I have waited for some time for the “right moment” to begin a new section on the blog documenting my gap year. Since I graduated in May, I have continued to look for that moment that would feel like a new page turning that would compel me to find my way back to this blog and write and write and write. I have a lot to share and many moments that have felt like a new page turned in my life. Yet, this moment now, this election feels more significant. It is a new chapter for us all, and this moment is the one that has brought me back here. This moment is the one that has made me think of each action and reaction I’ve had over the past few months and even years, and how each action is now more significant than before. That seems like a loaded description, doesn’t it? Well, for me, the story of this gap year starts here. I hope you will share this experience with me and hold on tight for what the next few months hold and re-experience what I’ve learned from the past few years that are integral for every moment right now. Here we go. Chapter 1.
I wanted to believe that I could walk outside like it was yesterday, when everything seemed "normal." But the day before, the day of the election itself, while people were lining up in the polls, my mother and I took a stroll by the lake to try and relax. Whether we wanted to focus on it or not, we felt nervous as many other people did. So we went out for what we thought would be a distracting evening out. And it was, for the most part. We bought lattes at a local coffee shop, said hello to the two officers who were standing in line with us, and walked through the red, pink, and yellow leaves that decorated the grass of our small, Midwestern town. I took photos of my mom with hilarious Snapchat filters, and she joked that she was "enjoying her freedom before Trump took over." We laughed and laughed and laughed.
On our way home about 30 min later, we made a stop at a corner store about 2 miles away from the lakeside. A few seconds after I parked, a small black car slipped quietly behind us. I waited for it to pass or park, but it simply stayed stationed in its place. I noticed a laptop glowing from the inside of the car, and the light reflected on the face of the individual in the car. I looked at the plate of the car, and glanced at the individuals inside again, and realized that it was the two cops who had stood behind us in the coffee shop. I quickly thought back to my driving, had I done something wrong? I got out of my car and hovered a few feet away from them so they'd notice me in case they wanted to tell me what I'd done wrong. We stood there like that for a few minutes before the car moved up and passed me and my mom, who was now outside the car as well, and slowed down as they approached us. Once again, I waited for them to open the window and speak to us, but I was met with a long stare, and then they zoomed past us and left. At this point, it was dark out, and I felt as though someone had slapped us in the face. Had I committed some kind of traffic violation, they would have told me what it was. They must have followed us. I didn't want to believe that, but today was election day.
Had we been targeted?
That night while I drove home, my heart was pounding in my chest as I realized that even if Trump did not win, that would not mean that this discrimination, this feeling of "otherness" would not disappear. He may disappear, but the after effect would always be there.
As soon as I reached home, I called the department and filed a complaint. I informed the man on the phone that as a hijabi Muslim woman, I was used to "looks," so I wouldn't be complaining unless this felt out of the ordinary. I told him I knew that that came with the territory, and I worry that because of what today is, these officers may have thought that we were out with negative intent. What did the man respond with?
"Yeah, you know, that's how it goes."
Yeah, I know. That's the problem, that this is just "how it goes."
He did not know that we were always prepared, would always be prepared, for the next "What if." He didn't know that we have been prepared for the possibility of a Trump presidency since the day he set foot on a debate stage. We have listened to each candidate hurl comments about Muslims, immigrants, Palestinians, etc. We have heard stereotype after stereotype. Sound bite after sound bite. He did not know that I have purposely watched Fox News during this campaign cycle to hear both sides, particularly the views I may not agree with. I've learned to watch someone put "Muslim" and "terrorist" in the same sentence in the same sentence and not blink or flinch. He did not know that I made it through every Republican debate without crying until the last one.
We have built a wall. We are stronger. We have grown.
So yes, Officer, I know how it goes.
After the election results, I spent the day quieter than usual. My usual bubbly and talkative self made it through her shift at work with no conversation. When patients said hello to me as I jotted notes down, I forced myself to smile. I found myself ducking my head when I walked without noticing. I was silent, and if you know me, I am a storyteller. I do not know how to be silent.
That night, a local church held a gathering for those who simply wanted support. I made my way there and inched quietly and sat in a pew, as the "only" one again. Everyone voiced their opinion on the election, spoke about their experiences, and even cried. Me? I felt self-conscious, hyper-aware, as though all my nerves were alert and numb at the same time.
I've received messages from amazing friends, and I've sent messages to amazing friends in support of one another. We want to know what we can do for one another. Here's what I learned:
That day after the election, I could not speak, not because I was shocked or speechless, but because for the first time in YEARS, I felt SMALL. Yes, small. Maybe you felt the same. Many of us spent SO MUCH TIME building our confidence and building ourselves up. For me, that journey began when I moved here during junior year of high school. That was the last time I felt that small, when I was new and vulnerable and still figuring out how to function as an "only one." I wrote and stood behind mikes and found myself over and over again. I searched for groups of people who felt different too and wanted to prove our differences were a NECESSITY and not a perk.
I built myself and stopped feeling small. Until I woke in Trump America.
So you want to do something?
Reach out to every person you know. I don't care if they are White, Black, Middle Eastern, Red, Yellow, etc. Tell your friends you love them. Express your appreciation for having these authentic people in your life. I don't care if you know a friend who voted for Trump. Tell them something you appreciate about them.
After I got home after my time at the church, I talked to my best friend, who told me the most important thing I needed at the time: "Manar, you always take something hard and let it make you better. I can't wait to see what you do with this."
In the days after that, I've felt the most motivated and light that I had felt in MONTHS. I smiled at everyone I saw, a woman bought me coffee, and I had a wonderful conversation with a Trump supporter.
We are all together, regardless of race, religion, or politic preference. Let this experience make us stronger, make us better. Right now, every compliment and every beautiful conversation you can have with someone is MORE important than it ever was. Chat up the person in line with you, compliment someone's shirt, say hi to your neighbor, ask a stranger how they're day has been.
I refuse to believe that this challenge is not just another hardship to build us up into stronger people.
And with that, here's the first chapter of what I believe will be an important next few months of learning outside of the classroom. I am excited to share more about the next few months of changes and progress, leading up my last day of this gap year before I start medical school in August of 2017 inshAllah.
Thank you for your support. I appreciate and love all of you.
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