It has all become a strange game of cat and mouse, hasn’t it? President Trump does something, and we react quickly. We say he can’t possibly go any farther and then he does. It’s like I know that history is unfolding before me, and I know that one day my kids will ask me about it. I’m just not sure if I’ll know what to say.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’m surprised or anything. I knew that it was coming. And this isn’t the first time that someone has told me and fellow Muslims that we can’t do something based on our faith. This is not new. Stuff like this happens to me almost every time I try to pass a checkpoint in Israel or get on a train in downtown Denver. It wasn’t the ban itself that left me speechless and shook me to the core: it was the solidarity.

I have never in my  19 years of life seen people come together like this. Revolution is in the air. You can smell it on the protestors’ breath. You can see it in the water protectors eyes. You can feel it in the raised fists at the rallies. We are not backing down. There are people whom I have known for ages that have never stood for anything in their entire lives, that are standing up now. Do you understand how crazy that is? Do you understand how hard it is to wake people out of a complacent slumber?

So, yes. This ban is a disaster. I hate it. It defies everything I have ever believed in. I could rant about it for hours, but I have already exhausted myself with the pain of it. I have already wasted my breath on the insanity of it all. I have shed my tears in the privacy of my own home.

I am angry. I am very angry. But something has come to overshadow that. I am also so incredibly grateful. I am grateful for every single person that marched in the Women’s March, that showed up to the airport protests on literally three hours notice, that will continue to show up to our mosque open houses and to the solidarity marches.