The past few days made me feel like I need a long, scalding bath, the kind that strips off skin and exposes brand new flesh yet to be sullied by the pollution and wretchedness stifling the air. I need cake and chocolate and ice cream (together and all in one sitting), and really loud music. That Rebel Girls of Rock playlist I like, or something comforting on loop, like ‘Minsan‘ or ‘As Long As You Love Me,’ or just the jagged, winding, one-word chorus of ‘Maps.’ I want to go out dancing (the awful-looking crazy kind), or go on screaming at the top of my lungs inside the recesses of my head, and then find the doorway to Narnia, or to the now much sought after route to Canada, or to Mars.
But even Narnia had tyrants, and people doomed to forget history, and people doomed to doom themselves. So I will stay here, in this realm we have created and we are now bringing to ruin. I will pray, sing out loud, cry a little. Be silent when my heart needs it and speak out when I must. Talk it out—with real people and not with share-happy, Internet-spun historians and critics trolling social media. I will hold on to hope, because hope is one thing that keeps me human—my pockmarked skin, decaying flesh, frayed sinews, throbbing pulse, and bright slivers of hope.
