled. These few examples lay bare the reality that a motivation and energy for life built upon our human ambitions, desires, and expectations can be easily disrupted. Just like “a man who built a house on the ground without a foundation,” we may find the lives we’ve built for ourselves swept away by the unpredictable winds of life; the things that once anchored our reality tossed about like waves on the ocean. While some of us have found ways to adapt to, distract from, or cope with our respective situations, many more are anxiously awaiting the day we can just forget about this unwanted, destructive interruption and return to our normal pursuits. Yet to forget that we can and should use this time to strengthen the foundation beneath our motivation only guarantees the return of aimlessness and meaninglessness. This crisis will pass, and the things that once motivated us — ambition, societal pressures, money, friends, family — will all return in full force, likely just as they were. But if we don’t undertake a serious, mindful evaluation of what keeps us going in life, we’ll simply find ourselves asking yet again, “Is this really it?” Instead, we ought to follow the example of the other man who was well-prepared and unshaken in the face of a ruinous flood. When building his metaphorical life “house,” he wisely “dug deep and laid the foundation on the rock” (Luke 6:48). Likewise, we can strive to carefully rebuild our foundations in this time, using the weeks and months to come as a chance to rediscover and reimagine the true motivation behind the things we choose to do. As our lives gradually return to normalcy, we need to drill past the surface level indicators of our motivations and dig deeper until we reach our genuine, intrinsic motivations. But as we burrow deeper in self-reflection, we may find our own wells and aquifers dry — depleted from years of trying to make it on our own. Carefully curated Instagram feeds have belied a deep need to be accepted; meticulously crafted resumes have disguised a deep need to be valued; endless swiping on Tinder have hidden a deep need to not be alone. But faced with the choice of continuously trying to draw water from our own dry wells or drinking from “a spring of [living] water welling up to eternal life,” we can still choose to “never be thirsty again” (John 4:13–14). The living water that Jesus offers does not promise to miraculously wipe away our feelings of loss and lack of energy; nor does it seek to replace our friends and family who push us to be our best. Rather, it nourishes and refreshes the dry, cracked beds of our hearts. It reminds us that we are lovable just the way we are, that we have already been accepted by God, and that we will never be alone. It’s living water because, if we let it pour into ourselves, it brings back life — life eternal — that sustains and is abundant. It’s this life, and only this life, anchored in One who is greater than, and not tied to the passing sands of our ever-changing world, that truly satisfies. Evan Chuu is a fourth-year at Pomona College majoring in Linguistics and minoring in Spanish.
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This post is part of a series hosted by UC Berkeley’s TAUG and the Claremont Colleges’ hearhere. In this weekly series, staff writers from both journals will be sharing their perspectives on the COVID-19 global pandemic. Click here for more information on hearhere.
With nearly all avenues of social interaction being off-limits due to COVID-19, it’s no surprise that people, both young and old, are using the Internet to engage with others. And it’s not just the people that we know in real life; we interact with countless strangers in various ways. One such way is meme pages, which are nothing new especially for college students like me. (As a UC Berkeley student, I have a good amount of pride in our claim to one of the first college meme pages: UC Berkeley Memes for Edgy Teens. Now, many major universities across the country have pages named in a similar manner: Harvard Memes for Elitist 1% Teens, for example.) These pages are forums where students can share inside jokes about their university and the common experiences there, and though the memes on college meme pages could generally be understood by anyone, they are particularly relatable and have special value for students who share the same campus, administration, and overpriced restaurants. Memes aren’t just created by college students to generate cheap laughs, though – they often speak to serious topics such as mental health, family pressure, and relationships. Many memes also have some element of self-reflection (i.e. a meme about spending all day in bed looking at memes), which offer a window as to how people are using and viewing memes. In general, people seem to see memes as a way of coping, certainly before COVID-19 but even more so now. Memes may give a sense of hope, but I wonder whether making light of a situation is a sustainable way to cope. I’ll be the first one to scroll through some memes when I want to laugh and have some levity; finding joy in small things is absolutely essential right now. But there are difficult things in the world and in life, and simply forgetting about the darkness isn’t a complete solution. If we are to embrace the real darkness and brokenness of the world, however, we need a hope to rely on that is secure. For me as Christian, that hope is in God’s promises: that he is and always will be with me, that there is an eternal future with God, and that God has control over everything. These promises give Christians real hope that isn’t dependent on ever-changing circumstances and that allows us to see reality without despairing. But it’s not just that memes are providing hope by offering an escape. Due to the crisis, students across the globe now share remarkably similar experiences and feelings as they make the journey back to the family home or otherwise and start taking their classes online. Mirroring that shift, a new page has emerged in the last month: Zoom Memes for Self Quaranteens, which now has 604,000 followers. The sheer amount of people that follow these silly images speaks to how relevant they are, and just how well they’ve been able to capture the college student cultural zeitgeist. Memes often describe feelings which are somewhat embarrassing (for instance, having limitless free time and yet still accomplishing no work) – things which we would otherwise keep to ourselves. Memes allow us to fulfill a deep desire we all have – the desire to be known, not just for who we appear to be, but for the people we really are, flaws and all. Memes assure us that what we experience is not unique to ourselves; yes, many other college students are also showing up to Zoom classes in bed. There is certainly satisfaction to be found in this sense of being understood, but there’s something that we all need beyond just being understood: to be loved. As a Christian, I believe there is a God who knows and understands every detail about me, including my faults, and still loves me unconditionally. The popularity of meme pages also speaks to how people find something deeply, almost profoundly, satisfying in the experience of sharing a small image that encapsulates the collective feelings of you and your peers in a clever way. You laugh about something that thousands of other people are also laughing at; you tag your friends to share in the experience. These meme pages have become a forum which provides a common narrative that validates our feelings and experiences and provides a sort of community, even as we are physically separated. We have an innate desire to relate with others about our shared experiences, and to feel like we are part of a larger story. Just as stories bound ancient cultures together, meme pages are one small (but significant) example of the ways in which we as human beings gravitate toward stories as a way to relate to one another and create a shared identity and community. Christians have their own story about who we are as people, including where we as humanity have come from and where we are headed. It’s a story that is deeply relational, and all about being known and loved – from God creating the first human, Adam, and then creating Eve, thus the first human relationship – to that relationship being broken by sin, when brokenness entered the world. The story ends with redemption – God restoring our relationships with each other and with Him, and thus allowing each one of us to be fully known by others, no longer bound to hide our own brokenness from one another. We live in between these two bookends, where pain and suffering persist, and the promise of redemption is still on the horizon. Though memes may give us a sense of not being alone, the Christian story assures us that, though the details are different, we share the same journey as every human being throughout history. We occupy an “in-between” space: existing in a world rife with suffering and broken relationships but also a world with bright shimmers of hope – even in something as small as a meme page. Emily Kinnaman is a third-year at UC Berkeley majoring in molecular cell biology and minoring in history. This post is part of a series hosted by UC Berkeley’s TAUG and the Claremont Colleges’ hearhere. In this weekly series, staff writers from both journals will be sharing their perspectives on the COVID-19 global pandemic. Click here for more information on hearhere.
Pictured above is the coronavirus that is currently wreaking havoc on the world. Protein structures like these have always drawn me in because they allow me to visualize that which is hidden from the naked eye, allowing me to see the invisible. These precious images are usually created through X-ray crystallography; the breakthrough method of its time used to discover DNA, which ties all life together. Recently, though, an innovative method known as Cryogenic Electron Microscopy (Cryo-EM) is creating a similar paradigm shift in structural biology to characterize protein function and structural motifs. High resolution structures from both methods give scientists the ability to run protein-docking computer programs that can sift through a database of potential cures for diseases, including cancer, essentially allowing scientists to exploit the structures of proteins and deadly viruses through computation in order to disarm them and prevent them from attacking the body. Each protein structure incites curiosity within me because it holds so much information just waiting to be unlocked. I find these microscopic macromolecules incredible, and I am left with no option but to reflect on the intricate and creative design, which to me must have an intelligent mind behind it. It is in this deep interest of mine that SARS-CoV-2 (the official name of the virus that causes COVID-19) first meaningfully seeped its way into my life, through an article my advisor sent me about the novel virus CoV spike 3-D Cryo-EM structure created by researchers at UT Austin. The structure published in Science, gave credibility to the new, emerging Cryo-EM method that can forgo the expensive and tedious crystallization conditions which can take years of research to achieve by pulling a thin layer of ice over the protein and shooting beams of electrons. The microscopy method can capture up to 800 images a day with atom-level resolution, giving a dynamic projectile of the actual protein movements. The structure of the virus brought hope for a cure to the scientific community as an avenue for inhibitor analysis —running programs to decipher readily available pharmaceuticals that stop the novel coronavirus dead in its tracks. Seeing the structure that causes COVID-19’s vicious nature after four weeks indoors and cases in the U.S. numbering well over half a million stirs within me both awe and horror. This tiny spike of a virus has caused hundreds of thousands of deaths and countless more to come. It is what breaks its way into human cells and has broken into our lives. Such a seemingly perfectly calibrated, well-adapted, beautiful design is out of our own understanding – even the most advanced and revolutionary methods have only inched us towards any semblance of relief. I thought seeing the virus would bring me more comfort, but it has only made me recognize that there is a far-stretched chasm of knowledge between the maker of this virus and humanity, and it will be at least another year until we understand it well enough to stop it via vaccination. Current research methods are lacking within science and even more when faced with the glaring endless stream of questions that come with the pandemic. Should hospitals be allowed to hoard hydroxychloroquine, a treatment for malaria, on the slight possibility it can treat COVID-19 patients? How do we overcome the systemic racism in the healthcare system presented by demographic statistics of population deaths? How do we work towards housing the homeless population during this global crisis? If we successfully create a vaccination, would we sell it for profit? Who would get the first batch? As we face the realities of these questions, people are being confronted with the fact that science does not hold all the answers – and it shouldn’t. Here in the US, we’ve come to over-rely on knowledge derived from science, and the perceived safety it brings.. But in the midst of the COVID-19 crisis, uncertainty is becoming the norm as unemployment rates rise and public health systems are strained to the breaking point. In order to reconcile this uncertainty that envelops humanity, we must adopt a more holistic worldview, which must include more ways of knowing than just science – those of philosophy, ethics, and of faith. For me the knowledge that comes from science, the understanding that comes from philosophy, and the wisdom for decision-making all come together in my Christian faith. I take solace in a God who cares for humanity, so much so that He offers His own infinite understanding. In the book of Proverbs it says, “For the LORD gives wisdom; From His mouth come knowledge and understanding” (Proverbs 2:6). He has the physical understanding of the exact pathway that follows as the CoV spike binds to the protein receptors on any cell in the circulatory system, and He also has the answer to the systemic inequity that has unsettled all our hearts. I believe that God, in His time, is presenting humanity with both scientific knowledge and answers to the problems we face; both made complete with one thread: “[Jesus] is before all things, and in him all things hold together” (Colossians 1:17). He is not leaving us to fend for ourselves, but offering us the ability to put our lives in the hands of someone who holds a wealth of knowledge. These are the most consoling words I can hear in these uncertain times. As someone who loves science and is fascinated by the world of scientific research, it’s incredibly easy for me to become enchanted by the achievements of humanity. This crisis is a timely reminder that no Cryo-EM structure or reading about potential inhibitors from highly regarded journals can truly save. Science can allow us to survive, and many times not even that, but it cannot teach us how to live. I certainly don’t have all the answers, but I rest humbly knowing I do not need to have all the answers because He already does. Michelle Garcia is a second year at Pomona College with an intended double-major in Computer Science and Chemistry, and minor in Math. This post is part of a series hosted by UC Berkeley’s TAUG and the Claremont Colleges’ hearhere. In this weekly series, staff writers from both journals will be sharing their perspectives on the COVID-19 global pandemic. Click here for more information on hearhere. Last year, I happened upon a beautiful, antique copy of Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ. I happily added it to my collection, not thinking much more about it aside from its general retelling of the life of Christ, a story I had always heard growing up in a Christian family. This week, though, I sat down and reopened it with a remarkably different perspective. I read with a heavy awareness that navigating a pandemic in the season of Lent has presented a most profound opportunity to reflect on my faith. In the constant and overwhelming developments of COVID-19, I have observed some parallels between life in 2020 and life in the first century. In the matter of days, our world has become unrecognizable. So many have lost their jobs, their loved ones, their lives. Healthcare professionals are risking their own health to serve their communities; scientists are working endlessly to develop a vaccine; and governments are scrambling, debating, and compensating to try to manage the crisis in the best way possible. We have far more questions than answers, and we are, by definition, in desperate need of saving. The life of Jesus also began in a time of unrest and wondering. Jews, like Jesus and his earthly family, were under Roman rule, and political tensions mounted as Jewish zealots sought rebellion. The Christmas story tells of a Roman census being conducted at the time of Jesus’ birth, disrupting citizens’ schedules and obligating them to return to their hometowns. Even more, as an infant, Jesus escaped a mandate from King Herod ordering the murder of all firstborn sons in the land. Yet, among all this chaos, three wise men traveled at length throughout the desert–following a star in the direction of the chaos, not escaping it–in search of the Christ. Borrowing from the biblical record, Ben-Hur’s creative retelling of that search includes one of the wise men saying, “We are far from home, but God is with us. Let us be patient.” Although in this pandemic, many of us are physically quite the opposite–we are ordered to stay in our homes, not far from them–the comparison remains that we are far from what feels like home. Much like the time of Jesus’ birth, many of us have been required to return to our hometowns. Amid the panic, pain, and distress of COVID-19, Americans are still trying to navigate a census year and an upcoming presidential election. We are far from normalcy, security, and routine. As we await a resolution to this crisis, we are forced to be patient, by default if nothing else. Yet, like told in Ben-Hur, God is with us. Several years later in the life of Jesus, when he was in his early 30s, a series of events took place that are remembered now as Holy Week. Holy Week includes Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday, and it observes Jesus’ crucifixion and the events surrounding it. The Biblical events of Holy Week include some of the greatest betrayal, tragedy, and lament in history. On what is now observed as Maundy Thursday, Jesus, knowing the suffering awaiting him, lamented in the Garden of Gethsemane. He was then betrayed by his disciple, Judas, which led to him being taken into custody and sentenced to death. Then, on Good Friday, Christ’s crucifixion included unimaginable mocking and torture. As a Christian, Jesus’ sacrifice is extremely meaningful to me; yet, as a Christian living in a pandemic, COVID-19 monopolizes my thoughts. I am grappling with the ever-rising death count, attempting to establish a routine while working from home, and preparing for my first-ever digital Easter service. The pain I am enduring is nothing compared to the physical torment Jesus experienced, but it is pain–and a peculiar version of pain with which I am just now becoming acquainted. As I coped with some of this discomfort by immersing myself in reading, I was struck by another passage in Ben-Hur, an excerpt illustrating the earth’s anticipation of the Christ: “The stillness was more than silence; it was a holy hush, a warning that heaven was stooping low to whisper some good thing to the listening earth.” Remember that Jesus’ suffering took place on Thursday and Friday, but Saturday was different. On the eve of his resurrection, the world was quiet. The Bible does not speak of any events on Holy Saturday; it was the Sabbath. Saturday was a day to listen. In all the chaos of COVID-19, I have noticed a particular awareness, a desire to be present for our loved ones and our communities, otherwise forgotten in a healthy world. Our world, afflicted by this virus, is not healthy; it is vulnerable. But in that vulnerability, might it be possible that heaven is once again stooping low and whispering? Might it be, that as we observe the life, death, and resurrection of Christ–the acts which brought ultimate salvation–some 2,000 years later, that heaven is calling? Might it be that the resemblance between the life of Christ and this season of pandemic are not coincidental? If it is possible–and I believe it is–then Christians have a special responsibility this Holy Week: to listen to that whisper. As we observe Holy Week, considering the parallels between Jesus’ life on earth and the reality of this pandemic, let us remember to listen. In a crisis unlike anything we’ve experienced in our lifetimes, rife with noise and fear and heartache, the Easter story remains. Christians worship a savior who promised, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live.” The resurrection and the life–even in a time of death. Kara Anderson is a 3rd year at UC Berkeley studying sociology and demography. |
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