Thank You, Donald Trump and Other Post - Grad Reflections

Nine months have passed since my last blog entry. I had previously written about my time in Ghana, a reflection on what my three months living in Accra had meant to me, what I had learned, and how I was attempting to say goodbye to my little life I had created there. Now, here I am today, in a different coffee shop across the world, attempting to do something all too similar. Three weeks ago I graduated from the University of Michigan, after four years of study, struggle, and self – acceptance. Although I have about two months left in my hoMe of Ann Arbor, my series of goodbyes has already begun.

Graduation Day

My UMich family

Before I dive into one of my cliché testimonials about self-awareness and moving on, I have to rewind a bit. Many people throughout this academic year have asked me why I did not write a blog, and my answer was simple: my life is boring. This is a phrase I say all too often, because for those who know me well, I am always running into the next phase of life, eager to move up and out, mature, and make a difference. My passion, which is usually a motivating characteristic, sometimes pushes me too far, not allowing me to embrace the present in a mindful way. This blog originated as a place to share my musings during my time in Granada, Spain while studying abroad two years ago. From then, it blossomed into a place where I openly expressed my thoughts about a variety of places I had traveled, from Guatemala to Ghana. I embraced this label, a blog about traveling. This year I had not traveled anywhere I deemed worthy of blogging about, and therefore I did not write. I felt utterly unoriginal, lackluster.

One of my favorite pictures from Antigua, Guatemala

My first full day in Granada, Spain

My "Ghana Gang" 

The truth is, my life has been far from boring, in fact, as I have attested to many throughout senior year, this year has been the happiest I had ever been. As I have written about openly before, I have struggled with anxiety and major depression throughout my time in college. I believed, and still do wholeheartedly, that the “world saved me” (as previously written in a blog about a year and a half ago). Yet, saving is one thing, and attaining happiness is another. So here I was, confined within the United States for nine months (the longest I had been within these borders in years), and I was the most at ease I had ever been. How funny is that?

Throughout my entire college career I have depended on the idea that travel and escape have been what has allowed me to develop my full sense of self, yet when it came down to it, travel was only a catalyst to my journey toward contentment. Yes, traveling gave me insight into my greater sense of purpose, helped me to see beyond the societal walls of which I had been raised in the United States, and made me an increasingly more open minded individual. These are all things I will never take for granted. However, in this process, I became bitter toward the United States and my own sense of American pride.

During my group interview for my position in Ghana, one of the questions related to the idea of the Ugly American.  Dr. Nriagu, the director of MHIRT (Minority Health International Research Training Program) stated something along the lines of, “Many of you have traveled beyond the borders of the United States. Have you ever been an Ugly American?” I had minimal experience with group interviews, and like most things, I like to steer on the side of brutal honesty. Unlike previous questions, I did not volunteer to speak first, but rather seriously pondered the answer to his question. Where had I been? Had I ever perpetuated negative stereotypes of Americans? What had I done wrong? Truthfully, I had not thought about these issues in such great depth as I did in the milliseconds following his question. Each other interviewing student went around and gave an example of how they had not been an ugly American and had represented himself and his country well. Then I spoke, hesitantly, and I said, “Yes, I have been an Ugly American.”

According to Wikipedia, a clearly reliable source, the Ugly American is a term, which is used to portray someone “loud, arrogant, demeaning, thoughtless, ignorant and ethnocentric.” In fact, I can identify times in which I have portrayed each of these less than admirable qualities, but rather than go through all of my downfalls as a global citizen, my point is this: I had hoped by embracing my faults, I would learn to become the opposite of an Ugly American. I wanted to be culturally competent, and this is something I still strive for today.

I haven’t forgotten that interview question, and the idea that I could again be an “Ugly American” stayed in my head throughout my time in Ghana, as well as in my domestic life. If I’ve learned anything about what it means to be this type of citizen, I firmly believe it is possible to be just as “ugly” in the states, as it is to be outside of the United States, but I’ll get to that.

This term, accompanied by my reliance on travel as a source of self- identity, had given me a feeling of contempt toward being a United States citizen. I felt ashamed. I did not want people to think I was rude, thoughtless, careless, or any of the like. In a previous blog I had written about how I did not believe the United States was the best country in the world, and I still do not. I think that is a false sense of pride and exceptionalism only people who have never experienced and immersed themselves into other cultures will attain. Nonetheless, I no longer feel humiliated of where I was born on a global scale. Not to be corny, but I am proud to be an American, and being able to say that is something that has taken me much time to think about.

Why did I have this sudden revelation? You can thank Donald Trump.

Ha.

I know it sounds crazy, but bare with me.

In the last year, I have had the opportunity to travel around the United States more than any other time in my entire life. I have visited Las Vegas, Nevada, Aspen, Colorado, New Orleans, Louisiana, Nashville, Tennessee, Washington D.C., our nations capital, and the illustrious New York City. These destinations are arguably some of the most famous the United States has to offer, and yet I said my life was boring… How silly of me.

The MET, NYC

Aspen Mountain

When I began writing my teachers in high school told me to write about what “I knew,” which is ridiculous because everyday I wake up and I realize I know absolutely nothing about anything (S/O to all my other recent college grads who feel the same way). If there’s one thing I know how to do better than anyone else though, it is how to be hyper-aware of my emotions and opinions on almost anything. I think and I think and I over-think, then I cry and I scream, and I think about why I did those things. I have come to accept my self-awareness as a strength and a fault. Throughout these last few months it has proved to be beneficial in my reflections. Thinking back now, I do not know if “bored” was the right term, but I was seriously pensive. I had thought and re-thought about everything I had ever believed to be true in the last nine months of my life. How was I to write about my life if I could not even process what I thought and felt about it?

I believe in these things called, “moments of clarity.” For me, these moments feel like the puzzle pieces of life are falling out of the sky from the god(s), and all of a sudden, for one fleeting instant, my entire world makes sense. I find a sense of security in the present, which is rare for me because I am almost never satisfied with anything in my life, a quality I often struggle with. Last week, I had one of my first moments of clarity I had attained in a long, long time.

On Tuesday, May 8^th, I was given the opportunity to travel to Washington DC for my second time this year. The organization I had worked with during undergrad, Humanity First USA, was awarding our UMich student chapter with an excellence in service award. I was traveling to represent my friends at the banquet. Obviously thrilled to not only speak at the banquet, but also to travel to one of my favorite cities, I accepted the offer immediately.

Humanity First USA, DC Gala, 2017

I spent just over 24 hours in DC, and it was one of the best days I could have asked for. The sky was a clear blue, it was a warm 75 degrees, and I felt a sense of renewed independence as I walked down Pennsylvania Ave. I had a whole day planned, Lincoln Memorial, visiting some of the Smithsonian Museums, taking myself to a nice lunch. I was going to embrace everything DC had to offer in the short time I was there.

So, I left my hotel and began to walk (I love that DC is so walk-able). I decided to walk by the White House, almost reluctantly. As I walked I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. I had spent the last ten minutes of my trek remembering the last time I had visited Washington DC, in January, for the Women’s March on Washington. I remember the energy in the air, the feeling of passion and anger, the intoxicating atmosphere that surrounded us as we paraded through the city. As I walked toward the White House, I was on autopilot. It was like one of those moments when you’d drive home, but don’t remember how you arrived in your garage twenty minutes later. I felt that energy, that pain, that intense frustration. I felt my heart break all over again, just like it had election night.

Women's March on Washington

I thought about that night, when he had won the presidency. It felt like my world had turned upside down. Sitting here, writing this blog, my heart is racing and my hands are shaking, as if it’s happening all over again. The unspeakable. Unimaginable. The impossible had occurred. I think I laughed for a while, and then stared at the screen blankly, with my mouth open (as it usually is), in utter awe. In the weeks that followed the election, so many of my friends expressed deep resentment and sorrow. So many of the people I love were terrified for their well being and their futures. I became a news-hawk. I listened to podcasts incessantly, I read the news more often than I did any of my homework, I cried daily about headlines during his first one hundred days. I angrily ranted to anyone who would listen about my feelings of powerlessness and fear. I had a full-fledged panic attack on January 23, when the Global Gag rule was reinstated. I became more politicized, more aware of current events, than I had ever been in my life.

[For anyone who may support President Trump, I am sorry if I am offending you, but I refuse to apologize for how the election made me feel. This is advice I give to my friends often. Nobody should be ashamed, intimidated, or scared to express his or her emotions at anytime about anything. It is for this reason I am refraining from overtly expressing my political beliefs and specific grievances online, because this post is not about Trump, Republicans, Democrats, the election of 2016, the great divide in America, or any current political problem we face. This blog is about how the events leading up to today, May 17, 2017, have shifted my world.]

When I arrived at the White House that day, I stared again, with the same awe at the building. It was kind of disappointing in all honesty, before this I had never seen it before. I expected to feel empowered or impressed by the magnitude and the history that had taken place there. Instead, I felt confused. Then within 3 minutes, some guards asked me to leave because they were closing off the area, “exclusive personnel only.” Then I thought to myself, this should be America’s slogan, “Exclusive Personnel Only.” I rolled my eyes and I walked away, stunned.

White House 

I marched toward the Lincoln memorial, another destination I had not seen. I wanted to feel inspired, to feel alive, and not to be reminded of how much sadness I had felt for the United States in the last year. I walked down the mall, past the reflection pool, and up the stairs. I looked Abe in the eyes, and then I turned around. I had seen pictures before, but that view of the Washington Monument was something else. I’ll admit, I cried, but then again, who does this surprise? This was my moment of clarity. The moment I realized my place within our nation. The moment I knew what to do to move forward.

Moment of Clarity

I thought about all of the noteworthy people who had stood in the same spot I had. Then more importantly, I thought about all of the others, just like me, who had stood there, who had marveled in the history, good and bad, of the United States of America. The citizens, the visitors, the immigrants, the daughters and sons, moms and dads, everyday people. I thought about my family who had given up everything to move here years ago. I thought about my friend’s parents who had fought for our nation, some giving their lives for us. I thought about the idea of America being a “beacon of hope,” to so many. I thought about the wars we had won, and the wars we had lost, and the ramifications of our various interventions throughout the world. I thought about my privileges, my abilities to express myself, to believe or not believe what I choose, to receive an education. I thought about the principles of our nation, and how much I truly embodied the culture I had grown up in.  

My great- grandparents, immigrating to the United States. 

I was previously terrified, claustrophobic even, when I did not know the next time I would leave the country. After Trump’s election, I felt even more so this way. I did not feel safe or wanted. I felt victimized as a woman and as a member of an immigrant family, despite other privileges I know I possess. I was timid, and I did not know where to place my anger, an emotion I struggle to express adequately at times. It was then that I did not feel fury anymore at one man for winning the presidency of our country, or for the negative legacies we may have. I felt driven, motivated, encouraged, inspired, enlightened. It was an existential moment. Maybe it wasn’t about the Washington Monument at all, or even being in DC, but rather my thoughts finally aligning.

So thanks, President Trump. Thanks for kicking me off the sidewalk outside your white house. Thanks for winning the presidency. Thanks for pushing me to the edge of my sanity. Thank you for showing me the ugliness that still exists within our country. Thanks for making me question my world, myself, my worth. Because in the mixture of all of this confusion and turmoil, I discovered something so much greater... I love being a member of the United States of America. I love the people I am surrounded by day in and day out. I am incredibly proud of the women I marched with in Washington, and in solidarity around the world. I am amazed by those who are fighting the fight for equality, justice, liberty, each and every day, as we aim to move our country forward in this time of uncertainty.

So, I let it go. I gave it up. I put it behind me. Not only my fear and rage, but also everything else that had haunted me in the last four years of college. Let go of my mistakes, the bridges I had burned, the pain I had endured, my internal struggles, my regrets, the “could haves” and “what ifs” that played over and over in my head.

Acceptance, what a powerful thing.

Rather than retreating in my emotions, I embrace them today. I use them as fuel to guide my future. More than ever, I feel determined to make a change, not only in the world at large, but also for my neighbors, for my fellow American citizens, for the people who have shaped, modeled, reformed, and guided me and adopted me as a member of our great nation. For the people of my backyard, and for people thousands of miles away, I hope to devote my life to them too. Sure, the world did save me, and I am beyond indebted, obliged, and honored to work toward repairing global disparities. However, I can no longer neglect or reject the amount of resiliency I see within our own borders. Although I am one young girl, I believe I have the power to affect change, in whatever way large or small. This unconditional and open love I feel for humanity is strengthened, and I intend to rely on it for guidance, as well as to spread it wherever I go.

It has been about a week since my revelation, and I am still soaking it in, waiting for the next phase of my life to begin. The current state of my day-to-day existence is so transitory, and as uncertain as it makes me feel, perhaps I will no longer say I am chronically “bored” with my life. Part of me regrets not writing more about the variety of places I have been, people I have met, or books I have read. There are a number of noteworthy times I can recall of which deserved to be written about, however writing to write and writing to actually say something are two very different tasks in my mind.

Rather than saying  any more “goodbyes” to Ann Arbor, my hoMe, and the place of incredible self growth, knowledge acquisition, the place where I made my life’s most incredible relationships, I hope to live in the present, something I rarely do. There may never be another time in life that I will be able to embrace these friendships, the UMich intellectual atmosphere, the sun in the Diag, the familiar faces, and obviously the yummy Ann Arbor restaurants.

I want to take a personal moment to thank everyone, and I mean everyone, who has touched my life in the last four years. I think about the young 17-year-old, cookie-cutter, mid-western girl who moved to Ann Arbor in the fall of 2013 often. She feels like a different person sometimes, but I am grateful pieces of her cheesy sense of humor, sassiness, and blissful idealist mentality that remain. Oppositely, the B that writes this today is who I am because of the relationships I have made, to those who have challenged me, accepted me, and loved me, even at my lowest of lows, and for all of that I thank you.

My first day of undergraduate classes, September 2013

On the way to my last exam of undergrad, April 2017

For those who do not know, I will be moving to New York in August to earn my Master’s degree. I am sure in the years to come, I will reflect on writing this blog and how much I have changed since. Until then, cheers to mindfulness, motivation, and finding meaning in life. I will never forget what these years, these series of incredible moments, have meant to me. In the wake of reading this, I encourage everyone to ponder his existence in each community he belongs, the country, which we reside, and our shared world.

Un Beso,

B