I’ve been studying abroad in Dublin, Ireland for a little under three months now. It’s been a life-changing experience, to say the least, especially in times as trying as these. From the second my plane touched down in August, I was in a different world. A world where I was the outsider, no matter where I went.

Sure, there are a lot of similarities between Ireland and the United States. We speak the same language (for the most part). We dress in the same styles. We even buy the same name brands, save for the elusive Kinder. Yet we’re still so different in terms of history and culture, and the first thing anyone I meet here seems to hone in on is my accent.

My flat, Boston-grown, all-American accent. It’s my telltale accent that alerts them to my otherness and all the connotations it carries with it, especially in an election year. It carries the weight of a stereotype that all Americans are loud and rude and racist. And with nearly every Irish native I've met, there only seemed to be one thing they really wanted to know:

Who was I voting for? Trump or Hillary?

It seemed as if the answer was going to speak volumes about not just myself, but about my country as a whole. By stepping off that plane, I had unwittingly become an ambassador. At first, it was sort of a joke. Something I could play off and distract from. The Irish love self-deprecating humor, after all, and I was lucky in that regard. But not for long.

America and its politics are so central in the European spotlight that meeting a living, breathing American is something out of a dream crossed with a science-fiction novel. It’s equal parts exciting and terrifying. And before you, the American, can open your mouth, you can already see the wheels turning.

Could there really exist such a nation of people? People who legitimately felt Donald Trump was a viable candidate and that border-engulfing walls could be built? As an American myself, I certainly didn’t think so. I wanted to dispel these myths about my country, I wanted to give these Irish acquaintances something positive about myself and to leave our conversations with. Then Tuesday, November 8 brought different results.

Results that seemed to cement our very fate as a nation into a stereotype almost tailored to people like Trump. It broke my heart. It felt as though the whole world was watching not only my country now but me, and every negative thought they may have had was suddenly proved true. So where did that leave me, the American awash in a bustling European hub like Dublin?

For one thing, it left me just that. I was an American. I couldn’t escape that. Something I had never heavily considered a part of my identity before was now central to how I carried myself. I have to be proud.

I have to be proud because to be shameful would be letting hate win. I need to take pride in my country, because I am its ambassador. I have to show love and compassion and understanding in a world that expects the opposite because I want them to be wrong. I want them to see what an American can be. And I urge you all reading this, at home or abroad, to do the same.

Fight the good fight. Let kindness be your compass. No matter how small the interaction, I truly do believe we have the power to change our perception and in turn our fate. We can be a softer, gentler America. We can be respected, but it all has to start with respecting ourselves. So do no harm and take no shit. Take pride.