NARRATIVE ESSAY BY: Edith Zhao
ARTIST STATEMENT: This is a COVID narrative I wrote as one of the essays in ENG1101: Composition I. I was inspired to write about my transformational experience in my education journey during lockdown. I talk about how online learning affected me and realizing the importance of maintaining not just physical health but mental health as well, and developing my own therapeutic method.
ABOUT THE PHOTO
"Untitled," by Alfonso Torres
ABOUT THIS PIECE
Introduction by Prof. Carole Harris
In Spring 2025, I assigned a Corona Narrative to my English Composition I class. Students were to explore some kind of transformation they experienced brought on by the pandemic. As they worked through several drafts, we talked about finding a title that packs a punch.
In “Touching Grass,” Edith describes with humor how she spiraled out of control during the Covid lockdown. She tunes out in zoom classes; she begins to hate cooking; she wakes up at 3 pm in bed, surrounded by potato chips. When her mother says she looks no better than the homeless man down the street, Edith realizes she must jump into action.
“Edith! Edith, are you still there?” My professor was calling my name through Zoom.
I was lying on my bed, having just woken up from a nap. I unmuted myself.
“Hi, yes, I’m here, I just went to the toilet,” I lied.
COVID has forced my school to move classes online. I soon developed bad habits.
It began on March 15, 2020. The US started implementing shutdowns to prevent the spread of COVID. I was standing on the M train. My mom and I were going to drop off face masks and gloves to my grandparents. I received an email from my school saying they were going to extend our spring break.
“Yes! I can finally spend more time with Riceball!” I thought to myself. Riceball was my pet rabbit. I was so excited, I didn’t think of what would happen next.
For the next two weeks, our daily routine was stocking up on groceries, washing the bedsheets, vacuuming and mopping the floor, cleaning the dishes, repainting the walls, and building unfinished furniture. I tried out making Pork Katsu and GyuDon (fatty beef over rice), even seafood squid congee and steamed rice rolls. By April, I was basically a chef, according to my mom.
“Wow, this tastes really good, Edith,” my mother said in Chinese. We were sitting across from each other, sipping our bowls of 热牛筒骨汤 (hot beef bone broth), gulping down 姜葱虾 (ginger scallion shrimp), 炸鸡排 (fried chicken breasts), and 蒜蓉油菜 (garlic yu choi) over rice. To top it off, for dessert, I’d baked 黄油草莓酱奶油蛋糕 (butter cake with glazed strawberries on top).
I resented cooking and being stuck inside.
After the so-called break ended, I had to attend Zoom classes. I disengaged more and more. Attendance for me came to mean merely being on time to open the Zoom link. I thought, “Class can always be muted, answers can always be looked up, and participation can’t be seen through the screen.”
“Edith, do you know what we are supposed to study for our history exam,” my classmate Qina messaged me.
It was already approaching May, but I had no clue; I wasn’t even sure there was homework due, since our deadlines were lenient.
I rubbed my eyes. I was always sleepy. I was always glued to my phone or my laptop for Netflix. I had lost all sense of time; it was 4:00pm, but I had only woken up at 3:00pm and had chips and Coke for breakfast.
I was lying on my bed with my comforter wrapped around me, reaching for the Pringles can amidst the mess of paper, pens, books, candy wrappers, chargers, and tea cups. The curtains were closed. The room was dark. The only light came from the laptop propped against my pillow.
I hadn’t seen the sun for days.
I walked out the room with my hair in an oily, tangled, messy bun.
“Edith, you look no different from the homeless man from Canal Street Station. Go wash up.”
My mom’s words hit me like a brick to my skull. The pandemic has robbed me of my sense of time.
In the shower, I had a long thinking session. Before the pandemic, I would arrive on time to class and finish work way ahead of time.
“When was the last time I was under the sun?”
I dried my hair. I put on a baggy t-shirt and gym shorts.
“Mom, I’m going out to water the lawn!” I told her I would be out for a while.
The sun-damaged couch was taking up most of the space in our patio, along with gardening tools that hadn’t been touched since last summer. Neither me nor my mom enjoyed taking care of the lawn.
“When was the last time the lawn was watered?” I looked at the dull, wilting grass.
The water slowly trickled out the hose faucet head. I placed my hand under it, feeling the chill against my fingers. Turning the knob up to the maximum, water sprayed out from the head and hydrated the dry hard soil and wilting grass. After 15 minutes, the lawn has been refreshed.
I sat on the patio immersed in the scenery, water droplets lingering on the tips of the grass, small white flowers brushed by the breeze, the soil wet and muddy. The sun was shining directly on my face. The wind breezed through my thin t-shirt and shorts.
“Touching grass” existed way before the pandemic. It was a phrase that I had learned through some streamer I had already forgotten about. It’s a slang term that means to step away from the screen and spend time in the real world and reconnect with being outdoors. Although it usually means to have a social life and go out and interact with real people, my version of “touching grass” came to mean literally touching grass and clearing my mind through connections with nature.
Reflecting on the past two months, I concluded something needed to be done, even if it was just getting out of my house for 15 minutes a day and getting some fresh air. All I needed to do was to get off my laptop and phone. I needed to get away from my bedroom. I needed to get away from the house, from the row of attached brick houses on my street.
Soon enough I developed a schedule. Every day on the dot at 2:00pm I would tell my mom I needed to water the lawn. I would take walks around the blocks of my neighborhood, all the way around Juniper Valley Park and back. I would stop and stand under a big oak tree and look down on the grey cement at the shadows of the branches and leaves.
I still had problems engaging in class. However, I made small improvements by asking questions to the teacher, making the attempt to engage with the content and participate. I tried to finish work that was assigned as soon as possible to avoid procrastination.
To this very day, I take short walks outside my house when I feel suffocated. I have realized the importance of self care, and I make a habit of checking in with my mental and physical health, of “touching grass.”
