Can you hear the eco? Prepare to be inspired.
The Forbidden Forest
Celine Tat
It has always amazed me, how my own memory can fail me so badly. Taking in the scenery in front of me, I could not believe that this was the same place where some of my most precious memories of school had taken place. The place in front of me was broken. Dead.
We had always called it the Forbidden Forest, not because we were forbidden to enter it, but rather because my school always discouraged any students to enter it during school time. The small plot of forest that had once been part of a much larger one, had been donated to my school by the municipal government. Our efforts to keep it clean involved a school clean-up movement once a year to try to ameliorate it.
It seemed like just yesterday that I was sneaking into the forest with my friends, hunting the “monster” that inhabited the forest. Those were truly some of the best memories I had of Sweden.
However, looking at the scene before me, I realized that the memories which were once true, at once departed. For once, my memory had not failed me, but rather, it was the people who did.
What I saw at that moment was not what I had seen five years ago. I saw chip bags, candy wrappers, and plastic water bottles littered all over the place. My childhood haven that I had so looked forward to revisiting had turned out to be a regret. Part of me--no, correction--all of me wished that I had never come. That way, the vision I had of my playground would still be one of nature, at its purest.
But since I was already here, I walked on along the small stream. I pushed myself forward to see what other horrors that had been hidden from me. Deeper into the forest, things seemed to be improving. There were fewer pieces of litter. Hope sparked in me--would the deeper parts of the forest still live up to the vision I had?
My question was answered less than a minute later when I spotted the small lake that collected the water from the stream. It was not a lake of water, but a lake of garbage. All of the litter that had fallen into the stream gathered in the pool of water. It was a miniature model of the Pacific garbage patch. I had hoped in vain--the place was a disaster.
I had seen enough. Turning away from the small lake, I started to retrace my steps back to the edge of the forest. The truth rested heavily on my heart--a part of my childhood had been destroyed. My memory used to be the one that failed me, but this time it was people.