Six years ago today I returned to the United States after being marooned in Brazil because of the COVID-19 pandemic.

It was a hell of a trip. A cab from Rio to São Paulo. A masked plane ride from São Paulo to Houston and then Houston to Newark. Every cough sounded like a death sentence audition. Every surface felt radioactive. But underneath the fear was relief — relief that I was going home to a country that was still recognizable. A place where I spoke the language, trusted the doctors, and believed the adults were at least pretending to be in charge.

I remember the applause when the plane landed and the tears running down my cheeks.

I remember my much, much younger sister showing up masked at my doorstep with a care package like a suburban pandemic resistance fighter.

I remember Rosie first ignoring me out of principle and then exploding into hysterical dog joy five minutes later.

I remember how good it felt to come home. America still felt like home then.

Today, I am once again leaving Brazil to return to the United States.

Like six years ago, I am sad to leave because Elaine is staying here. But this time, going back no longer carries the same sense of comfort or safety. To be blunt, America now feels less like a country and more like a second level reality show where the winner in the octagon doesn’t win the nuclear codes and a drone contract.

The country I loved has become a spray-tanned tribute band version of itself — louder, meaner, greedier, and somehow deeply impressed with its own mediocrity. We are governed by a man whose relationship with truth resembles Tommy Flannagan, Jon Lovitz character on SNL.

We used to admire people who worked hard, raised families, built communities, and quietly carried the country on their backs. Now we idolize hedge fund sociopaths, crypto grifters, and billionaires who cosplay as populists while flying private jets to explain why school lunches are the real fiscal problem.

We used to believe in science. Bell Labs. NASA. The Mayo Clinic. Real institutions staffed by people who actually read books voluntarily. Now public health policy gets workshopped somewhere between a podcast ad for beef liver supplements and a YouTube comment section written entirely in capital letters.

We used to believe in due process and the rule of law — not prosecuting people because they bruised the ego of an overripe authoritarian who thinks the Constitution is a loyalty pledge written specifically for him. The Attorney General was supposed to serve the country, not function as the President’s personal crisis-management intern.

We once understood that war was a last resort. Something entered into soberly and reluctantly. Not because an aging narcissist wanted better poll numbers, cable news applause, or the geopolitical equivalent of jangling keys in front of voters.

We used to aspire to be the shining city on the hill.

Now half the country seems content being the comments section underneath it.

So yes, I may cry when I land tomorrow. But not out of gratitude for returning home.

I will cry for the country we lost somewhere between the lies, the algorithms, the worship of wealth, and the collective decision to hand the car keys to the loudest idiot in the parking lot.