I’ve been asked the “What were you doing the week of March 13, 2020?” question so many times now that my response is practically second nature. Still, each time I share my piece of that utterly chaotic moment, it manages to knock the wind out of me all over again: When I received, after two days of anxious dread, the inevitable email informing me that my semester abroad in Madrid had been cut short by a deadly virus, my head was spinning. Of course, like the naive, stupid, American study-abroad students we were, we celebrated the end of the world by embarking on an epic final night of partying, dancing the night away in each other’s arms as we prepared to board our emergency flights home the next morning. How were we to know that night would be the last of any “normal” college nights we’d have? How could we predict the next year would strip us of all we had taken for granted, isolating us from the campus we considered our home for the past three years?