My Never-Ending Quarantine Spiral
Back in August of 2019 — a simpler time, for sure — I unexpectedly found myself on the subway. It was the one-year anniversary of my grandfather’s death, and I was making my way to my grandmother’s house. My cousin, who I wrongly assumed would let me hitch a ride with him, told me that his car was too full and he didn’t have room for me. Therefore: the unexpected subway ride.
I was on the N train from the bottom of Brooklyn, making my way up to the northern-most stop on the 1 train. I was sitting in the corner of the N train, on the same side as the nearest board with the stop listings, and kept craning my body to make sure I wasn’t going to miss my stop. I was paranoid that I was going to accidentally end up at work, instead of transferring a stop earlier than what I was accustomed to.
Naturally, in the mostly empty car, someone was sitting directly underneath the board. I kept avoiding eye contact with him because I didn’t want him to think that I was staring at him. Of course, totally avoiding eye contact doesn’t really make the situation better.
It should be noted that at this time, I had a massive crush on someone who agreed to get dinner with me. We had just finished working on a project together, and he owed me money. Whether or not it was a date or just him settling his debts, I do not know to this day, but I date so infrequently, that the idea of even considering a second person was too much for me to handle.
So I continued to read my book and not pay attention to the man that was clearly paying me attention. It wasn’t until I was approaching my stop that I allowed myself to look at him. He was cute. He was wearing scrubs. He appeared to be the same ethnicity as me. And I realized that I was an idiot. I approached the doors, looked directly at him, smiled, and walked off.
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Naturally, he did not chase after me.
My family gathering went on as planned, and we were eating dinner when I realized that the guy I had a massive crush on would never sit around this table. The idea of him meeting my grandmother was preposterous. And suddenly, there was so much clarity that he was so wrong for me. I needed to bring home a good Chinese boy, much like Mr. Scrubs from the subway.
When things with the other guy blew up in spectacular fashion after our agreed-upon dinner, I threw on giving up a potential Chinese doctor for him in the long list of reasons why he sucked. And every once in awhile, I would think about Mr. Scrubs and hate myself for not opening the window just a crack to see what he would have done.
Then COVID-19 hit, and the city I lived in turned into a scary place. And when the images of hospital after hospital ravaged with patients appeared on the news, when refrigerated trucks sat outside of hospitals, all I could think of was Mr. Scrubs and could only pray that he is okay and had the proper PPE to protect himself and his colleagues.
I tend to be obsessive. I am an overthinker. Definitely an introvert. I also usually dislike people for very small things. So when a perfect stranger appears that doesn’t do anything to make me instantly hate him, I assume that he’s the one. And in a time when I never leave my apartment, when online dating seems even more horrific than it normally does, when I have hours and hours stretching before me each and every day, I think of Mr. Scrubs and what could have been. He is off being a frontline hero — literally saving lives (probably)— and I am obsessing over a man that I once saw on the subway a year and a half ago. He is too good for me, and yet I will never stop obsessing, wondering if he was my soulmate, even though I have no way of ever finding him again.
And that is, and will continue to be, my spiral throughout quarantine.
