By Scott Jackson
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Preface
This journal belonged to Maria Ramirez, a ten-year-old girl living in a suburb of Chicago during a time when the world around her felt uncertain and frightening. Maria began writing on her birthday, and the day an election was decided, as a way to remember her thoughts, her fears, and the small moments of comfort she could still hold onto.
Her family — her father, a construction worker, and her mother, a teacher — tried to protect her from the confusion and anger that seemed to touch everyone around them. Yet, as weeks passed, Maria saw her world shrink: friends disappearing, streets feeling less safe, and whispered conversations between adults that she didn’t fully understand.
What follows are her words, written in the hope that they might endure. They show the world through the eyes of a child — sometimes confused, sometimes scared, but always full of love for her family, her friends, and the life she wishes she could protect.
This journal is a reminder that even in uncertain times, the voice of a child can tell truths that adults sometimes overlook.
November 3, 2024
Today I turned ten! Mom made pancakes with chocolate chips and put sprinkles on top. Dad gave me a new notebook so I can write my “very important thoughts.” I think I’m going to like writing in it.
The TV was on a lot today because of the election. Mom said I should be careful about watching too much, but I peeked anyway. People were yelling at each other a lot. Dad said the news is confusing and sometimes scary for kids. I don’t understand all of it, but I heard them say the same man’s name over and over — Trump. Mom said some people are really happy and some people are really upset.
I asked Mom if my friends would still like me if he wins again. She laughed and said, “Of course they will, mi amor.” But I saw our neighbor, Mrs. Morales, crying when she read the paper. I don’t know why she was sad.
I hope tomorrow is still fun. Maybe Dad can take me to the park after school. November 4, 2024
A man in a suit with an orange-painted face named Trump won. Mom hugged me tight and told me to be brave. I think she is worried. Dad didn’t talk much, just stared at the TV. The channel kept showing people cheering, and some people shouting things I didn’t understand.
At school, a lot of kids weren’t talking like normal. I asked Elena if she wanted to play hopscotch, but she just shook her head and whispered, “We can’t… not anymore.” I don’t know what she meant.
Mom said maybe some families will have to leave. She smiled at me, but I saw her hands shaking. I don’t like when Mom’s hands shake.
November 5, 2024
Today at school, the principal said we have to keep our backpacks close at all times. I asked why, and she just said, “Safety first, Maria. That’s all you need to know.” But I saw some kids’ parents crying in the parking lot. I asked my friend Luis if he knew why, and he just said, “They came for his uncle.” I didn’t know what “came for” meant, but I could see it wasn’t good.
Dad didn’t go to work today. He stayed home and looked at the floor a lot. I tried not to ask questions, but I keep hearing people whispering outside our window.
I don’t like it when people whisper.
November 15, 2024
Some of my friends didn’t come to school today. Elena’s mom told her she couldn’t leave the house. I asked why, and Elena just cried. I don’t understand why kids have to stay inside, but I felt scared, too.
Dad says it’s because of “the new rules.” I tried to ask more, but he said, “Maria, it’s too complicated. You’re ten. Just be careful.”
Mom started keeping the curtains closed all day. I asked if it was because of the sun, but she shook her head and said, “Because the world isn’t safe for little girls right now.” That sounded very serious. I hugged my notebook tight and wrote this down because I think maybe if I write it, it won’t feel so scary.
November 25, 2024
I heard a truck with flashing lights outside today. Mom said it was “nothing to worry about,” but Dad went outside and talked to the men for a long time. They looked at our house a lot, and I could hear them saying words I didn’t understand.
At dinner, Mom whispered to me and said we might have to go stay with my Abuela for a little while. I don’t want to leave my room or my school or my friends. But I could see Dad nodding slowly. I don’t like when they nod slowly — it means something bad is happening.
Luis’s mom isn’t home anymore. He sat in class quietly and didn’t talk to anyone. I think he’s scared. I feel scared too. I keep hugging my notebook.
December 10, 2024
We packed our bags today. Dad said we’ll drive to Abuela’s house in the suburbs. It feels strange to leave my room behind. Mom said Abuela will take good care of us, but I can tell she’s worried.
It’s snowing a little outside. I like snow, but I don’t like leaving my friends behind. I keep thinking about Luis and Elena. I hope they are okay.
December 20, 2024
Abuela’s house smells like cinnamon and oranges. It feels nice, but I miss my own bed. Mom and Dad are worried all the time. Dad talks on the phone a lot, whispering. I don’t know who he talks to.
School is far, and I can’t go right now. I try to read books and write in my journal. Sometimes I hear trucks or helicopters in the distance, and my stomach feels tight. Mom tells me to stay calm.
I try.
January 15, 2025
It’s been almost a month at Abuela’s. I haven’t seen my friends in a long time. Some days I hear adults outside talking fast and angry, but I don’t understand the words. Mom says it’s better not to ask.
I try to write in my journal every day. Writing helps me feel safe. I miss Dad the most. He still comes on the weekends, but I can see him tired.
Abuela says we have to be careful because the world isn’t always safe for people like us. I don’t know exactly what that means, but I nod.
February 3, 2025
I don’t know how long we’ve been here. Mom told me today that we might have to leave Abuela’s soon, and we can’t come back for a long time. I packed my notebook in my bag so I wouldn’t forget anything.
I heard voices shouting outside. Trucks are coming down the street. Mom held my hand tight and told me to stay calm. I tried. I really tried.
I hope Luis and Elena are okay. I hope Dad is okay. I hope the world will be nice again someday.
I’m scared.
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