You are never supposed to know how tired I am. You are never supposed to know how much sleep I’ve lost over what I did and did not say the right way. Now, the rhythm of academia has been disrupted.

And at least one of you will wear a shit-eating grin and feel like a winner while the rest of your classmates are in tears, and I will want to hate you. I will want to start a war the way a Rabbi says every war starts— property, religion, or love.

I will want to start a war because my body is not your property and my G-d is not a white man and my love is raw, boundless, and unprofessional.

I will want to start a war with you. Instead, I will feel sorry for you—sorry that you didn’t take notes when you read about fallacies, sorry that you were conned, sorry that you were on your phone when I begged you to consider how much we were hurting, sorry that you don’t have empathy for your sisters and brothers.

And as strong as I’m trying to be, I have wanted to walk away from the frontlines of the classroom, but I cannot abandon you, will not hide behind my privilege.

Maybe I will be fired one day, but until then and after, I will start a war—not with you, but with the hate that was elected.

Today you were supposed to read from the textbook, though some of you never do—something on action verbs and speaking directly and strengthening your voice. This has been on our calendar for months, and I did not plan it this way.