1 / 20 / 17 : A Former America, In Photos

No matter the widening gaps and contention heating amongst the powers at be, the longstanding traditions of these United States never fail to follow through with its ceremonial guarantees of transfer of said power. The bud of this flourishing nation is deeply rooted into ritualism, stemming from its founding by hushed freemasonry secret societies imbued with Manifest Destiny's glistening ardor for upholding American institutions. The Inauguration ceremony neither fails nor succeeds come every odd January 20 : it simply does.

The Inauguration is objective, absolute, and indifferent to the participants whose only complaints are that they have not gained anything. Traditions are installed to fit the occasion, regardless of dissenting opinions on whether the wrong person is being honored. Even party lines cannot leave a scratch on decorum.

And today, Wednesday, January 20, 2021, Joseph R. Biden was sworn in as the 46th President of the United States of America.

The Inauguration happened, despite now former President Donald Trump's claims of fraud behind November's 2020 election results or his compliance in stoking the fires of quasi-insurrectionists who breached and rioted within the Capitol just two weeks prior to today, January 6.

Abnormal Inauguration proceedings remain rarities without total precedent, though the 1/6 Capitol riots make quite a case for exceptional pretexts to the event. COVID-19 makes the only major difference this year, as social distancing measures were in place, limiting attendance for Washington political players seated at the Capitol building and spaced out lawn chairs for civilians still wishing to watch everything from the grounds of the National Mall. About 200,000 flags were planted on the Mall's greens, so as not to make it look so empty, though I cannot believe Biden is anyone to care about or overinflate the size of his drawn crowd.

Having both voted and worked for the Associated Press (A.P.) processing voter data this past election, I saw it essential to wake up relatively early on a weekday - in a pandemic where the days, months, now years, bleed together - to watch the coverage of the occasion. To witness the end result of a process I contributed towards, along with dozens of man-hours spent professionally fact-checking the results of.

I can say I was there to see its beginnings so I could say I could see its ending. And, no, I am not referring to the Biden-Harris presidency. But the Trump-Pence administration. This day spent drinking coffee, being ironically pessimistic on Twitter, and comfortable indoors brought back nostalgia for where I was exactly 4 years prior.

On my feet, walking all day, wearing layers I needed but felt flushed in, wanting nothing more than a heated area to sit down in and experience something reassuring about the next four years that the events of that day did not provide.

The spontaneity to attend me the 2017 Inauguration of Trump hit me only two days prior. I was still settling into my on-campus housing at Marist College after spending the preceding Fall Semester abroad. Nothing quite as liberating at being someplace unknown (though I constricted myself in foreign environments at that time in my life) with access to means to bug off to other parts even more unknown. Weekend bus trips marketed towards abroad students were fun and affordable, albeit tiring considering how many back-breaking hours must be spent on the bus to reach destinations.

The travel bug attached to me. I brought it back home. Where I just so happened to work for a bus company affording me many free ride vouchers.

After debating the thought of disrupting my first week of classes to take a mini-vacation, I emailed the professors I would be skipping on it. "Very cool", "once in a lifetime experience" I want to think they responded, but they probably did not care.

My friend drove me to the Poughkeepsie train station, where I boarded Amtrak to take me straight to Penn Station, from where I sauntered to the bus stop located across from the Javits Center. The bus scurried me to Baltimore that night, coughing me out a few blocks from the Baltimore Penn Station (honestly had no idea there was ANOTHER Penn Station after Newark and New York before taking this bus job).

No real thoughts I might have had on this trip come , except that I remember listening to several episodes of Chris Gethard's Beautiful/Anonymous podcast I pre-downloaded, and reading musician Laura Jane Grace's book Tranny about her career and transition.

I reach Union Station in Washington, D.C., and my muscle memory kicked in from living and interning in the capital that previous summer. I spent eight weeks as part of a multimedia training program, which is responsible for pairing me with my cherished Army Times internship; essentially I paid money to obtain internship experience, but I was able to learn a lot and make lifelong friendships. I once found myself stranded at the Pentagon Metro Station with other fellow commuters when a fire broke out on the track all the way in Washington's Chinatown, shutting down the whole line, so you could say I was a part of some important stuff while down there.

Stepping outside of Union Station to enter the D.C. Metro through another entrance brought me to face-to-face with the insanity to come. Streets were closed off, armed guardsmen were already stationed on prominent street corners (the Capitol is entirely visible from Union Station, but still a walk's away), Minions - yes, why does it always have to be Minions - t-shirts dubbing the creatures with prominent phrases from the 2016 campaign trail. On sale. I was visibly laughing while internally screaming at this cosmic horror:

My plan was to crash with a friend from home that was still studying in D.C. at George Washington University. He had a downtown apartment his parents paid for at 2400 M Street. Being someone that was always up for a good hangout, he offered me his comfy couch. We drew up loose plans that night while inebriated to get up early for the big day...which I woke up to sleepier than expected.

My friend saw news footage of the mass of people organizing in the streets and Inaugural grounds, and decided staying home was easier. I accepted the challenge, braving the slight winds and anxiety inducing crowds, and wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

Returning to a city one is partially familiar with, you are always bond to find "home" in the most peculiar places. The first big news at Marist College that year was how the school marching band had been chosen to play in the Inaugural parade following Trump's swearing in. Band members opted to express their disapproval for Trump's administration by refusing to play in the parade, which Marist's administration respected. Which is why I guffawed at encountering this after walking only a few blocks from my friend's apartment: