You see the link. You click it. A few seconds pass before a small screen pops up, showing a preview of your face. You silently thank God for this function, otherwise you’ll risk going to class looking like the balloon from Phineas and Ferb. With a click on “Join with Video,” you’re soon directed to a gallery view of your classmates where misery is all too obvious on each of their faces. You click through the arrows. Then, “Yes, there they are,” you think to yourself. Throughout the next 80 minutes, your heart skips a few beats as you steal shy glances at them on the screen, all while your crush stays oblivious to such affection on the other end. Even with online learning, people are still subconsciously (and consciously) finding ways to keep their heart busy. 

Crush culture has managed to weasel its way into virtual learning. Make it Zoom or Google Meets, teenagers and adults alike are experiencing an unlikely event that we barely thought was possible. In this quarantine version of having a crush, the same basic rules still apply: anxiety flowering in the stomach, waking up early to at least be presentable, and being cautious of every move performed. 

Yet, each week, friends and classmates express new concerns over liking someone through Zoom. 

For example, the opposite party receives a notification about who has pinned their screen. It’s not an understatement to say that everyone has pinned someone to their screen at least once, even for those who aren’t falling in love with people presented in a 144p box. But as far as I know, that concern is fake news. 

This kind of concern can easily be equated with the “OMG! Were they looking at me?” in real life. It boils the same kind of anxiety for an answer that’s never satisfied, like Schrödinger’s cat. Too scared to ask or confront, we then bury ourselves in a temporary mystery and misery. We easily get too caught up in replaying what we were doing during the meeting that might have made us look bad or weird, resulting in further self-scrutiny and reproach.

But the truth is assuring: they don’t know if you pinned their screen. So go on, live your best life, and happy pinning. 

Another example is the breakout room, a function that we hate to love. Despite it being the only place where human interactions (barely) happen, students are finding themselves in whirlwinds of awkwardness and fake smiles in groups of three to four. Imagine staring at your classmates after the discussion required by the teacher has ended, with small talk dying off as you all stare at the screen with a grimace under the pretense of a smile. Pain, truly. 

Just like how we fuss over not being able to talk to that certain someone during class at school, breakout rooms have made it even harder for people with such desires. It’s not like there’s an option to have a breakout room within a breakout room. Moreover, with the fact that our actions and words become more confined over the screen, communication platforms have significantly reduced prospective chances for people to strike up a personal conversation or make a move. 

Despite this, don’t forget that every day we wake up is a new day to rebrand ourselves. Though it’s easier said than done, keeping the conversation going during breakout sessions allows you to seem more approachable in the long run. Then, if you’re lucky, you might be able to close the distance between you and that person. 

Crush culture has always been stressful and frustrating. Nothing is hardly ever in our favor, and self-scrutiny becomes a part of our daily routine. But it is important to know that despite being in new circumstances, the same rules still apply: you are human, things happen, and they don’t care as much as you think they do. Happy Zoom crushing!