Words in Frame, 7/8

This was it, he was going to die.

He came to facedown on the concrete on a 70 degree day, Jordan never thought his hometown would become his coffin. He was still a bit fuzzy on the details as to why, but he could feel warm blood slowly dripping down his face. How did he get here?

“Stop resisting! Stay on the ground!” a distant voice shouts down at him.

This doesn’t make any sense, he didn’t remember doing anything. He was trying to trace the steps backward in his mind. He went to 7/11 to pick up some drinks for him and his friends. Shit, they must be waiting for him back at the arcade. He tried to get up but could only flop around on the ground powerless. Was he tased? He still couldn’t remember.

“I need backup! I think this is the guy!” The distant voice becomes louder and clearer.

Drumming. He was a drummer, and was air playing along to some ScHoolboy Q song. His earphones were in as he walked out of the store so he couldn’t hear the cop approach him. He saw the sirens but police aren’t exactly a rare sight in Oakland. Then he saw the cop mouthing something. It was him. They wanted him. He quickly pulled the buds out of his ear and attempted to put his hands up, but that was too fast for their liking. There was a quick bash to the head with a billy club before he fell limp on the pavement, out before he could even ask what he had done wrong.

“What is wrong, what did I do? What is going on?” words were slurred and stumbling lazily out of Jordan’s mouth before turning into mumbles somewhere in the process.

“Shut up and stay down!” at this point the cop was on top of him, waiting for his much needed backup.

And it came. In the form of two more cars and 3 more cops. More yelling and screaming and more body shots. Jordan could feel himself fading in and out of blackness, trying his hardest to hold himself together. He needed to remember this, this was his city and he needed to defend its pride. He did nothing wrong and he won’t let them win. 21 years of resentment fueled his rage and kept him awake. It remembered every hit they gave him. It remembered every name they called him. It remembered all the times these situations ended in death, and prevented him from lashing out.

A crowd had started to gather, phones were being taken out, and support was being given from the citizens who had seen this far too often.

“Leave that boy man, he ain’t done nothing wrong!” one voice cried

“Why does it take three cops to hold down one guy, he isn’t even resisting!” another saint spoke truth.

“He comes here all the time; he has never given me an issue officer!” This came from the owner of the store, Howard. He had known Jordan as a customer since high school.

Jordan was broken hearted and soon to be broken bodied. This city knew what love meant but it didn’t matter in the face of these cops. They were getting anxious with the crowd's presence and that was a bad sign. When they tried to throw him into the back of the cop car one of the cops dropped him, and he stumbled to catch himself from falling into the pavement again. He managed to put his hands on top of the car and stopped himself from falling, but they saw this as resisting. 

Shots rang out.

He wondered what the video would look like on the news that night. How his death would be twisted and warped to fit their narrative. Would his mother be blamed in some way? Would his friends be called thugs and hooligans? Would they find another way to tear this city apart? There were screams and he could hear cries out outrage. He never wanted to be another body for the cause, but he never had the choice to begin with.

…

He woke up 7 hours later in Highland Hospital, connected to machines and surrounded by friends and family. They were all crying, hold his hand, grieving. Yet when his eyes opened they didn’t stop crying. He was one of the lucky few, he had survived, a miracle in itself that could make even the most hardened inner city veteran break down with relief. In silence a TV was turned to a local news station, there was footage of a savage beat down the result in what was being called a case of “Potential Mistaken Identity”. He was on display for the world to see, abused by the system that is destroying his people and his community.

No more.

His mother, who had finally stopped crying, turned to him and asked him in the most calm manner possible, “How are you doing?”

His voice was hoarse and it hurt to speak, but he pushed through 250 years of pain to make his statement clear.

“I’m pissed, and they won’t get away with it this time”.

He lay in bed surrounded by his support system, ready to jump head first into the revolution.

Words In Frame, 7/1

Maybe the docks weren’t the best place for a first date. The idea seemed way more romantic in his head, but in person it was just a bunch of water and screeching seagulls. To him it felt like home. He has lived near water all his life so it just felt natural, but to an outsider like her he thought it may be a bit awkward.

“It’s really pretty isn’t it?” Her voice snapped him back to reality.

“Um w-what?” He wasn’t sure if she was talking about the water or his perception of the water. Was she in his head?

“The water here is so calm compared to what I am used to. You guys get a lot of freedom here in this station”

He had never really thought it before. Each station mimics what Earth used to look like, but since you don’t choose where you are born its natural to forget that stations look vastly different from each other.

“Yeah, I mean I grew up near the water and tried not to take it for granted, but it’s nice to see that someone else appreciates my home too.” Living next to water was like living next to a goldmine, and he never forgot that. “Where did you grow up?”

“Wow, deep question for a first date.” She gave him a sly smile.

“Well, I can ask something different if yo-”

“No its fine, most people just seem so ashamed of where they are from. Honestly I’m glad you aren’t like that. I was a Station 6 kid, so it was all big buildings and busy streets. The station that never sleeps, so they call it…honestly it was just exhausting.”

“Why exhausting?”

“Everything there is just so…unfocused. Like everyone is busy, has someplace to be, and no one enjoys themselves. I love doing things, of course, but I also like being able to just sit without worrying about the next moment.”

“Isn’t Station 6 like where everyone wants to end up though? The land of big business and big dreams? Money, money, and more money?”

“It is all of that, but that life just didn’t appeal to me. All I wanted to do was work with animals, and you won’t find any in the concrete ocean of Station 6. That’s why I ended up out here. I needed a change”

“I get that, a lot of people I know wanted to move to 6 in order to strike it big or something, but I was always into the environment…well what's left of it anyway. So I stayed here and never looked back.”

On the nearby landmass you could see the shadow of a sentinel flying overhead, surveying the area as it does every day at the same time. Despite its size it was silent and unobtrusive aside from its shadow. The two watched it float by in silence. Regardless of what station you are from, it can be hard to gaze at sentinels.

“So what happens next for you?” She again broke the silence, the 6 in her making her a natural lead in conversation.

“I am starting a new job soon, and we get to actually visit water production plants and figure out ways to make them run more efficiently.”

“Really? That sounds amazing!”

“I try not to get caught up in it, I'm just doing what I want to do."

“Well, have you celebrated yet?” She perked up and got closer to him.

“Uh…no?” His social circle wasn't the biggest, so celebrating things like a new job was bit odd to him. “I don’t really do that, I mean it isn’t a massive deal."

“Not a big deal? You are living your dream and actually doing something that matters to you. You get to be real and focus on something in this world of plastic. It is monumentally important that you see that!”

He could see that it meant a lot to her. So he simply smiled and gave a nod. This girl had passion, and although he wasn’t sure if she could handle it, he guessed it was worth a shot.

“Then lets go! I know this amazing Thai place down the road and it should still be open.”

He couldn’t really say no, he honestly thought this date would flop but here was this girl, grabbing onto his arm and pulling him toward what was apparently the magnum opus of Thai food. He turned back to face his water. A final look at the bay he had taken comfort in all his life. A bay that he had now dedicated himself to preserving at all cost. It was the crown jewel of his station.

Humility aside, he really did deserve that celebration dinner, and he couldn’t have picked better company.

Words In Frame, 6/24

“Do you see anything?” Mikey’s soft voice broke the silence.

“Nah, nothing yet, they must be waiting for us to strike first.” Ian stated as he came down from a well-placed rock.

“Hmm…well should we do it or should we wait?”

“I think we should wait a bit longer”

The two brothers were in the middle of a pivotal battle. The Lizardmen had just invaded their home and were currently taking over their field in the McShire Kingdom. They had done a good job thus far of warding off the enemy but their rations were running low and they were running out of cool ways to take out the Lizardmen.

“Mikey quick, pass me Ragnarok!”

Mikey frantically searched the ground for Ian’s trusty sword before finding it hidden in the tall grass behind them. He tossed it to Ian with before quickly rolling out of the way of enemy fire. They had shown their hand, and the next wave was approaching.

“Party time!” Ian shouted as he jumped from his rock headfirst into the fray.

“Save some for me!” Mikey rushed in after Ian, refusing to be left behind.

The two boys were fighting not just for themselves, but for their lands. They were protecting something that was bigger than them, something that was bigger than the Lizardmen too. No force could stop them. The boys wove in and out of the enemy forces delivering swift strikes and dishing out flourishes of karate moves that they had seen in a movie the night before mixed with random chants they made up with on the spot. Before they knew it they were surrounded. There was nowhere to run and almost no way to escape. In this very moment of desperation a breeze kicked in and a lone cloud cast a shadow over where they are standing. Ian lit up.

“Mikey get down, I’m gonna finish em off!” Ian warned his brother as he thrust Ragnarok into the sky.

At this moment the wind blew even harder and Ian made the grand gesture of slamming his sword into the ground, summoning lightning from the cloud above them and directing it toward their foes. There was a huge boom as the white bolt struck the earth and caused a massive explosion. When the dust settled all of the Lizardmen around them had fallen and the boys felt their victory had been secured.

“Wait…do you hear that?” Mikey uttered cautiously as he looked around.

“What do they sound like” Ian turned to cover Mikey’s blind spots.

“Like…footsteps…”

Seemingly out of nowhere another Lizardman appeared. This one was much larger than the rest and wielded two large axes. He was snarling with rage and had a bloodthirsty look in his eye. The two brothers, both exhausted from battled, turned toward each other.

“One last one?” Mikey inquired.

“Yeah, one more”

The two charged forward with as much force as they could, Mikey went for the legs as Ian aimed to damage the beast’s head. However it was much quicker than the rest. It must have been their commander. It dodged with their attacks with a violent beauty before fighting back. It went after Mikey, sensing he was the weaker foe, and, right before the blow struck, Ian rushed in to push him out of the way. It seemed to happen in slow motion, Ian taking a critical blow right before his brother’s eyes, while Mikey watched helplessly.

“Mikey, take my sword, finish the job!” Ian tossed his sword toward his companion before falling limp on the ground. In his final moment he had entrusted his sword to Mikey, there was no longer any room for fear or regret.

Mikey looked at the beast with his new sword in hand. It was funny, he had never fought with Ragnarok before but it somehow felt familiar. He took a stance to prepare for battle, some odd combination of Ian’s stance and his own. He was ready. The creature lunged at him and swung with full force. Mikey waited for the right moment before weaving in between the two axes to slice at the monsters heels. Take out the legs, just like he had practiced. As the monster feel to its knees Mikey lept into the air and came down with his sword with no more inhibition. After the strike there was nothing but silence. After the silence the beast lay lifeless on the ground with it’s head 6 feet away from its body. Mikey quickly ran over to his brother to make sure he was okay, extending a hand to help him up.

“Thanks man” Ian still seemed a bit worn down as he got back to his feet.

“McShire lives to see another day” Mikey boasted proudly. He had never gotten to finish the boss and this was his moment.

“For honor and valor?” Ian was reciting the code of McShire, which the two of them swore an oath to always uphold.

“For honor and valor”.

The sun was starting to set as the two boys made their way off the battle field. They walked in the direction of their mother calling and the smell of fresh catfish being prepared for dinner.

Words in Frame, 6/17

Suspended in air, clutching onto the metal bar of his glider, he suddenly wondered if he had taken out the chicken to thaw. Granted this was a bit of a random thought, but he had to find some way to tether himself to the world whilst flying above it. Flying felt more foreign than he remembered and he was still looking for a new anchor.

Nate had started hang gliding a few years ago at the recommendation of a past girlfriend. Heights had always made him uneasy but he was in love with her so he was willing to try anything. They had set out on this foggy morning, as most days in San Francisco turn out to be, and took their place atop one of the many hills in the area.

“Um…are you sure about this?” Nate asked her in a sincere yet worried tone.

She giggled before responding, “I am about as sure as I can be. Having second thoughts now?”

He was gripping the control bar of his rented glider so tight he could no longer feel his hands. Even if he wanted to back out there was no stopping at this point. So he just smiled at her and shook his head. One way or another he wanted to follow this girl to the ends of the Earth.

So he swallowed his fear and jumped.

Immediately it felt the worst decision he had ever made. The wind was rushing around him as it felt like he was plummeting toward the fog and into the unknown. He couldn’t focus on anything except the feeling of fear that had consumed every inch of his body. Was love really worth all this anxiety? Could this glider actually support him? Why couldn’t he find someone who was just into that stupid cat app like the rest of his friends?

Then the wind caught up with him and changed his world. No longer was he speeding toward a certain death but rather gliding across the very sky that most people never even notice anymore. In that moment, he felt a sense of liberation he thought was impossible. He took the time to look at his surroundings, his first time doing so since he left solid ground, and spotted the tip of the Golden Gate Bridge through the fog. It was so protected by fog that it looked like the highest tower in a fortress; important enough to stand taller than anything else but fragile enough to need the fog as a shroud. He a saw a side to his city he had never seen before, a quiet calm in the otherwise ever lively city. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her, illuminated by the sun like a golden phoenix. She was a natural of course, treating the airways as her playground. There were no rules up here, no chains to hold her back, and no fear to anchor her to the earth.

When they landed he told her he understood why she loved this so much, to which she replied: “No you don’t, and you can’t possibly understand. Each person flies their own way and for their own reasons, so you don’t need to understand why another person does it. You just need to do it for you.”

He looked at her quizzically, not really knowing what to say in the moment. But she leaned against him on the hill as they both sat in the silence and let the breeze wash over them. They had conquered the sky and felt like they owned the world. The Bridge was their kingdom and the fog blocked out all of life’s stresses for a brief moment. They would continue to glide thorough the sky together. When he was in his kingdom he never wanted to come down.

Even when she crashed.

Even when he held her hand on the hospital stretcher, trying to give her all the energy he hadn’t already lost worrying over her. When the doctor came with bad news all he wanted was to be back in the sky. The funeral was held outdoors out of respect for her passion, and he never took his eyes off the foggy sky. He could see the remnants of their old kingdom, now without a king and queen to rule to skies around it. Even a year after his wings had been clipped, he could think of nothing but the peace in the clouds they once shared.

So as he stood upon their hill, preparing to fly alone for the first time ever, he could not help but tear up as he came upon the same hidden view of the bridge he had so longed for. The bridge they shared together. The sky they dedicated to each other. The wind that cleansed him of his fears greeted him like an old companion.

Suddenly a frozen chicken was nowhere on his mind, as he rushed back to claim his forgotten throne

Words in Frame, 6/9

“Get a house in the hills they said, it’s super peaceful they said. God It’s like living in a cemetery”.  

Natalie sighed as she looked out the window. The green trees were a part of a club that the brown grass was apparently excluded from, further signs that the California drought was in full swing. She turned her attention to the lone road that leads to her reclusive cul-de-sac, expecting to see something other than the same 10 cars go back and forth between their own bubbles and the rest of the world.

It was technically summer but ever since she finished grad school all the days seemed to bleed together. She had plans to go out and move to the city and start interning and some big fancy law firm, but her social anxiety put a solid road block in front that dream. She had tried it for a bit, the city that is, but the constant influx of sensory information proved too much for her.

She felt like a failure.

Bored with the window she walked over to her kitchen to make tea. Scattered on the countertop were get-well cards and heartfelt notes sent to a then recovering Natalie, curled on the floor of her apartment after being torn down by the place she tried to call home. She got some water going in her electric kettle and spent too much time getting caught up in the past. New York was never home, she tried to force herself out of her comfort zone and it blew up in her face.

In the midst of her reflection, her phone rang. It was her mom.

“Hi mom, yes I’m still alive”. Natalie answered with her signature sarcasm.

“Haha, very funny Nat. I just called to see how you are doing.” Her mom had, of course, spent years building up a resistance to her daughters attitude.

“I’m doing fine I guess. Everything here just stays the same, so at the very least there isn’t much chance for me to get worse.”

“Honey, you need to take this seriously. You got a job, you have a house, and more importantly you have your life. Have you even been going to therapy?”

Natalie’s mom always had a habit of jumping straight to the point, it was the thing that Natalie admired most about her.

“Yes mom, I go every week. I take these dumb pills and eat these damn fruits and hold hands with my neighbors to pray the darkness away.” She was being a bit harsh but this was the first interaction Natalie had had with a real person all week.

“Oh come on you know I am not trying to micro-manage your life, can you please just be honest with me?”

Natalie gave her what she asked for.

“I feel like I failed mom, I talked all that talk just to end up exactly where I started. My friends are all starting their lives and it feels like I am just stuck in some timeless dome waiting for everything to pass me by. It sucks. I want to be better, I want to leave, I want…I want to be proud of myself again.”

There was a silence before her mom answered. “Nat, you chose to come back all on your own. You chose to take time and look after yourself rather than bash your head against the same wall for the rest of your life. Maybe things seem stagnant now, but it's not like your life is over. You fell down, and sooner or later you will get back up."

Natalie knew her mom was right, but it was hard to remember something so obvious when all you have around you are obscured bits and pieces of recovery.

“I know you are right mom, and I promise I am working on it…I would just appreciate if we could just act like things were normal for once”

“Nat, you're overthinking your whole life and I am just trying to help you in anyway I can. Things have never been more normal for us."

They both chuckled. It felt good to laugh, felt good to feel some sense of connection in isolated house in the barren hills. She sat at the counter for another hour, just happy to have a reason to laugh.

Later that night she heard that California should be out of its drought soon. If the whole state could find some sense of rejuvenation after such a dire crisis, maybe she could too.

 

End.

Spring Cleaning: Kehlani and Stigma

     About two weeks ago I deactivated my Facebook for 5 days and thought about the value of my life. During the course of these five days I had minimal contact with people that I got used to talking to everyday. Conversations that would often distract me from my depression were no longer there, and it felt like I was completely alone. Despite still having a way to contact people, despite still showing up to classes, and despite knowing that I could come back to Facebook at anytime, breaking that immediate connection made me feel isolated. This is not a post about the dangers of relying on social media or the addictive nature of the internet, this is just a simple reflection on my experience. Somehow that isolation made me feel like I have been able to find some sort of happiness that has been missing this entire school year.

     People often view depression as a line in the sand rather than an ever-balancing scale. To those without depression, imagine this: you have a voice in your head constantly telling you negative things about yourself, convincing you that you are worth less than you actually are. Simple enough yes? Now add this to the equation, the voice is feeding you negative lies, and people who try to help you but don't understand depression often just react by assuming the voice is telling you to commit suicide. Suicide. Suicide is such a weighted term in our age. It can mean anything from sadness to desperation to freedom all in the same breath, and yet people treat it as though it is always the end result of depression. As if those who are depressed will only ever be “okay” or in a state where they want to kill themselves, completely ignoring the in betweens that happen on a daily basis. I am no expert on depression, I just go through it. I am no expert on suicide either, but I have had those thoughts too. It does not change the fact that I am still a fully functional human being who deserves to be treated as such.It is socially acceptable to treat people with mental illnesses like they are ticking time bombs that need to be defused, ignoring all of that person's autonomy and agency. It is as if we have become a sub-group of people that either need to be changed 100% until we are normal or put in a box because we are perceived as a constant threat to ourselves. I believe there is a much bigger percentage of people in this country, and in this world, that battle depression. Yet it is considered a sign of weakness to admit it so a lot of people will keep it under wraps. The reality is that life is hard, and I refuse to believe with all the people out there questioning their life goals and trying to find their place in the world that depression does not fit more into that equation. In fact I would go on a limb and say the capacity for depression is built into our DNA, as it is just the byproduct of having the ability to think about our words and actions. Depression is a side effect of being conscious.

     So at the end of my hiatus from Facebook I only really had one thing on my mind: I wanted to live. It has been tough for me since my grandma's passing in November, and I am not proud to admit that I have been losing control of my sanity slowly over last couple of months. Making a mess of friendships, compromising my grades, and even being a sub-par leader to my dance team. It would go up and down but it always felt like a losing battle. And this is Where Kehlani comes in. For those of you who do not know, Kehlani is an amazing R&B singer/dancer from Oakland (Basically my backyard) California. She has an amazing story of surviving a terrible childhood and dangerous teenage years just to get to a place where should could make music and learn to love people again. So I look up to here in a lot of ways. Earlier this week however she tried to commit suicide, and it broke my heart. I have never met this person, but I have felt her pain through her music, and I feel like she and I are a part of some secret twisted club that we never asked to be let into. So it hurt, it hurt seeing the picture of her in the hospital, it hurt to read her post that just as easily been my explanation after a suicide attempt, and most of all it hurt to see that people were treating this as PR stunt and not addressing the issue. When people of high enough caliber try or succeed at suicide, the conversation always stirs toward what was happening in their lives in recent months or days that could have caused this “rash” decision. Kehlani’s case was no exception. Within minutes rumors were flying out that she was just doing this out of guilt when that really should not be the focal point of the story. Recently she had been given a bunch of flack for a situation involving her and some dudes in the music and sports world, and people were quick to jump at that being the reason she would commit such an “unthinkable” act. But they don’t ever dig deeper. What they don't talk about is that these people have been fighting a war in their own minds for years, with no reinforcements or aid from anyone but themselves. In most cases suicide is not a spur of the moment decision, it is the compilation of years worth of pain and personal torment because not enough people are taught to take your illness seriously.

     So with Kehlani in the news I started to think once again about my own life and what kind of person I want to be. I ask myself that question every week and always seem to get some kind of different answer. However this time my answer felt different, it was still the same generic “I want to make a difference” motto that I tell myself when I need a pick me up, but this time it hit my ears differently. If Kehlani died it would be a waste of love and talent, and just another nail in the coffin of mental illness stigma, but she is alive. I am alive. I actually have a chance to do something about this illness I have such a love hate relationship with. This depression has given me so much to write about, provided a lens that helps me see other people's struggles and empathize, and it has motivated me to want to do better. Depression is the hardest thing I have ever had to come to terms with, admitting that there are days where I am not strong enough to get out of bed or even summon my will to live. Yet this is why I need to keep marching forward. I want to live long enough to meet Kehlani and tell her that we can make this right, to meet the next Kehlani and tell her the same thing, and I want to mean it when I say it.

     I helped put together an amazing dance show this weekend, I am performing multiple songs and poems at an open mic this friday, and I am going to demolish the rest of this semester academically. We are never taught to be our biggest fans. Self esteem is bad for marketing so we are slowly taught not to believe in ourselves. Some people are better at managing that than others, but until recently I had no faith in anything I did. Spending 5 days by yourself really teaches you a lot about what you cannot stand about who you are. So I had put a halt on the self-deprecation and pity because without my connections on Facebook encouraging me I had to listen to me putting myself down for days. Eventually I just grew tired of that. I deserve a shot at a long life, just like any other decent person does, and I deserve to be treated like a person when I get depressed or suicidal. I have my own thoughts and actions, so the stigmas the surround me need to find some other place to set up shop. You will not be okay every day. There will be days when it hurts to be alive and not existing seems like the more favorable outcome. Those days are not you. They are not the smiles that you produce or the memories you make. They are not the fire that drives you to be what you want to be. They are not the love you get from friends and family, and they are not the love you should give yourself. We are not at the mercy of whatever the negative voices tell us. We are not the burden society would like to treat us as. We belong in the same category as some of the most brilliant people throughout our history. We have survived people throwing us in asylums, trying to exorcise us, or just plain being ignored because people were too scared of seeing their own depression in us. We do belong in a secret twisted club, but that club is ours and we own it, it does not own us. To anyone fighting depression I say keep swinging, we are stronger than our lowest days and keep believing that until it is embedded in your bones. Life itself is just an existence, you are the one who makes it worth living, never forget that.

     My Name is Ezekiel Starling, there are days when I have wanted to die and days where I want to live. Today I want to live, and that is all that matters.

If Trump Wins

Anyone who knows me knows I don't like diving deep into talk of politics. It is not that I don't understand what is going on in the circus event being called a presidential race right now, but rather it find it physically uncomfortable to look at politics piling into this clown car and driving us toward a cliff. I try to focus on my Arts, with the idea of “being a good role model” always in the back of my mind. I was raised on Saturday morning cartoons, an emphasis on getting a proper education, and a healthy high moral fiber diet. So when I see someone like Trump, whose personality I can only really compare to one of the many cartoon villains I used to see on weekend mornings, it goes against everything I know and threatens the America I am trying so hard to survive in.

First things first I think Donald Trump is the worst kind of person. Short of someone who would willingly murder innocent people just for the joy of doing it, Trump is the epitome of everything I am afraid of in people. He is an arrogant, racist bigot who is rich enough to say or do anything he pleases. All the while those against him just write him off as an empty threat, and those who support him have more faith in him than Democrats do in their choices. He has profited off of his villainous persona, and has now become a beacon of hope for those who wish to “Make America Great Again”, an ideal that I can only assume stems from the same line of thinking as the three-fifths compromise and Japanese internment camps during WWII. Our country has a hateful history, founded on the same imperialist tactics of fear and brainwashing that Trump is doing using to take his lead in the polls. This is not new, and this is not the first time it has come up in politics, so why should we care now? Well the reason we should care now is that I never, and I do mean NEVER, thought I would have to look on my computer screen and see an actual presidential candidate put forth a plan to banish certain minorities from this country and be taken seriously. Never did I think having an openly racist tyrant for president would be a possibility. Yet here we are. In 2016, with the internet laughing at memes of little white children crying over joy with their love of Trump as I ready myself for the end of the world.

To those who think I am being dramatic, let me pose this question for you. If you were in school and had a teacher in one of your core classes (that being a class you are required to take) that just hated you, and I mean wanted you out of their class for no real reason, how would you feel? Would you feel confident handing in work? Would you feel good about being their student, or even going to class? This person has control over your grades and has it out for you, and as a student there is nothing you can do because they have the power and you don't. Now apply this to America. You are a young Black male, which already makes you a target in a lot of ways, and the leader of the country you live in hates you. How does that make you feel? Not only that, but he hates your Mexican and Muslim friends, and you have to watch as this man looks the world in the eye on TV and claims that he is doing his best to serve the country. This is not the shady under-the-table political campaign we are used to seeing, where dirt about politics slowly leak from the drain over the years until all the muck is just out in the open, rather this is a candidate so covered in filth I find it hard to believe that anyone believes he is real. This is more than just a fight for ratings in the media and a funny spin on a debate story, this is the future of the free world. This the man kids will be seeing as the definition of power and control for the next 4 years, this is someone who is supposed to set an example but would much rather drag us down back down to the Jim Crow South.

Hidden in his toupee and smirk countenance I see the worst possible outcome for our country, and the margins aren't even close. The political system is built off of less than stellar moral practices and supported by old money and old ideology, but even so it is our system. Any educated person in America has some idea that our system isn't perfect, but it is still our system. Like your little sister who just vomited on your new shirt in the middle of Target, she is annoying but she is your sister. However if Trump gets elected I fear we will be passing a point of no return. Maybe it is the natural paranoia in my blood that comes from being an oppressed minority, but America is on the verge of some kind of change. In the past year we have seen a revolution pop up, and as those who fear change scrambled to find ways to fight this movement, Trump floats down from his Zepplin and assures them that he can fight this new found activism. He holds the dreams of everyone who is afraid of change, and those dreams are loud and powerful. They are strong enough to propel him through this race and, if not stopped, get him into the oval office. There have been too many posts about how his win is inevitable, how if Bernie Sanders doesn't win the nomination there is no hope. I am not here to champion any candidate, rather I am here to point out the wrong one. Trump is more than a menace, he is an active threat to my culture and my country. Policies and irrationality aside anyone who can stand on a podium and claim to be against the pursuit of a better better life (which America was founded on shockingly enough) is not deserving of anything except a cane dragging him off stage. I won't go as far as to say that anyone voting for Trump is a bad person, but if you are willing to endorse this man, I think that says something about your personality and how much hate you just may be harboring inside of you.

As a minority, the idea of Trump being our next president terrifies me. As a person, his very position and existence is just a bit of a mystery to me. I want him gone, wiped from all of our memories and replaced with a more believable persona. I want to believe in the the people of this country; that despite the questionable history there is still enough common decency to stop this from becoming a worst election then when Ulysses s Grant was elected in 1869. I would like to think we have progressed in these 147 years but who knows. If you have any kind of common sense or decency then you won't vote for Trump. But this is not meant for you, this is meant for those on the fence about how terrible he really is. I am talking about more than just the make Donald Drumpf again, or the multitude of photoshops that result from all the ridiculous things he does on a seemingly daily basis. This is for those who do not think of him in terms of what he is really is: a channel of fear and oppression. This is a reminder of what they are trying to do, and an even bigger reminder that we have to power to shape this country into something that is actually great. Something fueled by the progressive ideals of those who fight for equality, without the input of the old guard whose only real goal is to bring us down in order to hold onto power. We are the future, and we cannot let Trump be apart of that future.