In January of 2023, I visited a psychic with many of my close girlfriends. We sat in the foyer of the home of some random girl claiming to be a palm reader, her father coming in with dinner and her younger siblings watching Cocomelon in her living room. We all had our readings delivered out loud, oohing and aahing at the genders of the children she predicted we would have.
For as long as I’ve known myself, I’ve wanted to be a mother. I can’t help but wave at every baby I see. I’ve been regularly updating my baby name list since 2017. I have done the research on the best preschools in the city, creating entire plans to ensure that my children have the best possible futures.
When the psychic read my palm, she told me I’d have two daughters, and I felt relieved because the girl names on my list were much better than the boy names. I envisioned what my life would be with these two little girls. Would they be quiet, loud, rebellious, reserved? Would they love pink the way I do? Would they raid my closet the way I raid my own mother’s? Would we have the same shoe size? Would they want to be doctors, lawyers, actresses, politicians, chefs, fashion designers, writers, pilots?
I knew they would be kind because I’d raise them that way. They would care about the planet and mankind, inheriting my bleeding heart. They would be confident and self-assured. I hoped I would give them my smile.
I hate catastrophizing. Radical optimism is the way of resistance that works for me, and for the next four years, and potentially beyond, I will practice it.
I woke up to the results of the election at 1:30 AM, and I was unable to fall asleep again until 5:30. When the exhaustion finally struck me and my head hit the pillow, I realized that I could no longer use the thought of those two daughters to ease me off into R.E.M.
Whether that psychic was correct or completely making it up as she went, I will not raise two daughters under these conditions. I will not raise two sons in these conditions. No child of mine will live with the uncertainty of whether their rights will be protected or stripped away. No child of mine will exist without the Department of Education. No child of mine will be raised in a world where women, the queer community, people of color, and disabled people feel as though they can be tossed aside in the place they call home.
There are many, many people in our country under the age of 18. My heart aches for those children; we have failed them. I am lucky enough to call one of the bluest cities in this country home, but I am aware that many, many people do not have this privilege. Community will become crucial for the next few years. Say good morning to your neighbors. Give up your seat to someone on the subway. Thank the cashier at the grocery store. Be kind to one another. Live with love in your heart.
love,
malaika <3
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