We've all been had, folks, and I'll tell you how: 2016 is a complete bust. The champagne we chugged and hors d'oeuvres we devoured before midnight on December 31st of last year lied to us all. The downed daiquiri's and the transcendent vibrations in the air were all cruel falsehoods, coaxing us all into optimism about what was ahead.

The New Year's Eve parties were all dope--the music, the dancing, the feeling. We expected splendor and wonder in 2016, plus the chance at fresh starts and endless opportunities like we always do around January 1. Instead, we've gotten Donald vs. Hillary, horrifying mass shootings worldwide, Brexit, a Turkish coup, the death of Prince (I cope by hoping he, Natalie Cole, David Bowie, Muhammad Ali, and all of our other beloved stars are toasting bubbly at some heavenly party in the afterlife), and countless other disappointments. David Duke even came out of nowhere and made every respectable Louisianian (and even his fellow Republicans) cringe in shame and disassociation.

I'll ask if no one else will: Who can I speak to about restarting 2016? There has to be some celestial being with a cosmic VCR that features a 'Rewind' button, right? He can push said button for us to all get another chance at the greatness we envisioned for this year, right? Call it a re-do, or a Mulligan, or whatever you like. Just let me know how I can make it happen.

Here in Baton Rouge, the want for a repeat is even more urgent. I used to think the city was invincible. I used to think that about myself. Now, I'm thankful to know better on both accounts.

Baton Rouge is susceptible to the same pitfalls as any other city. The generosity of the people and the ubiquitous food options don't completely absolve the city (this is true of the whole state, quite frankly) of its shortcomings. The traffic sucks. Our mayor-president has a tendency to disappear when we need him most. A line separates the white from the brown here quite drastically. I'm originally from Monroe, a small-ish town in northern Louisiana with a few illustrious high school football teams, a few good restaurants, and a tiny amount of that mythical Southern charm. Upon my arrival here for college, the hustle and incessant bustle of Baton Rouge was so different from what I was used to that it hypnotized me, and yet its encapsulation of the big city problems repelled me all at the same time. Six years later, I'm still here discovering new sights and new facts about this place. I have gotten quite skillful at determining what to love and what to hate.

Most of my immediate family, friends and mentors are still in Monroe. In March of this year, I was battling stress and sleep deprivation as I started my first year of teaching middle school in north Baton Rouge. I spent months totally preoccupied with caffeine and parent phone calls. While I was steeling myself to make it to the summer, Monroe received record-breaking rainfall and awful flooding. It's a familiar story for us: torrential rainfall for days, geography that doesn't support quick and adequate drainage, then catastrophic flash floods that occur with virtually no warning. Rivers and bayous swell to dangerous levels and murky brown water spills over to threaten everyone and everything in its way. Some folks lost everything they had, whether it was contained in a mansion, a bottom-level apartment, or a space at a shelter. My mother had no power in her house for four days. A 7-year-old died. The narrative continued the way it always does: the federal disaster declaration comes from the President, the floodwaters recede after a few days, and then we rebuild. It's nothing new here. We've seen it before.

The shocker came when it happened again, this time across the parishes of South Louisiana. On August 7th, on a whim, I drove the four hours north to Monroe to hang out with my family and pig out on home-cooked food. On August 10th, the day I planned to head back south to my cozy one-bedroom, it began to rain in Baton Rouge, Lafayette, and nearly every other city or town in the southern half of the state. Then it didn't stop. It wouldn't stop. The water built up the same way it did in Monroe, and the saga of the detrimental floods played itself out again. I remained stranded and helpless in Monroe until the rain stopped took a break, then arrived to find my apartment inaccessible due to high backflow. Across the parishes of Lafayette, St. Helena, Tangipahoa, Livingston, and East Baton Rouge a total of 24 to 31 inches of rain fell. The news outlets that chose to report it called the flooding "historic." CNN played heroic rescues of people from malicious floodwaters over and over again. As I write this, the death toll has risen to 13 people.

The flood came just as we all were piecing ourselves back together after one of the most traumatic summers in anyone's memory. After Alton Sterling's shooting occurred three blocks away from the school where I worked, rifts were open here that had been festering between the Baton Rouge Police Department and the citizens for decades. Protests, arrests, and a general feeling of tension blanketed the city. I watched Baton Rouge nearly rip itself apart. Even mundane activities like scrolling through Facebook left me uneasy: several of my former friends and classmates felt it best to share their anti-black, anti-protest views (I'll never forget the "IF YALL HATE IT HERE SO MUCH, WHY DON'T YOU LEAVE?" comment I saw left under a friend's status), I was forced to accept that some of those whom I considered my peers did not value me or my people. We felt the waves of sorrow again when five officers were shot in Dallas two days later. We were rocked again when three Baton Rouge officers were killed in an ambush. Those were low, dark days for us all.

But even after this summer of anguish, I'm buoyed by how united the people of Louisiana can be. While I wait for the eight inches of water to drain from my apartment, I'm strengthened by the displays of camaraderie I've seen here. During a visit to the gym after my return to the city, I became overwhelmed at the thought of throwing out my books that got waterlogged, along with my vinyl records, speakers, furniture, and things I hold dear. I thought about the couch-surfing I'd have to do, the utter disruption of every routine I'd spent a year establishing. I couldn't control it; I burst into uncharacteristic tears right there as I sat on an abductor machine. My facade of invincibility was crumbling in public. An elderly woman with shining white hair saw me buckling under the weight of my fatigue and sadness, paused her exercises, and tapped my shoulder. She told me, "It's okay, honey. You're not alone." I'll never forget her words or her face. After her consolation, I saw news reports of shelters with so many volunteers, they're being turned away. Regular citizens with boats saving countless lives. These are the things that unite us, that underscore the meaning of "Southern hospitality" and make us notorious for having kind, easy-going spirits. It's what draws people to New Orleans from all over the world for Mardi Gras year after year. It's the same feeling that overtakes you if you walk into a seafood restaurant anywhere here on a Saturday night. Everybody's laughing, yelling, and sharing buckets for crawfish and shrimp shells. Everybody's all sipping beer and trading barbs, and you feel a homey type of welcome that doesn't exist in too many other places. Although the conversations that take place regarding how to fix this city and Louisiana as a whole are painful, we are capable of having them. For every person that sees no need for unity and equal rights and treatment for all, there are countless others here who are working tirelessly to help achieve that goal and improve the quality of life for us all.

So, even though 2016 has been a failure for a lot of us who are keeping track, it's almost over. I've realized that we don't need a repeat, we need redemption. With less than four months left in this year, it's nearly time for us all to take stock of the skills we have, the skills and qualities that we need, and the progress we'd like to make in the next year that comes. We're all stronger, and better suited to handle the challenges that 2017 may bring simply because we're still here. And even if you had a rocking, successful 2016, think of a way to pay it forward to someone less cheery about their year. Bridge the gaps, lend your hands and expertise wherever you can. There's rebuilding that can be done, regardless of whether your life was affected by a flood.