America, land of the free, home of the brave.

For me, America is neither. Home is a place of refuge. Now I fear I must seek it elsewhere. I am free to worry, free to fear, but not free to live.

“Life, death, judgment,” as the Christian recruiters tell me, but no word of “Love thy neighbor.” I certainly feel unloved. Love is a home experience, and I am not at home. Home is welcoming, and I am not welcome.

Nov. 5, 2024, was a day of anxiety for me, as well as many other Americans across the country. What was once recognized as a prestigious event, one marking the validity of our nation, is now marked by violence. I started the day with a shelter in place order at school. Dozens of police vehicles were lined up outside, with SWAT teams entering the building, all while City Hall was a single side street to the left. Hoax calls were sent out across the state.

Everyone agreed it was because of Election Day.

There is no greater control than fear. Leading up to the polls opening, two candidates held numerous rallies to gather support. One consistently made crude remarks about women, talked of the greatness of gun violence and touted themselves as the only true solution to “fix” this country. They are a convicted felon. Is this truly the best option for America? Land of the free, but only for men. Land of the free, but only for violence. Land of the free, but only for dictators.

As the votes came in, I garnered no sleep. Media consumption failed to distract from all the fear. A candle was lit in prayer. “Thoughts and prayers,” yet mine was not heard. I love my neighbors, yet they do not love me. Why? What impossible sin have I committed that I can never be free?

Free does not relate to me. I have excelled through school with honors, sought out a job in the summer, joined communities of diverse actors, contributed to the economy via taxes and support of small businesses, been a friend, cared for my elderly grandparents, baked for my teachers. But I do not deserve to be free; I am not a man.

An election, in a child’s mind, is incredibly important … and out of reach. Child means a teenager of 17. There is nothing worse than seeing what is happening around you and wishing you could have changed it but knowing that you were – are – utterly powerless in the equation. You are a child. You are not free. You do not have a claim over a home. You live under your parents, who are free for you – but why?

The duty of America’s adults is to protect the young. As such, the young respect their elders. But why? How am I to respect those who wish for people like me to “be lined up against [a] wall before a firing squad to be sent to an early judgment”?

These are not my neighbors. The only opportunity for a child to express freedom is by contacting officials. Phones are only in operation during school hours, automated responses take months to come back, if at all, and your handwritten letter sent a year ago still has not been answered. You are a child, not free, not a constituent. They do not care.

My grandparents sometimes cross party lines while voting, focusing instead on who would protect their grandchildren – the country’s grandchildren – the next generation. If my grandparents, 67 and 70, respectively, can understand that, why can’t the politicians?

Humans are not inherently evil. Does that disappear with age? Will there ever be a nation where I can safely guarantee that my kindness will last without taint from the unloving around me? Will there be a home in America for an American like me?