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screen-shot-2017-02-20-at-3-36-51-pmI wasn’t alive when the President of the United States was assassinated. I wasn’t alive when the President bugged opponents offices, I was barely alive when the President committed adultery in the Oval Office, & I vaguely remember when the President responded to planes crashing into the sides of buildings in the city I now live in. But now, this morning of January 20th, I am actively involved, aware, and awake for my first Presidential tragedy.
& All I can think is that this was not the history I wanted to be a part of.
For the last month or so I’ve found it hard to know which direction to look. Every which way I turn in my mind, I feel attacked. How do I not when last month it became fact that I live in a country where nearly half of its people have not learned a thing from their history? Where nearly half of its people have prided themselves on their blatant ignorance? Where nearly half of its people, people I know & love, rooted for the shell of a man who’s entire platform is built out of hating, shaming, & degrading every fiber of my being?
This morning, as I step into my life’s first true monumental disaster, I am choosing grace. I am choosing intelligence. I am choosing my ancestors; I am choosing the Aztecs, the Suffragettes, the Atlantic Creoles, the Braceros, the Irish servants, the Chicanos – the farmers, the laborers, the homemakers, the preservers of life. I am choosing life. And there is no such thing as living where hate is found.
Hate does not produce growth, it does not create substance – hate does not bloom.
For the next 4 years, I will not hope for the improvement of my country’s government, but rather the thriving of its people. I will not root for bigotry, misogyny, racism, or greed. But I will fight with every blood cell that has been passed down to me, to be on the side of history that chose love.

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