It’s been a week since Trump’s election. Seven days of seeing my worst nightmare scheme the future of this country, and appoint people equally terrifying to the highest positions of office in the United States.
It’s been a week, and I am exasperated and tired. Opening up the news is like walking into a minefield and I don’t know which article will blow me up all over again. Facebook is still a war zone, scrolling past online fights grounded in nothing up frustration at the other side. Ignorance is displayed on our screens as we argue over morals.
Sometimes I forget that it even happened and I have to remind myself that this man is our President Elect. I don’t think I have found a way to fully accept and move on.
Although the wound is still fresh, people are going about their days. Obama was right, the sun will always rise the next morning. We’re back to the mundanity of the every day — wake up, snooze, coffee, class, work, and bed. For me, the every day has been the closest thing to coping, knowing that I still have responsibilities with or without Trump. The every day is quite literally the only thing that keeps people going despite the myriad of challenges we face.
I live in a city of monuments and remembrance. The Washington Monument stands tall, an omnipresent visual that can be seen from every corner of the District. Up close, you see tourists, college students, and locals on their daily runs. Do we always remember the March on Washington? Or perhaps what the monument stands for? Not really. We’re back to the everyday. That’s how it always goes.