Whatever floats your vote

My early experiences of elections are a hazy picture of shortened classes giving way to election-related activities. I remember we would form parties in class based on either our class numbers, or phone brigade groups, or even a lottery. Back then, a party was simply a necessary splitting that had to be done so we little ones could go through the process of nominating and electing our leaders. We would push our chairs to the side and sit on the floor in groups, discussing our platforms as seriously as single-digit aged individuals could. Back then, if you were good at making acronyms — you were valuable. Also, come Miting de Avance, possession of performance skills whether they be singing, dancing, or gymnastics meant you would be a star. Extra points if you sang things like Heal the World or If We Hold On Together. Having an over-eager stage parent all too willing to bake batches and batches of brownies, painstakingly labeled with a cute and flowery card telling your classmate to vote for you also came in handy. I'm pretty sure service wasn't on our minds when we ran for president, vice president, secretary, treasurer, representative, or, everyone’s favorite — P.R.O. Being a Public Relations Officer meant you got to be excused from class a lot. For what reasons, I can't really remember. I do remember one candidate saying in her speech that it was her "fervent wish" that we would vote for her, and I was floored by her extensive vocabulary. We were in second grade at the time and in retrospect I should have known she probably had a speech writer. Or maybe I'm just sourgraping. I never got to use fervent in a speech. In any case, grade school elections were pretty much a popularity contest. Kids would win because they had great sticker collections — which they generously distributed among the class. Kids would lose because they wore glasses, or braces, or both. In high school, it got better. By this time, we actually cared about who would be on our Student Council. Of course we cared. We were teenagers and we liked to think we had rights (or maybe we just liked to think we were right). When I got to college, I developed an aversion to local politics. Come election season, I would arrive at school either very early or very late. Whoever designed our campus had the brilliant idea of having exactly one entry and exit point — a nightmare of quarreling couples or worse, frats. This was also a nightmare for people with OCD, because campaign period meant the candidates would be strategically (annoyingly) positioned along the narrow walkway where all conscientious students would have to pass on their way to class. To get to class, one would have to shake an average of six hands, none of which were clean, I'm sure. Growing up watching Safeguard ads that always magnified crawling germs may be to blame for my paranoia. Failing my ninja arrivals and departures, I would distribute the contents of my bag so that my hands were literally full and no one in their right mind could still expect a handshake. Maybe politicians (even the campus breed) really are a bit off their rockers. Some of those candidates would keep extending their hands to me, as if their limbs were permanently positioned that way. It isn't just the handshaking that bothered me. So much mudslinging, so much dirt. There was one group in particular that loved to assault the general public by calling anyone who wasn’t one of them apathetic. I would have loved to tell them that just because a student doesn't take to the streets it doesn't mean that student isn't doing anything for the country, but I didn't think they'd hear me over their megaphones. I'm all for casting your vote and getting your voice heard, but I'm sure you'll understand if I say, not now, I'm tired. I'm tired of seeing poster-plastered walls that I just know will be there as long as the walls are there. I'm tired of not being able to sleep because of the inane jingles blaring from the street. I'm tired of not being able to sleep because of news that someone got shot again because they were running for this or that, or worse, someone got shot because they were mistaken for a candidate. I'm tired of hearing people say they're voting for someone, without being able to say why. I'm tired of the slim pickings. I'm tired of thinking that my vote won't matter. Even so, I will be voting, because I did not line up for hours to register for nothing. I will be voting, because whether or not my choices win, I want them to know that at least one person believes in them. I will be voting, but before that, I think I’ll stay away from all the noise. I just know my candidates won't win. For the same reason that all my favorite things disappear from the menu. I seem to like the stuff that people don’t even look at. I'll still vote, though. I'll admit that I still fall under the young and idealistic category. I want to change the world. I just don’t think politics is how. This is one reason why I'm vegetarian, but that's another story.