Friday 19th January. I was feeling sad. The end of the world was nigh, and I wanted to retreat into a cave, crawl down a hole, surround myself with cookies and unicorns and Obamaness, and slump in a sorry, soggy heap on the floor. (Yes, in my universe cookies, unicorns and Obama are all in the same category. Along with Ed Balls. And tea. And my College Husband. And my Sociology Supervisor.)

Do you remember those moments in That’s so Raven, where Raven would see into the future? Her head would turn to the side, she’d look spaced out, a tad scared, overwhelmed, and would take a few moments to contemplate her vision. I’ve been having ‘That’s so Trump’ visions for the best part of six months. A feeling of impending doom creeps up my spine until I can feel this pressure in my chest and a heaviness on my shoulders, as if a small demon is clawing onto my back and whispering into my ear: “Trump, Trump, Trump.”

That morning my best friend texted me, asking how I was planning to watch the Armageddon take place. Did I fancy watching it with him? With M&Ms and tea? After a trip to the cinema to see La La Land? Hell yes (ah, Miliband circa 2015!). Yes. Yes, I did.

So, I fell into an ignorant state of bliss, lost in a musical dream with Gosling (and Stone) and managed to tame the Demon Beast for a good 128 minutes through the medium of jazz. But as we skipped back to his college to the beat of ‘Another Day of Sun’, the illusion dimmed and faded and reality set in, like ink bleeding on a scrap of parchment. The countdown had begun: 45 mins, 22 mins, seven mins, four mins until the inauguration of the 45th President of the United States. As my man Justin Timberlake would say – we only got four minutes to save the world.

“We wait with bated-breath for his first move, in a four-year game of political, life-or-death chess.”

But I couldn’t. I just watched it happen. Watched the world unravel in an old armchair in my best friend’s bedroom. Time seemed to play in slow-motion, and I kept on hoping, praying, until the very last moment, until Trump uttered the oath, that a superhero would pause time and come and save the day. Save the world from the slimy hands of a misogynistic, ill-advised and choleric billionaire, whose vanity and ego has the potential to change the course of history.

My hero just sat there, too. Watching it happen. Watching the world unravel in a foldable plastic chair on the steps of the Lincoln memorial. But what could Obama do? Nothing, but watch in slow-mo, along with the rest of the world.

Obama has been my president. Our president. I grew up during his presidency. I became political under his presidency. My interest in the world, my passion to make a change, my determination to create a better future all came to light.

In 2017, I Will Survive

For me, he will always be more than just ‘another president’. He was the president, the charismatic, liberal family-man that came to power just two months after my father’s death. He symbolised hope in the middle of darkness, misery and grief. Both he and Michelle have taught us that, if we have the power to dream, we have the ability to achieve. If we believe we can overcome adversity, if we work hard and have ambition, drive, kindness and truth, we can be wonderful.

On the other hand, there was Trump. Smirking, smug, exuding male hubris and pouting like the kiss-face emoji. (You’re doing the face now, aren’t you?! I can tell.) Michelle looking pained. Obama and Biden smiling half-heartedly at the pantomime unfolding in front of their eyes. The crowd delirious, on a euphoric high, cheering, venerating the man who, for them, has come to symbolise a new-found hope that the underdog can triumph over the establishment.

But seeing both my hero and the object of my hate, but a few metres away from each other, and later laughing, hugging, patting each other on the back – it dawned on me how divided America is. It’s remarkable how a democratic flaw in the electoral system can allow an individual with fewer votes to rise to the top, to set the world agenda.

Now all we, and our superhero, can do is watch. Wait with bated breath for his first move in a four-year game of political, life-or-death chess.

If anyone wants me, I’m in my cave. Bring cookies. Or Ed Balls. But don’t bring Obama. He needs to be out in the world, continuing to oppose the hatred that Trump has mandated and reminding us, that if we truly believe, and if we have the strength to fight for the greater good, hope will always trump hate.

So join me, in my cave, as we plot a super-plan. Leave your demon beasts at the door.  Let’s save the world. It’s not too late