By Aggie, TIWP Student

I don’t know what to feel angry about. When I try to think of something to be angry about, I think only of myself. What have I done to aid the world that crumbles around me? Yes, I am angry at those men on TV who wave their hands idiotically and shout that humans are illegal, the men whom I watch on my screen that I can turn off and on with a click. Can those behind bars turn it off with a click? Around me are the stories of people being stolen, raped, shot like sheep. Who am I to be angry when I hold the power to turn my head away? I am immobile, frozen in my incapability to inhibit the wrongdoers, to aid the wronged. To sit in luxury, to know of violence, this is my condition. It is a condition that I let fall to the back of my mind as I complete my daily tasks, tangible and feasible. I write my essays, study for my tests, read my books. Is all this simply a distraction to inhibit the students from creating change? Or is what I am doing the slow and needful acts to become powerful enough to create change? I am simply angry that I cannot fix everything. I simply drive the winding roads which carve through fog and redwood trees who sway ever so slightly to the beat of the song which flies far out my window, and now I ask myself, how can I be angry in the humble presence of these glistening hills of bending green grass which fall to the trembling ocean? Or the sound of my brothers’ voices which seep in through my bedroom window? And this is what I will think when the men on the screen should announce that I, too, am illegal, and that they should come to my home with their dogs and incarcerate my family. And that is when I will be angry.