When Fear Becomes Hope
Great Falls, VA
2024, Senior, Creative Writing
[Insert alarming statistic]
7 years
Everyone in my class cheered when our teacher announced we’d be watching a video instead of having a lecture. I was thrilled, already anticipating an educational video packed with humor. Instead, I received a stark warning: if I failed to solve the climate crisis, the Earth would die in my hands. Slowly, I trudged out of the classroom, a climate bomb strapped to my waist, carrying the fragile future of my family, friends, future generations, and strangers. At age 11, the overbearing weight of saving the planet was thrust upon me through one YouTube video.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
7 years till death o’clock.
The video showcased the devastation: livelihoods destroyed, 21.5 million people
forcibly displaced, and entire species going extinct. I had myself witnessed my favorite glacier in Banff, Canada, melt away over time and had to wear masks for days – even missing school when pollution levels were dangerously high. I knew I needed to do more – but how? All my life, I’d been taught that to mitigate climate change, we needed to 1) use more public transportation, 2) turn off lights, and 3) take shorter showers. That course of action was short enough to be a monotonous list I could recite in my sleep. Yet, I knew these actions alone would not prevent mass extinctions or other climate-induced catastrophes. Although I realized this, I did not know what else I, a young middle schooler who couldn’t even drive, let alone decide what car my family drove, could do.
Tick. Tock.
7 years till death o’clock.
The Earth was slowly being led to its demise, and I didn’t know how to stop it.
Comfort vs. Climate
6 years, 257 days, 20 hours.
Comfort versus action. Action versus comfort. Death versus death.
“Can you stop ordering so much?” I half-whisper to my mom. My mom, dad, aunt,
cousin, and I were at a local Chinese restaurant, welcoming my aunt, whom we hadn’t seen in years.
“No, we are the hosts here. Qing ke de shi hou bi xu yao da fang,” my mom responds. When you host, you must be generous. In Chinese culture, you must order more food than there are bellies to fill. Leave the guests with a happy and full stomach to show your generosity and good intentions.
“But we’re never going to finish all this food. It’ll all go to waste.” I shoot back, frustrated at the thought of all the food we’d be wasting.
“We can think about it later. We must be generous and welcoming. Your aunt and cousin are only here for a few days,” my mom responds, waving her hand in the air to signal that she is ready to order.
The waiter takes out her notepad. Peking duck. 2 cold noodles. Black pepper beef. Sichuan boiled fish. Yangzhou fried rice. Garlic cabbage…
“Mom, can we order less?” I ask, with a hint of unguarded anger.
Tick.
Tock.
“Your cousin likes sweet and sour pork. We need to order that,” she responds.
“No, no it’s ok we don’t have to order it.” My aunt nervously glances between us.
“Mei shi de one meal won’t kill the planet.” My mom passes the menu back to the
waiter.
6 years till death o’clock.
“But we don’t need 3 meat dishes. We’ll never finish all of this!”
“Yes, yes. Let’s just not order the sweet and sour pork,” my aunt says to the waiter, attempting to reconcile the stiff atmosphere.
No one said anything. I could feel my face heating up, anger rising at my mom for her habit of wasting food, but also at myself for being so rude. It really did feel as though this one meal, this one time I prioritized comfort over the climate, would kill the planet. And it would all be my fault. With every choice I made, a sickening oil fused itself onto me, carrying the blood of millions screaming you did this to us; you let this happen. And it latched onto me no matter how hard I tried to wash it off. No one else seemed to see the oil and charred black coal on their hands, and they didn’t see my hands either, the most tainted and evil of them all. And that terrified me – it was my burden to save the planet.
When Fear Becomes Hope
5 years, 201 days, 1 hour.
“… Hi everyone, Happy Earth Day!” I announced in front of the entire student body, my voice shaking.
When I witnessed the amount of used paper my school was throwing out, I decided to take action. By hosting a bookmark-making event using recycled paper, I would teach my community how waste disposal releases greenhouse gases that drive global warming. My motivation didn’t come from believing it was my “burden” but from thinking I could help my community and the planet.
“I’ll be hosting a bookmark-making event out of recycled used paper next Friday. So, please come out to the lawn to make your own environmentally-friendly bookmarks!” I finish my announcement, a wave of relief washing over me. As a freshman still adjusting to high school, I didn’t believe I could lead a school-wide event. I felt anxious that no one would show up, that everyone would hate me, and that people would deem my attempt stupid. However, when the day came for my bookmark-making event, over 30 people showed up, and my event had one of the biggest turnouts of the year. And during my time planning and leading the event, I was filled with immense hope. I was astonished that my teachers, friends, and community cared. They cared about climate change, and they cared about my efforts. The hope that overwhelmed me overpowered the fear I had.
With this hope, I founded ReMark, an international nonprofit that empowers youth to take climate action. I wanted my peers to avoid starting their climate journey like me, disheartened by all the doom-and-gloom climate media and paralyzed to begin. Instead, I wanted our audience to learn the science behind climate change and, most importantly, how they can take action. Today, we have chapters in over 7 countries, recycled over 3,500 sheets of used office paper, and provided climate education to over 700 teenagers. Although leading an organization is daunting, the change I can bring and the support I receive from my team give me hope for the future.
Infinity
The hope and support I received helped me stop obsessing over how many days the climate clock had left. I instead put my efforts into climate projects, discovering communities on Instagram that, like me, struggled with climate anxiety. I built connections with youth and older adults leading their own climate justice campaigns or conservation organizations. I had calm and informative discussions with my parents about reducing our food waste. And I realized that it is not my burden alone that will save the planet, but the actions and advocacy of all of us. An exceptional group of activists, scientists, youth, and organizations are standing beside me, breathing by me, and fighting alongside me.
Frankly, however, I am still anxious about our planet’s future. But it is no longer a paralyzing fear. Fear itself, however, is not a weakness; you only have fear if you care. When you embrace this fear, you’ll realize it has immense power to be mobilized into action. Action that can give you hope. Action that will affirm that you are not alone in this fear. And with our community filled with hope, drive, and commitment, we can prevent a global catastrophe. We can turn the climate clock to show infinity.
Work Cited
UNHCR. (2016, November 6). Frequently asked questions on climate change and disaster displacement. The UN Refugee Agency UK. Retrieved June 10, 2024, from https://www.unhcr.org/uk/news/stories/frequently-asked-questions-climate-change-and-disaster-displacement
Reflection
The hardest struggle I faced when writing this creative nonfiction was recounting how my fear for the future transformed into hope that empowered me to take climate action. Perhaps it stemmed from my passion for the paper recycling initiative I led, the unwavering support I received from my community, or perhaps both. Through countless hours of introspection and repeatedly asking myself, 'why?' I discovered a profound truth: hope is a powerful catalyst for change. When I confronted my fear by taking action (although frightening at first), the support and hope I received overpowered the fear I had, fueling my climate advocacy journey.