I Can Vote Now. And I Will.
I try to keep my life simple. But this part will not.
I’m standing outside the USCIS field office in the morning sun, still holding the little American flag they gave us during the Oath of Allegiance. Moments ago, the smiling officer said, “Congratulations,” and I almost forgot to smile back.
Something had just landed on my shoulders — light as the little flag, heavy as history:
I can vote now. And I will.
I felt a kind of numbness.
It came from the unknown.
For many who were born here, maybe they feel a different kind of numbness — one that comes from the overly familiar. Like air or sunlight, it’s always been there. So much so that I’ve noticed something strange: for some, the privilege isn’t in having it, but in ignoring it.
Not long ago, at my speaking club, a young man gave his icebreaker speech. He was trying to say how simple his life was. “I don’t party,” he said. “I never vote.”
Those words came rushing back to me this morning.
“I never vote.”
Neither did I. Not because I was simple. But because I didn’t have the chance, even before I knew what voting meant.
Middle school. China. Our teachers handed out cards with unfamiliar names.
“Pick one,” they said. “We’re electing the new district officer.”
“Before we even had a chance to understand what voting meant — or read the names — the teachers were already chuckling:
‘We know who’s going to win. We just have to go through the motions.’”
So we handed in ballots with names we didn’t recognize. A few days later, a teacher walked in with a newspaper, reading the headline with a face like “I knew it all.”
“After a well-executed election,” he read, “Mr. XXX becomes our new district leader.”
We clapped.
We were too young to understand it, let alone question the script.
Years later, I watched a documentary about Chairman Mao’s election. He was both the host and the only candidate. Standing before hundreds of “people’s representatives,” he asked:
“Raise your hand if you vote for me.”
Then scanned the room with hawkish eyes.
Every hand went up.
Another time, I spoke with a former “representative” who shared how elections used to work in his city.
All the delegates sat in a large hall. The ballot had two boxes: one for “Agree” and one for “Object.”
To vote “Agree,” you simply used the black pen at your seat.
But to vote “Object”? You had to use a red pen.
And there was only one red pen placed on a table up on the stage.
So if you wanted to object, you had to stand up, walk across the entire hall, climb the stage, and borrow that red pen. In front of everyone.
He shrugged. “No one ever used it.”
That’s where I came from.
So when I hear someone say, “I never vote,” as a symbol of simplicity or freedom, I can’t help but hear something else. While some toss that right away, others, billions of them, have spent a lifetime trying to earn it.
Now that I have it, I will use it. That’s my version of simple life.
Because I come from a place where we thought I had that right. Then when we tried to use it, it was never really there.
Until today, I am not too much concerned about the mega-prisons in El Salvador, where people are flown in by the U.S. government. Because I’m not undocumented.
I haven’t paid much attention to the mass layoffs of federal workers, triggered by an office called DOGE. I’m not a federal worker.
I looked past the White House defying court orders. I wasn’t part of the lawsuit.
I shrugged off the cuts to healthcare and pensions. I don’t rely on them yet.
I tuned out the attacks on Harvard’s foreign student policies. My kid doesn’t go there.
But what comes next will concern me.
I don’t know how not using my rights makes life simpler.
But I do know it makes the world I depend on more complicated.
I will vote because I want to care before it’s too late. I will vote because I’m done being boxed in. Black pens and red pens. Raised hands and silent mouths.
And now, as an American, I will vote. because I finally own a piece of this land. Not just the dirt under my feet, but the voice in my throat.
I can vote now. And I will.
I try to keep my life simple. This part will never be.
