My classes ended in late April, and after handing in a final project due yesterday, my second semester in graduate school is officially over.
But I and the rest of the students around the world have physically stopped going to our classrooms sometime in late February or early March, depending on when COVID-19 started to spread in our community. At Georgetown, my classmates and I bid our goodbyes and well wishes for the spring break, with that uncomfortable feeling of probably not seeing each other again and returning to our classrooms for an indefinite period of time. We should have listened to one professor who nudged us to meet in our classroom that one time he only joined via Zoom, preempting the university might make the call to close the campus soon. We saw each other again after the spring break, but only as little rectangles on our computer screen.
The first week felt familiar and new at the same time. Even before we moved online, anyone in my class can opt to Zoom in. Our classroom is equipped with built-in microphones, cameras, and robotic arms that enhance telepresence. One classmate is based in Arizona and doing our program online full-time.
She said it was actually a much better experience for her now that everyone is online, whereas there were times when it was difficult for her to jump into the classroom discussions before. Instructors also faced orchestration challenges when they had to moderate both in-person and online discussions. We’re fortunate to have a dedicated graduate associate who oversees the tech for us.
Yet it was still odd to see everyone’s faces, including our professor’s, in one of those now-ubiquitous boxes in a Zoom room. I have this habit of arriving early in a classroom so I can settle down and ease myself into an “academic mindset.” Doing the same online makes me feel I clicked on the wrong link and entered the wrong Zoom room when I see I’m the only participant. Also, it is very easy to get distracted, open a new browser, and get lost in that parallel online portal, as if checking and refreshing a news site incessantly would yield some good news about the pandemic.
One time, I got paired up with a classmate and fellow graduate associate in a breakout group, and we chatted how we were both coping with the situation. We talked about what we miss the most, and we agreed that we’ve lost that sense of accountability, asking each other if we’ve read this paper or finished that assignment. It’s one of those spontaneous interactions that are difficult if not impossible to replicate online.
I’ve learned to delineate the space (I bought a compact computer desk!) and time for work, classes, and rest. It hasn’t been easy in the confines of my studio apartment, when on some days there are back-to-back online meetings and classes. In addition to my screen time that has gone off the charts, perhaps what I like the least is the absence of that friendly chit chat after class, as we start packing our laptops and zipping our bags, which has been replaced by that sudden quiet and disconnect once I click the “Leave Meeting” button.
Two months later, I’ve only seen our school building twice, outside, during a couple of early morning walks when I retraced my usual route to campus that I took for granted and now terribly miss. Everything is still up in the air on how classes for Fall 2020 will look like. Fully online, Hyflex, or in-person? I just finished my final paper for one of my core courses, University as a Design Problem, where I examined how socialization might look like for first year students this coming Fall 2020. It’s based on a combination of a HyFlex and low-density scenario, and a few recommendations that aim to redefine the first year experience. I know it’s a tough sell, but choosing the topic is perhaps a part of me hoping that we’ll gain a sense of normalcy in the coming semester.
But for now all we can do is wait and see, and give ourselves a pat in the back, whether you’re a faculty, staff or student, for making it through the semester. In the meantime, I continue to work at CNDLS, now helping trouble-shoot the university’s summer online courses. Last Monday, I savored the semester break between finishing a draft of my final paper and starting my summer course on Gaming, Design, and Education – all eight hours of it.
Photo credit: mwinkler via Unsplash
