Dear Donald: You Run Me Out of Town.

Dear Donald:

In 2015 I found the perfect house. It was a small cottage on the outskirts of a peaceful Michigan village. I loved it there. I worked in the city all day, then drove 30 minutes to my cute little home in the countryside. It had an acre of land around, which only needed to be mowed every two weeks in spring and every month in the summer. It had perfect, beautiful bushes of wildflowers that took care of themselves. It was quiet and peaceful, and I had dreamed of someday turn it into a place to host retreats. I would invest some money in it, finish the basement to add a couple more rooms, and it would be perfect. A place of peace and tranquility, a refuge for the souls of those tired from the hassle of the big city and their own minds.

Then 2016 came. And everything changed. Suddenly, I didn’t want to be there anymore. I didn’t want to be in my beautiful place, in my perfect little house. Suddenly, I was scared. The first time I felt the fear in my bones was November 4th, 2016. That day I returned home in the eve. It was around 9 pm, but people are home by then in a small town. I stopped at the supermarket, very few cars in the parking lot. I parked next to a pickup truck where a couple was eating their McDonald’s meal. It seemed like a safe enough option: I wouldn’t be walking by myself to a remote spot. But then, when I got off the car, something felt weird.

They stared, following me with their gaze. Something told me it was about my features: the black hair, the tan skin, the short height. Everything about me that screamed, “I’m Hispanic.” A chill ran down my spine. I went into the market, got my milk, and ran back to the car; as I tried to open my car door as fast as I could, the woman called: “hey! Hey you!” Now I was in full panic mode. Was I about to get jumped? What the fuck? Before I descended into madness, the woman shouted: “you are so pretty! Would you come home with us, beautiful?”

I froze, then laughed, the nervous laugh of realizing there was no real danger. I thank them profusely, declined politely, and drove home. I realized why I had been so scared during the drive: it was because of you, Donald. Because of your hateful rhetoric, your calls to get rid of people that look like me, because you told white people like that couple that brown people like me were the cause of their misfortunes.

Fuck you, Donald. Because of you, I started fearing my neighbors. The nice guy from across the street always mowed my lawn for free, but now I was wary because of that time he said: “just let me know if you need anything fixed around the house. I’m out of a job, so I sit around and watch Fox News all day; I can use the distraction.” Had he said that in 2015, I would not have given it a second thought. But because it was now 2016, I didn’t know if he would eventually come to “realize” that he didn’t have a job “because of me.” Nevermind that he was a factory worker and I was a research scientist. My presence in the country was now the cause of all his suffering. Fuck you, Donald, you made me paranoid to the point where I couldn’t trust my friendly neighbor anymore.

Fuck you, Donald, because you made me fear I was now living in red country, which was not safe for me anymore. When I bought the house, all I saw was green: the trees, the farms, the grazing lots. People left their produce in carts in front of their home to shop by myself and leave the money in a little unattended box. They trusted me. But after 2016, all I saw was red: the local pub always playing Fox News next to the sports channel. One neighbor painted the whole side of his giant barn with an American flag and the word TRUMP across from it. Another neighbor flew a confederate flag on his front yard.

You ran me out of town, Donald, you and your hate. When I bought my house, I thought I would stay there forever. I lasted three years: the one when I bought it and two of your presidency. Then I couldn’t take it anymore, the psychological warfare. You wanted me to feel unwelcome and afraid, and you got it. I didn’t want to be there anymore. I put my little house on the market and found a place in the blue, diverse town where I work. And suddenly, I could breathe again. I felt human again. The village where my old house was has a zero crime rate. My neighbors were friendly people until they met you. You, Donald, managed to make me feel unsafe there. So fuck you very much. Now rot in hell.