January 21st, is a weird day for me.
Today, I am curled up with my phone, watching footage of thousands of women marching in New York and D.C. in protest of the presidency of Donald Trump, and in solidarity with the idea of “justice for all”.
Four years ago, I was purchasing my first ball gown. In a stroke of amazingly good luck, one of my friends had been given tickets to the Obama Inaugural Ball. Later that night, I would see Michelle and Barack for the first time, and I would dare to believe in magic.
And seventeen years ago, in this moment, I was hours away from getting into a car with my mother for what would be the last time. Hours away from attempting to make a left turn that instead of delivering us home as we thought it would, delivered me into a new world in which I would have to learn to exist without the woman who brought me into it.