Last Friday, my friends and I walked alongside thousands of New Yorkers in protest against the overturning of Roe v. Wade. Abortion is indisputably an intersectional issue, and the decision's proximity to NYC’s pride march was a reminder that celebration is rarely genuine and always temporary, and that protest is eternal.

It honestly felt disrespectful to take pictures at these marches, like I was just another camera hungrily aimed at faces showing the most emotion or signs with the wittiest slogans. But I needed, albeit selfishly, to memorialize these brief instances of power, autonomy, love, and celebration, all of which accumulated into something bigger and perhaps permanent.

Over the past few years, I have grown distant from the idea of womanhood in my heart, yet closer to it in my reality. In America, it is impossible to exist without the awareness of my lack of control, as well as the knowledge that we live under a facade of democracy. In these crowds, I felt comforted by the anger of strangers, and humbled in my failure to do more.

I hope that in “March" you are able to see people, including myself, trying to balance introspection and demonstration, helplessness and control, resignation and endurance.