I start here, on the night of November 6, 2016, the night Donald Trump became president. That night will forever be imprinted on my brain, driving from my home in Woodland Hills to Silvia’s sister’s house in Fontana. Fires blazed on the skyline. Police cars raced in the opposite direction on the freeway, sirens blaring, lights flashing. The country was on the verge of chaos, angered that this orange man bad had been elected, or so it seemed he would be.