I took an astronomy class when I was nineteen. I rose with the sun and tracked the moon for an entire semester. Most of the universe is composed of hydrogen, my professor said. It was during that class that I started believing that there’s likely life outside our planet. I hoped that if we ever came across it, it would be intelligent. More importantly, I hoped it would be benevolent.
I took an American history class when I was sixteen and another when I was eighteen. For the first time, I was forced to confront the dark American past that schools don’t teach children. I learned that the thirteenth amendment abolished slavery, but that there was a loophole. There is no slavery in America, except if someone is imprisoned. We discussed how black men would be arrested for petty crimes and then sentenced to work in mines. I wonder why this is glossed over in most history classes, kept nearly-secret, and swept under the rugs.
I was twelve when President Obama was elected to his first term. I had boasted a “Hope” t-shirt that day. Most of my childhood was spent under the Bush administration. Although I was young, I was hopeful that Barack Obama would be elected - and he was. I’m proud that he was my president through my entire teenage years. Under his administration, I have grown from a child into a young woman. I learned. I gained healthcare through his Affordable Care Act and benefited from financial aid. And I took him for granted - got comfortable, assumed there would always be a Democrat in office, and ignored the fact that eventually his eight years would end. I wish I could rewind time and appreciate him better.
I still cry when I think about the end of President Obama’s second term. I am still in mourning.
I voted in my first election this year. I’m 20 and rose from my bed with the confidence that there would be a woman president by the end of the night. At ten in the morning on November 8th, I cast my ballot for Hillary Clinton and Tim Kaine. I harbored a hope that everything would be okay. And then 46% of my country elected Donald Trump.
Now, I’m a couple of months shy of turning 21. In my public policy class, we discuss everything from income inequality to sexual assault. I realize that these problems will be overlooked by the federal government in the upcoming years. I’m nearly 21, but I sleep little at night because I can’t reconcile how I’ll ever repay my student loans. I wonder if I’m damned to poverty. And I wonder how sexual assault will ever be taken seriously as a crime if the man soon to be sitting in the oval office brags about it like a soccer trophy. To counteract the negativity, later that night I begin to research how to help sexual assault survivors. I’m met with results that advise women not to dress promiscuously. I close the page. What are we going to do?
I’m a couple of months shy of turning 21. Next semester, I am taking the next public policy class my school offers. I’m taking it because I want to keep learning and I strive to implement change. Sometimes, I feel defeated - and then I recognize that there will be many times in the upcoming years that I feel lost and defeated.
I’m turning 21 soon and I’m tired. Yet deep within me, I still have that hope that was cultivated that one night in November when I was twelve years old. I see people my age making films, recording music, writing books, and making artwork. I see my peers exhausted, but still rising and doing their best.
And I remember that there is another universal truth in addition to the abundance of hydrogen - things have a way of ending up okay. I know that things often get worse before they get better, but I am certain my generation is prepared to do the best we can.
