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Not yet. Not yet. Not yet. Hold on. Hold on. Hold on.

November 9, 2016

There’s a little girl in me that’s screaming and crying. And she doesn’t really understand what’s going on. I want to hold her hand and tell her that everything is going to be OK, but thing is, how can I, when I don’t even know?

 

There’s a little girl that’s seen what love can do, that knows the true power of a kiss, the comfort of a hug. She’s been told ever since she can remember that hatred doesn’t get you anywhere and bad guys always lose. But the baddest of them is so close to winning right now. 

 

She holds my hand and asks me what will happen if he wins. To all the families, to all the people that love each other. Somewhere, right now, there’s two people that have fallen in love and it was the brightest of loves. “Will they be able to stay together? Will their love end? Does anybody care?”  Somewhere else, a mother holds her child, desperately as she imagines having to say goodbye to everything she’s ever fought for.

 

She looks for answers when I try to explain how someone who acts just like the big bad wolf, that used to come at night and make her do things she didn’t yet know were wrong, could be supported by so many people. 

 

She tries to understand how millions could be so against two individuals loving each other, just because they don’t look like they’re supposed to, don’t dress like they’re supposed to, don’t fit the mold. “But I see them kissing and it’s with the same love as I see my mommy and my daddy, so why is it wrong?”

 

I try to look for words and choke. Try to comfort her and hold her. But there’s a woman in me that’s equally terrified.

 

Terrified to see that the comments she dismisses on a daily basis are so well founded, and nothing has changed. To know that her love is not allowed and her people treated like criminals, whilst the real criminals drink champagne and celebrate. 

 

Not yet. Not yet. Not yet. Hold on. Hold on. Hold on.

 

She’s been through this, left her home, left the one she loved, tried to figure it out. See families that cannot be together on their day of baptism, children that never met their grandparents; been scared that the men with guns could see past her white skin, her perfect accent, and see the little scared girl that’s screaming in Spanish. 

 

The little girl and the woman hold each other and I hold them both, as I try to find the words that fail me and struggle to comprehend how so many people decide to hate their neighbours, fight the “others”, ignore our Mother calling for help. 

 

Not yet. Not yet. Not yet. Hold on. Hold on. Hold on.

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Susy

Alfaro