Why Are People Like That?

I’m a millennial. There have been so many, life-changing incidents during my lifetime, it feels like. September 11, COVID-19, the Iraq conflict, legalization of gay marriage, 2016 election…you get it.

I’m also a millennial who, for most of his life, has felt like he lives in the free world. I believed this for most of my life…until…

Until Monday, January 20th, 2025. Anyone reading this knows exactly what I’m referring to unless you are truly off the grid, but then you wouldn’t be judging my writing now through some electronic device, would you?

It was a preemptive death, and I felt like I was dying as I read the news from bed. I had caught a nasty bug just two days before and I was on the mend. But what I read would take decades to mend from. It felt like a dooming scene from a Star Wars movie; a movie indicating only the worse was yet to come.

First it was the folks that identity outside the box; those refusing to conform to he or she. There was no longer any room for anyone that went by they/them or anything else that fell outside the “traditional” status quo. Crowds cheered as social media was flooded with despair by this marginalized group. Yet, their mothers, fathers, grandparents, cousins, and som siblings applauded at their intellectual and psychological autonomy being stripped away. Pretty on-brand with people like that.

The next day, they came for the cost of prescription drugs. This one I actually enjoyed, because it actually gave these people a taste of their own medicine.

Then they came for the hes and shes that kissed and laid in bed and and split bills and even married other hes and shes. Those who adopted the children the other hes and she were unfit to raise. Their rights became conditional overnight.

The next day, they came for the flags. The flags that for me represented the fight for equality; freedom to exist. Exist as humans. Apparently being simply human was no longer a celebration in this new world.

Then they came for everyone else.

The older. The mothers. The fathers of all colors. Their bodies.

Trying to unwrite written law. The foundations of this country. I could only wonder, “How long before people realize this is all one sick joke on all of our expenses. All. Of. Our. Expenses.”

Then they came for the ones inside churches; the same churches they claim are their places of worship. They came for the leader advocating for compassion; for mercy; for love. For the children, siblings, cousins; humans that are afraid for the lives. For simply existing. In any other moment of time, she would have been applauded for being a hero. No such thing. Hate ensued.

Hate through letters. Through through emails. Through in-person verbal attacks. Hate is what she received for simply preaching humanity.

I walk into coffee shops and look around. Everyone writing, reading, and talking, but uninspired. Everyone slowly dying on the inside. Four years of a progressive death for anyone stuck here.

Some will say they plan to leave; must be nice to have that luxury. The ability to pack up ones whole belongings into a suitcase and move to another country. The rest of us have been grandfathered into this hell hole.

Yet, I keep coming back to this coffee shop. I am clueless as to what I expect to find here; inspiration; hope; love; all of the above in one? Am I just wasting time? Passing time? Both activities.

It all feels pointless, even writing this. So what if I win this challenge? Will I overcome every other challenge yet to come?

I keep replaying the events that changed my world, the precise moment. Some will recall sitting in front of their television during September 11th. Others will remember family members; older brothers, boyfriends, and cousins shipping off to Iraq. Some will remember being told to stay home indefinitely March 19th, 2020. I will remember January 20th, 2025. The beginning of what feels like a collective erasure. My body may have healed from that ghastly bug, but will it heal after we’ve been torn apart? History repeats itself and its horrors echo in our hearts.

I reach out to people, because it’s a thoughtful gesture even when I have no real comfort to offer. I reach out to people, even though I feel progressively disconnected. I sit at this coffee shop for the fourth day in a row and look around; familiar faces but unfamiliar expressions. I speak to a gentleman who like me is a writer. He published a book once on Reaganomics. I asked him about it; he seemed unenthused about my recollection of his Magnus Opus. He seemed enthused about whatever he was writing now. He stood and left without accomplishing anything.

I sit at this coffee shop seven days later. I turn to see Heather, who I went on a date with when they were still Robert. Heather doesn’t remember me as they walk into the restroom after me, but they’re smiling despite all the madness. I am happy for Heather. I am happy for the first time in the past seven days.

I take a walk around the lake, as I usually do when unenthused about everything. I see another guy, another fellow writer. Truth be told, he use to perturb me as he would constantly pressure me into writing fantasy stories about his fetiches. He looks at me with the same dead stare. For once, he didn’t perturb me to the degree he used to. He could have finally stuck me in his basement and I might have gone without a fight.

I wake up again. Sound sleep is no longer something I attempt. It’s like a sick addiction; putting my phone down could help, but I don’t. I read and read, doom scroll and doom scroll, and know this will be my routine for an indefinite amount of time. Longer than four years. I see men, and women, everyone protest, and weep; protest and weep.

All I can do is think about those…

Those who will meet hatred.

Those who will meet evil.

Those alive but not well.

And I think about those who are evil.

How do they rationalize when they vote to strip people of their autonomy; their identity; their dignity: their existence.

Then I ask myself.

And reading this, and reading everything there is to read online, I wonder if you do as well.

Why are people like that?