Even before I went to the polls, tears had floored my eyes thrice while listening to the radio. They came from testimonies of people who just voted for the very first time. From the way they spoke, the experience was more than a civic duty. One came from communist Bulgaria and had never voted. She felt ecstatic casting her vote. Another one came from Africa. He is a Muslim and is married to Jewish white woman. He said he voted for his children whom Obama represented. The third time tears floored my eyes was when a Kenyan immigrant spoke of how she was crying at home in New Jersey because she could not vote. Then she announced that Kenya, her home country, would declare tomorrow a public holiday should Obama win.

When I got to the polling station there were about eighty people in line. I looked at them – old, young, single mothers, white, black, Latinos, Indians, and Asians. They were relaxed and patient. The expression on their faces was that of a people determined to have their say – to carry out a quiet revolution. They appeared to have waited so long for this chance to make a statement.

The line quickly swelled into upper two hundreds. Forty minutes later, I got the chance to walk into the polling booth. It was not a touch screen machine. It was the lever type. I had to be taught how to move the pins to the candidates of my choice. The only candidates I was familiar with were the presidential candidates. I turned the Obama-Biden pin to the right. It starred their box. For the rest of the candidates for other local positions, I did not know who they were. I just starred all the Democratic Party candidates. Then I pulled the lever. It made a sound that history took note of.

I walked out feeling proud. Yes, it was a spiritual experience. And I would forever be able to say that I voted for Barack Obama, too.