Of fate and faith
Published Jun 1, 2022 12:02 am
THE YOUTH PERSPECTIVE
(Editor’s note: Three weeks after the elections, two students shared their experience on election night.)
ETHAN CARLYLE CO
On the cold and moonlit night of the eighth of May, there was an unusual silence. A silence filled not with terror or grief but a silence similar to how a theater goes into a hush before the start of a film. A silence filled with beaming yet wordless anticipation mixed with the sense of uncertainty and the fear of the unknown.
Yes, we had months and countless conversations of preparing, promoting, and theorizing on how the results will be yet especially to me, a first-time voter. The silence only brought an eerie realization. The thought stayed on my mind even as I drifted to sleep — that the fate of my future, those around me and the unborn children of tomorrow, now hangs in a balance.
As dawn broke and alarm clocks blared, the eerie silence remained and although remarks and hopeful banter were exchanged, it was difficult to hide the anxiety.
I was not able to hide my anxiety on election day. First, I had thought of wearing a blue shirt in order to show solidarity with my preferred candidate yet my anxiety whispered to me that it might only provoke an unintentional showdown with a toxic supporter of the other side. With my neutral white shirt worn, my father and I ate the most quiet breakfast I had ever experienced with only the sound of the utensils clanking the plate audible. My mother scribbled her chosen candidates into a piece of paper as opposed to the printed list me and my father had in hand. The fact that she was on a different side never really eased tensions despite her being the only one apart, but we would rather look the other way in order to preserve peace at home.
As we made our way to the precinct, the side streets that were normally filled with tricycles lay bare and they instead were swarmed around the entrance of our precinct. During the almost three hours of waiting in line, I may only have known three bees in a full beehive yet everywhere l looked I only saw the same thing — a blank emotionless stare into the abyss, even though some of the people in line knew each other, there were few words and even lesser smiles as the line inched closer to the classroom.
As l finally received my ballot and sat down, I could feel my hand shiver and the pen occasionally slipping out of my grip yet eventually, the shading was done. My ballot was in the machine, my receipt reviewed and submitted. All there was left to do was wait, a wait I decided to just sleep through. In the end, as 7 p.m. turned to 8 p.m., it was already clear where the political wind was blowing.
How could I have been so naive? With all that I had read and watched about politics and history, how could I not have seen this coming? A feeling of defeat swept through our household and silence reared its head. Yet, for all the loss emerges a hope, a hope from a simple quote that not only explains my love of history but for why all is not yet lost — “History is only interesting because nothing is inevitable.” Yes, we are allowed to expect the worst but I would keep an open mind to what the future will hold.
Looking back on election night, it may become a lesson that will reverberate not only through the country but throughout the free world, or a story of how one must not judge a book by its cover, or perhaps in this case, its past. As the cold moonlit night returned and l once more drifted to sleep, I prayed that the silence of dread and loss be the beginning of a realization that with the concluded elections, we must remember one thing — that our fate is never sealed by one man’s victory; rather, it is decided by our solidarity and unity as a republic.
(Ethan Carlyle Co is currently a Grade 12 student at De La Salle University. His free hours are spent learning about politics, history, geography, and writing about his personal life and views on politics. He aspires to earn a law degree.)
ETHAN CARLYLE CO
On the cold and moonlit night of the eighth of May, there was an unusual silence. A silence filled not with terror or grief but a silence similar to how a theater goes into a hush before the start of a film. A silence filled with beaming yet wordless anticipation mixed with the sense of uncertainty and the fear of the unknown.
Yes, we had months and countless conversations of preparing, promoting, and theorizing on how the results will be yet especially to me, a first-time voter. The silence only brought an eerie realization. The thought stayed on my mind even as I drifted to sleep — that the fate of my future, those around me and the unborn children of tomorrow, now hangs in a balance.
As dawn broke and alarm clocks blared, the eerie silence remained and although remarks and hopeful banter were exchanged, it was difficult to hide the anxiety.
I was not able to hide my anxiety on election day. First, I had thought of wearing a blue shirt in order to show solidarity with my preferred candidate yet my anxiety whispered to me that it might only provoke an unintentional showdown with a toxic supporter of the other side. With my neutral white shirt worn, my father and I ate the most quiet breakfast I had ever experienced with only the sound of the utensils clanking the plate audible. My mother scribbled her chosen candidates into a piece of paper as opposed to the printed list me and my father had in hand. The fact that she was on a different side never really eased tensions despite her being the only one apart, but we would rather look the other way in order to preserve peace at home.
As we made our way to the precinct, the side streets that were normally filled with tricycles lay bare and they instead were swarmed around the entrance of our precinct. During the almost three hours of waiting in line, I may only have known three bees in a full beehive yet everywhere l looked I only saw the same thing — a blank emotionless stare into the abyss, even though some of the people in line knew each other, there were few words and even lesser smiles as the line inched closer to the classroom.
As l finally received my ballot and sat down, I could feel my hand shiver and the pen occasionally slipping out of my grip yet eventually, the shading was done. My ballot was in the machine, my receipt reviewed and submitted. All there was left to do was wait, a wait I decided to just sleep through. In the end, as 7 p.m. turned to 8 p.m., it was already clear where the political wind was blowing.
How could I have been so naive? With all that I had read and watched about politics and history, how could I not have seen this coming? A feeling of defeat swept through our household and silence reared its head. Yet, for all the loss emerges a hope, a hope from a simple quote that not only explains my love of history but for why all is not yet lost — “History is only interesting because nothing is inevitable.” Yes, we are allowed to expect the worst but I would keep an open mind to what the future will hold.
Looking back on election night, it may become a lesson that will reverberate not only through the country but throughout the free world, or a story of how one must not judge a book by its cover, or perhaps in this case, its past. As the cold moonlit night returned and l once more drifted to sleep, I prayed that the silence of dread and loss be the beginning of a realization that with the concluded elections, we must remember one thing — that our fate is never sealed by one man’s victory; rather, it is decided by our solidarity and unity as a republic.
(Ethan Carlyle Co is currently a Grade 12 student at De La Salle University. His free hours are spent learning about politics, history, geography, and writing about his personal life and views on politics. He aspires to earn a law degree.)