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Literary Love in the Time of Coronavirus

Photo by Ena Marinkovic from Pexels

I couldn’t breathe. It was the first day of December in 2016 when I was grasping my chest on the curb waiting for the ambulance. I didn’t have enough strength to battle my Los Angeles parking woes with my car locked in a garage three blocks away from my shabby studio apartment building in Koreatown. I had been having similar episodes over the last few weeks, but I was able to control them with pulling out the inhaler I barely used.

This time, it failed. Though I was one of the few adults who never outgrew my food allergies to wheat and milk, I had outgrown asthma. At the hospital, I had a breathing treatment on a noisy nebulizer sealed behind a curtain, reminiscent to scenes throughout my childhood of receiving daily treatments during school in the nurses’ office. The doctors said I was having a bronchospasm, a sudden constriction of the muscles in the walls of the bronchioles that lead to the lungs.

Returning home with a sore chest that felt like I was recovering from a heart attack, I soon realized the bronchospasms may be caused by stress. Self-quarantining while immunocompromised amid the COVID-19 pandemic seemed to be the best option for my lungs, but other readers and writers seem to be taking advantage of the potential self-care that could be done over the weekend and possibly the next two months.

As a writer, I want to:

As a reader, I want to:

What are your reading and writing goals during the coronavirus crisis?

Write your goals into existence in the comments below. And stay healthy!

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