As my world burns down, education takes a back seat

COVID-19 made school hard. Wildfires aren’t making it any easier. 

Celina Tebor / Editor in Chief

Everyone knew online classes would be difficult. Zoom fatigue, easy access to distractions on our phones and laptops, and disengaged virtual lectures have all contributed to my lack of focus on school this year.

But recently, these aren’t the things that have been distracting me from school. It’s the ever-present scent of smoke wafting through my house, despite the fact that we haven’t opened the windows for days. It’s the hazardous air quality, the worst in the world, that prevents me from stepping outside my home. And it’s the looming threat of wildfires destroying more and more towns and cities across Oregon, and knowing that I might be next. 

Over the past week, wildfires throughout the state have killed eight people, left 16 missing, burned about 1 million acres, and destroyed 1,145 homes. 

As I sat at my desk last Thursday, listening to my professors lecture on political theory, I  obsessively toggled between my notes and the wildfire evacuation maps that showed fires and areas under evacuation inching closer to my house. 

Suburbs of Portland as close as 15 minutes away from me were under evacuation. I tried to concentrate on what my professors were saying, but their abstract theories settled in the back of my mind as the very real wildfires took the front seat. 

I wanted to flip the switch in my brain and tell myself to start listening to my lectures. But my brain wouldn’t stop running a continuous stream of thoughts cycling through my head: What am I going to bring with me if I get evacuated? It smells like smoke. Are my friends okay? The fires are growing. How am I supposed to think about school right now? There’s nothing I can do to help. 

Coronavirus locked us all in our homes. But not like this. My daily runs and walks have kept me sane during the pandemic — now, I can’t even step outside my house. I can’t even open my window for five seconds before the suffocating smoke fills my room.

I wish I could forget about the fires, even for a moment, so I can focus on school. But there are reminders everywhere that my home is burning to the ground. 

Over the past week, Portland has held the spot for the worst air quality out of any major city in the world due to the wildfires. And I can tell without even going outside. I’ve suffered pounding headaches and constant lethargy from the smoke, detracting from my ability to study that much more. 

The thick blanket of smoke settling over the city, leaving little to no visibility, blocks out the sun completely. 

My family has had to refill our birdbath more frequently than ever before because there are so many birds covered in soot and ash looking for any way to clean themselves off. 

I love school. I love taking classes. I love learning. But as my world burns down around me, school is the last thing on my mind. 

Professors typically allowed for excused absences when a loved one dies. This feels like a  loved one — my home state — is dying, and it’s getting worse every day. But I don’t know how to explain that to my professors, and there’s no point in asking to miss class just to sit in my room and stare at the smoke. 

I am mourning the eight lives that have been lost, and the towns that have been utterly destroyed and flattened. And I mourn the land that has generously let us settle on it, and that we have abused and wrecked for as long as I’ve known. 

When the sun peeked through the smoke for the first time in days, I cried. There’s still a blanket of smoke suffocating my home a week after the wildfires began, and I haven’t seen a glimpse of blue in the sky for over 10 days. The largest fire in the state is only 20% contained.

My heart hurts. Not only because my home is being destroyed, but because there is nothing I can do about it. And right now, learning how to critique a television program or reading Supreme Court cases seems trivial. The online world and my education are trudging along as usual as my home as I know it is burning all around me. 

My 21st birthday was last Saturday. Coronavirus diminished all hopes of celebrating it with friends. Even the idea of going to an outdoor bar or restaurant has been tossed out the window due to the wildfires. There was only one wish I had for my birthday: rain.

“The views expressed in the editorial and op-ed sections are not necessarily those of The USD Vista staff, the University of San Diego, or its student body.”