After a sleepless night of anxiety, the news this morning is worse than I could have imagined. It is unbearable to read the papers. G and I are stunned. Its the end of many worlds today. I have been preoccupied with the ending of mine. An intermittent dream of coming home. This is how the Jewish refugees must have felt, those that escaped before it was too late, G said. As we are now realising that we can’t go home.

I can’t believe I have lived to see a history reviving itself to scorch the earth again. Or to witness the end of America, or to start the countdown of the loss of rights that will rampage as it has already begun, past the recidivisms that have already been festering,  poisoning the world for the past many years now.

I was a true believer as a child. I believed completely that justice was inevitable, that the world would progress to expand rights and equalities, too slowly, but go there nonetheless. I believed that I was lucky to be born when I was, when we could learn marvellous things in school, and there was a rule of rights and law, and peaceful protest, and public safety nets, and there was democracy.

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