I feel sick. I am literally crying as I write this a country away.
When I visited home during the summer of 2015, Trump had recently began his race. He had gone on camera talking about Mexicans, and we all were still wondering if it was a joke.
And that was a question even during the spring of this year: Is this a joke? We have all been waiting for the punchline to be delivered.
You know what? Hate is no joke. I cannot believe that my countrymen just voted for a man who says the things he says. Someone who has repeatedly spoken out against Muslims, Mexicans, homosexuals, and women. Someone who makes fun of people with disabilities. Someone who jokes about using weapons of mass destruction on other countries. Someone who every living president has warned us about. Someone who opens his mouth and spews anger, ignorance, and hatred with every word.
I am reeling, thinking of my little family here in Mexico. I am wondering if I need to apply for Victor’s visa earlier than planned. We were planning on applying for a visitor visa in January. But now? What does this mean for us? Do you, dear readers, realize that with the exception of one brother and my mother, my own family hasn’t met my husband? Not one family member or friend from home has met my child? Did you think of us when you voted? Did you think of the thousands of families like us–or families who have to live seperate in order to survive?
And what does this mean for our country? Do we really belong to a nation that wants this man as the leader? I am appalled. This is the first time in my life that I can say I am embarrassed to be American.
And I am scared for our future.