Collective Grief

October has felt heavy, like a steel beach ball sitting on my chest. 

This time last year, I felt the same way. My wife, Gloria, and I were looking for housing in New York City. Our landlord at the time was selling the building and we needed to move out. The apartment search was horrible. We sent out email after email following up with brokers to find an apartment that was pet-friendly and matched our budget and neighborhood preferences. It seemed impossible to find a landlord that accepted us because both Gloria and I are freelancers. Landlords don’t trust that we’ll be able to pay rent. I was underemployed and had less than a few hundred dollars in my bank account. Gloria had a steady income and was (still is) the sole provider in our household. On top of that, landlords are wary of large dogs. We had Tungi, our sweet lab/pit mix. 

We sent countless desperate text messages and emails, saw numerous too-expensive Brooklyn apartments, and felt hopeless. We applied and failed three times to get an apartment. The last apartment we applied to, we pulled all the stops in our application. I shit you not, I made my dog a pet resume with his photo in Canva and wrote a heartfelt letter to the landlord, practically begging them to accept my wife and I as tenants. We finally got the apartment. I’m so grateful to have a beautiful home now but it was hell getting it. After we signed the lease, I thought, “Phew, the worst is over. It’s only up from here.” 

Alas, here we are a year later and in some ways, I feel worse. 

2023 sucked ass for me and 2024 is shaping up to be just a continuation of it. This year I’ve experienced friendship ruptures and relationship troubles that have forced me to do lots of self-introspection. As much as the Tiktok girlies love to talk about it, doing shadow work isn’t easy! On top of that, I’ve felt like a failure in my professional life. I had gigs fall through, a bankrupt company — who still owes me money— ghost me, and endless job rejections. I also worry about the health of my aging parents who live states away from me, which forces me and my family to grapple with the inevitable. 

My personal life doesn’t exist in a vacuum though. What’s happening around the world is affecting me too. I can’t help but think of Palestinians enduring a year of absolute horrors and destruction of their homeland by zionists. I feel helpless while I scroll through Instagram and see what’s happening in Gaza — a genocide right in front of my eyes. I’m anxious about the imminent election and the impending outcome. And this month has been exceptionally warm in New York City. Climate change keeps making itself known with each “unusual” weather day and disastrous hurricane. 

Mass shootings, police violence, a deadly pandemic, family separation, rights stripped away, an insurrection, war, poverty. Every violent act over the last decade has been compounding on top of one another, leaving us without any time to process it all. Every injustice is static in the air, like pollution, blocking out light. I don’t have to name every horrible thing happening right now. I know you feel it too. The people around me are not ok. We’re not ok. I’m not ok. 

I’m not trying to be a Debbie Downer or only focus on the negative. I feel the need to acknowledge this deep grief within me. It’s not just my shitty circumstances. This weight on my chest feels like I’ve suffered a loss. And I know I’m not alone. I am a human living in this world and at this moment, you and I are witnessing constant violence and the death of how things once were. We’re collectively grieving loss. The loss of safety, loved ones, dreams. I needed to name this particular feeling of devastation because it’s not just mine — we share it. The grief in me sees the grief in you. 

And also, I have suffered a personal loss. October has felt heavy because Tungi died. 

My beautiful dog son of 11 years and 8 months passed away. A creature I knew intimately and cared for daily is gone. October 16th was his last day with us.