My Dad Died. So Did the Country I Thought I Knew.
On losing my dad, ICE raids in Los Angeles, and what it means to grieve under Trump’s America
For the past month, I’ve found space to write in the hospital room beside my dad, in the early morning after very little sleep, and in passing moments while preparing for the week ahead.
This is the first time in a month that I’m writing from my office (after spending the majority of the day cleaning it so it was hospitable again). And I’ll be honest, I don’t know what to say. So I’ll share what’s on my mind.
Every time I scroll through social media or check my email, it hits me. I’m not only grappling with the logistics of my dad’s death (e.g., the bank, the family business, cleaning his belongings, etc.), but also with the death of what feels like the country as I knew it. Every sense of security has been pulled away.
The common thread in both situations is there’s nothing I can do.
Sure, there are small actions I can do to shift my perspective, or ways I can use my platform to educate and inspire collective action. But in the grand scheme of things, these circumstances are not under my individual control.
Creating meaningful content—even about sexual health—feels tone-deaf to the current reality of this country, as well as to my personal experience of grief.
It’s hard for me to write about dating with herpes or the latest in STI news when people are struggling to survive, when innocent humans are being separated from their families. Yes, sexual health is a social justice issue, and it’s certainly political. But there’s a larger conversation to have here than just finding confidence after a herpes diagnosis or sharing your status with a partner.