First, let me apologise for going MIA on you guys. I’m so very sorry for taking an unplanned hiatus these last couple of months. Trust me when I say that it was very much needed and that I send the sincerest of apologies for dipping out unexpectedly. 

Basically, I needed to take a moment to breathe.

I spent my New Years alone, watching re-runs on TV and falling asleep before the ball could even drop. The whole night I thought of the coming year and reflected on the old one. I thought about how the hardships and the choices we made in 2016 weren’t going to be magically left behind once the clock struck midnight.

I took that night to contemplate, to plan, and to think about how I was going to cope when January 21st rolled around.

When I came back to London, shortly before the inauguration and before this nightmare world could become a reality, I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. I was bailing on my own country when it needed me the most. I had a ‘get out of jail free’ pass. If I wanted to, I could put the distance between myself and America as if I were breaking up with a crazy-ex. I could go on to live the single life I deserve in a city across the ocean; happy and oblivious to the life the USA was living without me.

But how could I post things like neighbourhood travel guides, playlists, Valentines’ Day listicles, all while pretending that the world wasn’t imploding? How could I carry on like nothing was happening?

The answer: I couldn’t.

Yet every time I went to write something, to let the anger and the anxiety and the fear explode from my fingertips into words, nothing came out. Everything left me speechless.

Then, I missed the Women’s March. I missed the airport protests about the Muslim Ban. I missed standing outside Downing Street. Instead, I increased my monthly donation to Planned Parenthood and started donating to the ACLU. I retweeted political messages. I read the news. I watched from the sidelines. I thought I was doing just enough, all while knowing I could certainly do more.

And the whole time I felt guilty.

I finally went to a protest on Saturday and to be honest, I still feel guilty. I could be doing more, dammit! But at least marching alongside my fellow peers — surrounded by people of all different ages, ethnicities, religions, genders — lit a spark in me. We chanted. We cheered. We demanded change. Somewhere between all of it, I managed to find my words again. All it took was getting out there and hitting the streets.

There are many bloggers out in the blogosphere that are carrying on, business as usual. And while I admire their commitment to their ~brand~, I can’t help but think that now is not the time. There is a bloated, Fascist, toupee-wearing tangerine in charge of the biggest country in the world. This concerns you! Use your platform. Be the damn change.

"We do not hold hands with Mr. Trump"

It’s easy to think you’re not doing enough. It’s even easier to fall into a never-ending pit of despair. Every minute the news gets worse. Every day, more lives are ruined by the spineless bastards in office. It feels like there’ll never be an end to this hell, and it’s so easy to succumb to the “we’re all going to die by the end of this year” mentality.

But remember that we have history on our side. Every movement begins with people taking to the streets. We’ve read the books, seen the impact a few daring individuals can make on the world. We can do this. We cannot give up. We can be the change.

Change starts on the pavement. Remember that. I’ll be out there with sign in hand; aching and tired and ready to fight.

Please join me.

* I'll keep updating as I get wind of more demonstrations, marches, and protests. Stay tuned!