My beloved country is dying. My country as I know it, as I knew it, as we knew it, is slipping away every day, and the tumult of feelings that accompany that painful death is acute and overwhelming.
Like a death, it has been coming for a long time, yet, now that it’s here, it feels so sudden and consuming. How will I live? How will I go on?
Like a death, it has been coming for a long time, yet, now that it’s here, it feels so sudden and consuming. How will I live? How will I go on?
The first amendment is at risk. Federal jobs are at risk. My students are at risk. The arts are at risk. Every single aspect of our health and safety. Every single person I know--even those in other countries--are at increased risk.
The other day when I was describing how I want to spend my summer protesting, I found myself repeating one word: “exaggerated.” And one of my friends asked me what I meant by that. “Why do you keep saying that your feelings seem ‘exaggerated’?” I guess because I can’t believe anything this massive, any shift this tectonic could be taking place to my home.
My home.
The other day when I was describing how I want to spend my summer protesting, I found myself repeating one word: “exaggerated.” And one of my friends asked me what I meant by that. “Why do you keep saying that your feelings seem ‘exaggerated’?” I guess because I can’t believe anything this massive, any shift this tectonic could be taking place to my home.
My home.
I feel so helpless. I don't really know what to do, but I do know how to write. So I am resolving to do that, just a little bit each day with whatever voice I have left to speak.
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