If DACA ends, don't tell me you're sorry

If DACA ends, don’t tell me you’re sorry. I don’t want to comfort someone else when I won’t even know how I’ll comfort myself. As I consider all possible outcomes, I cannot be certain I’ll be fine. Heartbreak hits differently each time.

Don’t tell me that everything’s going to be okay. Everything up to this point has been far from okay; the persecution, violence, and fear have never been okay. Too many have overlooked our vulnerability and I’ve taken notes. Written down names in permanent marker to never forget. Never forget those who were silent because our lives appeared to be too political and uncomfortable.

Too loud.

Too fearless.

Too naïve.

Too hopeful.

Don’t tell me to not worry. I’m too busy planning an uncertain future, a future that may never happen. Not worrying is a privilege I don’t have nor want. Not worrying would be disrespectful to my being.

Don’t tell me to have hope. Hope has set me up for some of the biggest disappointments in life. I’m tired of feeling disappointed, hurt and stupid. Stupid for believing that all humans have common sense and empathy.

Let me be angry, bitter, and pessimistic. Let me sit here in silence as I reflect about the days I was strong enough to hold signs and bullhorns; the days when I felt invisible, yet so powerful.

I know you’ll think of me and feel terrible. So, show me how you’ll support me after DACA. Show me how you’ll support all of us. Show me how you will protect us when they come for us.

If DACA ends, show us you will be there when we’re ready.