Crashing through the looking glass…

Yesterday.

It was only yesterday morning.

Thirty seven hours ago.

I left my apartment and walked down the block and halfway down the next to my polling site. Not realizing the workers had let people in to wait in the heated school lobby, I started a line out front along with a woman who I struck up a conversation with.

She is originally from Sri Lanka. I don’t know how long ago she immigrated, but she had been content to be a legal resident for years.

Until this election cycle.

She said “I saw what was happening. I knew I had to have a voice. I got my citizenship, and they registered us to vote right then. This is my first time voting in this country. I have to vote to say he is not right.”

Such hope.

The same hope I remember having when I cast my first ballot – absentee because I was in college – in 1992 for Bill Clinton.

The same hope I walked in with yesterday.

The same hope I had for most of the day yesterday.

After voting I headed to our professional development and eagerly awaited 2:50 or whenever our principal let us leave – whichever came first. There was an energy in the air. There was hope. There was electricity. There was excitement.

We got released, and I bolted to the subway to head straight into Manhattan. Straight to the Javits center. Because I had a golden ticket (well, yellow) to what should have been a night of elation and celebration and confirmation that our hope was not misguided.

Over an hour in a holding pen waiting to be shepherded through metal detectors and finally we were in the Javits Center. There was some upsetness at learning that we were *only* going to be in the lobby watching everything on screens (and more than one of us wished we were outside at the block party), but soon we got caught up in the excitement permeating the air.

The very early numbers came in, and we all said we weren’t worried. Those were little states and were going as expected. But then…

Then the gap started widening. States started turning dark red. Some expected, some not.

Then states that should have been – and were – at least light blue were turning light red.

I started having flashbacks to 2000.

This couldn’t really be happening, could it? There could not be this much racism, misogyny, homophobia, and general hatred of the “other” in this nation could there?

Could there?

But the maps became redder and redder.

The atmosphere went from electric to deflated.

At some point midway through the deflation, volunteers started passing out flags. I had one for a little while.

But…

The more I saw on the news, the more I heard when they were talking about what was happening, the more I knew that I could not sit there holding this thing that honestly I’m not sure I can put any faith in anymore.

So I left. I was not the first, and I was not alone.

But I wanted out of there.

Walking outside, even walking by the block party area, it was eerily quiet. Like, a quiet that I’ve only experienced when out in nature somewhere far from the city. Way too quiet for New York City.

I do wonder if part of that was just how numb I’d let myself get watching everything because even the busses coming from the Port Authority seemed quieter than usual.

I got on the subway – the 7 train. The platform was eerily silent. The train was eerily silent. And the same silence carried over to the Court Square Station, the G platform, and the G train. Eerily silent. And everyone on the train (none of whom were people I had seen leaving the Javits Center) looked shell shocked.

I tried my best to hold my tears in until I got into my apartment, and I kind of succeeded. But the moment I got to my stairs, the sobs started.

I turned on the tv – I couldn’t resist – and just sat there with tears rolling down my eyes as a true fear began to spread in my heart and my gut.

Fear for myself as a woman.

Fear for myself as a lesbian.

Fear for my LGBTQ friends and family.

Fear for my brown-skinned friends (of ALL shades).

Fear for my Muslim friends.

Fear for my Jewish friends.

Fear for my Hindu friends

Fear for my atheist and agnostic friends.

Fear for my non-evangelical friends.

Fear for my female friends.

Fear for my differently-abled friends.

Fear for my immigrant friends.

Fear for my Latino/Latina/Latinx friends.

Fear for the country I thought I knew.

I changed into my pajamas and climbed in bed, turning off the television but knowing even so that sleep would be fitful if it came at all.

My baby kitty Emilimo jumped up on the bed and snuggled under my hand and lay there, just purring as I pet him and pet him while I cried. He never pawed at me. He never mouthed me. He just let me pet him. And purred.

Somehow I did manage to get some sleep. I turned on the news and discovered that there was no miracle. Nothing had changed.

Which meant everything had changed. To co-opt a title from Hamilton, The World Turned Upside Down.

At that point, the gut-wracking sobs came.

We were supposed to have shattered the glass ceiling.

Instead, I literally felt as if I had been flung through the looking glass, and the shards were piercing my body.

My Facebook status this morning? “I will go high eventually. But today I will wear black.”

Today I will grieve. Today I NEED to grieve.

I knew we had a field trip today, and as such I needed to go and not call out, so I tried to pull it together. My one small blessing in this nightmare we awoke to is that the children I work with are not at the level where they have any comprehension of what just happened. I have many other friends who are not that fortunate and who DID have to face not only children who wonder what happened, but in some cases children who will now live in fear that they will be removed from this country any day now (or even worse get home from school and discover that their parents have been removed from this country).

I got to school and went into a colleague’s room where we tried to comfort each other. I made it through the field trip, which thankfully was active and fun. I made it almost to the end of the day when I saw a family text from my mom (who I’m fairly sure was Republican for most of my life – but politics was never really discussed in that way other than the occasional “I guess we cancelled each other out” exchange between Mom and Daddy on election days when I was little): “Wow! What a shock we’ve all experienced!! –but we will get through this and move on! Love you both very much!!” which had me fighting tears until I could leave.

I walked to the subway, fully intending to go to forms class tonight. But the more I thought about it, the more I knew I was too raw to face someone I knew I’d have to. It’s too soon. And so I decided to practice some self-care and take the night off. Hopefully tomorrow I will be stronger – and at the very least I know for Thursday night’s class there will be kicking and/or punching.

Walking from one subway to another, I realized I had my iPod in my bag, so I got it out and just put it on random.

And then I got another example of the universe giving us what we need at the time we need it no matter the method of that delivery. Most of the time for me it comes in the form of music, and today it was no exception. The first song that popped up…

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Gloria Estefan’s “Nayib’s Song (I Am Here For You)”…

Lyrics…

Lately my son I’ve been confused
Don’t know what to tell you
‘Cause it’s all such bad news
Lately my son I’ve been discouraged
I look around and it fills me with worry
What kind of world can I offer to you
Where will it all lead,
Do we have the sense to make it through
I’ve tried to figure it out, to have an answer
I can tell to you
But all I can see, all I can see

I am here for you, and you are here for me
It’s an ongoing process (ongoing process)
I will take care of you and you will take care of me
If we’re gonna make some progress

Lately my son I feel ashamed
For many things that have happened
And are happening again
Really my son I thought we’d learn
From what I see around me it’s a very tough world
But all I can hope is that you take it as a challenge
To create something new that will take you far
I know that you can manage
To scatter some hope, ’cause it’s not too late
To repair the damage
The way it should be, so easy to see

That I am here for you (here for you)
You are here for me (you’re here for me)
It’s an ongoing process (ongoing process), ongoing process
I will take care of you (take care of you)
You will take care of me (care of me)
If we’re gonna make some progress

You gotta believe
Never be afraid to dream
But following through
‘Cause it won’t get done unless it comes from you
You gotta make it all work
For the ones that are coming after you
Though odd it may seem, you gotta believe

I am here for you (here for you)
You are here for me (you’re here for me)
It’s an ongoing process (ongoing process)
I will take care of you (take care of you)
You will take care of me (care of me)
If we’re gonna make some progress

I am here for you (here for you)
(Here for me)
It’s an ongoing process (ongoing process)
I will take care of you (take care of you)
(Care of me)
If we’re gonna make some progress

I am here for you (here for you)
You are here for me (you’re here for me)
Ongoing process
I will take care of you (take care of you)
You will take care of me (care of me)
If we’re gonna make some progress

More tears, but this time they felt more healing than grieving. More moving forward than wallowing. Baby steps out of the utter darkness.

We’ve got a long way to go. But I have faith that together love will ultimately triumph over hate. That ultimately good will conquer evil. That deep down we ARE better than what the electoral college showed.

I’m still hurting. I still feel like I was – like we were – flung through the looking glass, and that the shards are embedded in me, in us. But gradually we’ll pull out the shards, and I believe that from the broken can come something even more beautiful.

I have to. I don’t have any other choice.

Love and hugs to everyone feeling fear, hurt, anger, confusion, and/or isolation because of what happened yesterday. You are not alone. We are not alone. We will rise and make life on this side of the looking glass even better.

I’m just going to close with embedding a  video for Gloria’s song.

Namaste my friends…

 

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