I wrote this piece, or whatever you would call it the day after the election. I was at the library, and was thinking about all the people I had interacted with in the day, how they felt. A large portion of the students at UIC aren’t fans of Trump, and all of my friend aren’t either. If you are a fan of the president elect, this isn’t an attack on you. This isn’t even an attack on the man himself. This is just what I observed as a conscious feeling that I believe I observed among the people around me, as well as some contribution of how I felt that day.
Just looking around it seems as if the same tan ghost is haunting us all. I cannot find a better way to explain it. It is a perfect autumn day, where we still have time before the cold embrace of winter. Yet, the air still somehow hurts. Every head is staring straight into the ground, as if afraid that they may be catch someone’s eyes, as if they are afraid of what they might see. All of us afraid to be reminded that; yes we are haunted by the same terrible ghost.
But there are still the few that seemed find joy in our new ghost. Though they don’t even consider him a ghost, no he is their savior. But don’t be confused their reason for believing in him varies greatly. Some believe they will thrive under someone is different that the norm, they think that is the only criteria he needs. Others love the money. It does run the world doesn’t it? If he has gathered such a large amount of money, why cannot he do the same for them and their loved ones? But lastly there are the ones who have been quieted for years now. The ones that have been had their opinioned characterized as offensive, and belong in an age that has long past. They believe that they have lost what has belonged to them for two centuries, they believe that we stolen it from them. Ironic isn’t it? But now they can breathe, now they can parade in their hate, for they have proven that the hate is not just a major presence, but it has been thriving.
So here we are, those that despair, wondering if they should finally lose hope. Yet it is only temporary, the worst despair arises from fresh wounds, and these wounds will heal, and our despair will wash away. But until then we will walk with this ghost haunting us.