The sun was barely up when I left my house with my voter’s card securely tucked into my pocket. My father always says, ”If you want change, you must wake up early and chase it.” So that’s exactly what I did.
But now, standing in front of another closed polling station with a growing crowd of frustrated voters, I was beginning to wonder if the change we need was even possible.
”This is the third one today,” a woman beside me muttered, shaking her head. ”How can they say we have democracy when we are not even allowed to cast our votes?”
I began to understand the seriousness of the situation when I checked my phone, only to see thousands of complaints flooding social media. Turns out several other polling stations were closed, officials were arriving hours late, ballot papers were mysteriously disappearing.
To make matters worse, I was not only frustrated, but also hungry. I couldn’t believe that I had skipped breakfast, stood in line for hours, and walked miles under the hot sun just to be told, ”Check somewhere else.”
The thought of going home, and pretending this election never happened, made me uneasy. That would mean giving up.
I refuse to give up.
No. I won’t give up.
At least not yet.
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