I always like to think that one day I will have grandchildren.

Now, obviously, this isn't a plan for the near future, as I'm only 20. The plan is there, though, and I'd like to see it come true.

When I do have those grandkids, they're going to ask me questions, as I ask my grandma. Questions about how life was like when I was younger, how different the world was, and what I did to change it.

There will be a day when they get to the portion of their history book that mentions the election of 2016. I dread that day.

I will have to retell to them of the dread and shock that I am feeling right now typing this, the day after that very election.

I will have to recall to them what I was doing the moment I heard Donald Trump was our nation's new leader.

I will have to tell them what I did to prevent it, what I did to stop it or fight it.

I will have to tell them of the horror I felt all day that gloomy November day.

I will have to tell them that I voted for the first woman candidate that day, and saw as the ceiling so many had fought to break became plexiglass.

I will have to tell them all of this and more, but what I don't want to tell them is that I did nothing.

I am tired, America. I have grown tired and used to the constant feeling of disappointment. I am tired of having to explain to people why others should be treated equally, of why Black, Trans, Gay, Muslim and Mexican Lives Matter, of why guns are dangerous and of why Donald Trump should not be our president. I shouldn't have to. We should have enough basic decency to know all these things, but we don't.

I can't say I had a lot of faith in America because I've seen it's ugly side. I lived in it. Every time I went home for a holiday or to just visit my family, they slapped me in the face - trump signs. I knew racism wasn't dead, I knew misogyny was alive and well and I knew people could be awful, but I hoped.

I watched exit polls closely, I clung on to the prediction that Donald Trump only had a 10% chance of winning, I clung on to that statistic until the moment it was ripped from my bruised, beaten hands.

This morning I texted my father, the only teacher of color in his entire school, asking him to be safe at job full of white conservatives. When he answered me, the relief I didn't know I was holding in was released, so much so that I almost cried in class.

I texted my mother to let her know I was fine, and that while I'm not OK, I will be. I know she was worried because I called her yesterday, voice breaking, to express my fear for the results.

I refuse to sit back, America.

I refuse to let the progress we have worked so hard for to be dissipated by a man who can't even figure out what tone foundation he should use.

This country made too much progress for us to be set back another 50 years.

And I refuse to let straight white men tell me there's nothing to worry about simply because they have the privilege of looking past Trump's racism, misogyny, xeno- and homophobia because it will have no effect on them.

I don't know about you guys, but I'm going to be very active for the next four years — because starting now, I'm never going to be silent ever again.