This summer, I went on vacation, to Kenya. It was an amazing experience full of life-changing adventures. It began when the flight landed. In customs, we learned that plastic items are not allowed in the country. From the beginning, I was inspired. How clean could Southern California be if people cared like that? I saw animals I'd only dreamed of and imagined. The plains were full with zebras and giraffes under the hot sun as lions lounged in the shades of trees. But what truly awed me were the people. The people of Kenya care so much about the animals they live amongst. Where plastic bottles would be in the US, refilled glass bottles emerge. The bottles are washed and then refilled in a natural spring, and I was so moved at how much compassion was visible. As we safaried, not a single piece of plastic trash was noticeable. Perhaps, if such emotion were put into the plastics issue, it wouldn't be rife as it is today.
The highlight, though, was the animals. I believe I am going to add a safari board, because everything in the plains of Kenya are intertwined so artfully. The Zebras dash along beside the cars as just blurs of black and white. Lions were dreaming of something as they lounged in the tall grass and the thunderclouds rolled over them. The giraffes awed with their stunning grace as their necks brushed the clouds. The Elephants paraded by, waving their trunks at the sunset. And all worked in harmony: a little clock ticking exactly at the hour, the minute, and the second. Something so precise that if even one mechanism were broken, it would lose its stability. Sometimes, whether we mean to or not, we can disrupt this balance. Climate change is a group project. We are all supposed to be working to fix it. Most of us are. Yet the few people who are ignorant to it or for some reason opposed are ruining the chance there is. Every piece of trash counts: you are making a difference. You are keeping the clock ticking.
Nature is what I wish to surround myself with. I want to go outside, I want to go to the beach, climb up a mountain, hike in the forest. If it is outside, I will be there. But, what if there is no there to go to? When we went to Kenya, my uncle recommended for us to go to Lake Nakuru. Lake Nakuru is famed for its population of flamingos. Even in the flight, I saw an enormous lake painted brilliant pink. That evening, we went out to an alabaster lake. Pelicans. Yet, not a single flamingo? Where were all those beautiful birds we saw on the flight? Gone, gone 15 km next door to Lake Elementaita. This was not what my Uncle had told us. Global warming had caused ice from Mount Kilimanjaro to melt, making the lake less salty and deeper. The flamingos like the salt, so they flew out into other lakes, new lakes which formed with all the melting water. I was so excited that day, to see flamingos. My hopes were blown away. It was alright-- we saw many other amazing sights, but not what I'd expected. We were supposed to end our trip with the exotic flamingos. Climate change ruins a lot of things. Now, I want to fix it more than ever.
To treat nature as an equal is a skill so often overlooked. One of the very, very first kinds of religions was animism. Back before humans settled in large civilizations, they knew there was something special about this world. Rocks, animals, trees, water, and everything else held spiritual significance. Part of the central idea was the web of connection: everything from the rock, the foundation of the earth to the tallest tree rely upon one another. Although animism is long gone, perhaps we can take some valuable lessons from it. The web of connection is still intact. Some strands have been severed, but nothing irreversible. Yet, more and more of the interconnection between humans and nature is leaving, and eventually it will be irreversible. Let's not reach that point. Let's learn something from Kenya: we are one with nature, and it is time to accept and acknowledge our roles in its restoration.

This is a relatable expression.

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