I don’t cry. And I mean this in the almost literal sense. The last two times I cried it was because immediate members of my family died. So I do cry, but I’m not someone who cries about spilt milk or anything. The other day when I heard that Donald Trump won more primaries and Marco Rubio was dropping out of the Republican race for 2016, I almost cried.
I made excuses for my almost breakdown. I’ve been stressed. I hadn’t eaten. I was tired. But in reality, there’s one reason I felt tears welling up at work on a random Tuesday in March. And it was Donald Trump.
He’d probably call me weak for admitting this. But I don’t think compassion is weak. And that’s why I almost cried. Because when Donald Trump wins a primary, I only think of all of the people he hates. I think of the children across the hall that wave at me as I enter my apartment every day. They aren’t white–and a lot of people hate them for that. I think of my nieces. They aren’t men–and a lot of people hate them for that. I think about my friends in other countries. They aren’t American–and a lot of people hate them for that.
But I’m not selfless. In these moments, I think about myself too. I think about what it means to live in a country where someone with so much hate can influence so many. I think about how thankful I am to have parents who always taught me to be kind and not bully others. I also think about how easy it would be to curl up in a closet, shut the door, and forget all of this is happening. But I can’t. Because Donald Trump won’t be ignored. He won’t go away. And the hate, anger, and violence he’s inciting won’t go away either. His words will have a lasting effect on our country–my home. That’s why we can’t sit back and ignore what’s happening, wishing it would end.
So yes, Donald Trump, you (almost) made me cry. But what makes me actually cry, is that I have no idea how to stop you.