I Am Only A Student

I Am Only A Student

I am a watcher, a learner, and a listener, but I am also a war mongol, a city destroyer, a harbinger of pain and turmoil to countries that I have never been to.
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I am a student. I am a watcher, a learner, and a listener, but I am also a war mongol, a city destroyer, a harbinger of pain and turmoil to countries that I have never been to. I am a peace bringer to nations that I have no business with, and a litigator between different opinions. I will know a war that most should not see, and, inevitably, will carry a generation on my shoulders with problems created by the people I call teachers. I will be forced to solve the problems created by my parents, passed onto my generation, and, unfortunately will continue unless we do something about it. I will live in a world neglected by the people I thought I could trust with my future.

My future... Saying that brings uncertainty to me because as a student, I should not have to worry about whether global warming will affect my hometown; I should not have to worry about whether my kids will have a planet to live on or not; I should not have to worry whether I will fear for the safety of my child because of the mistakes people refused to fix. My future... my future... does it even exist? And who do I have to blame for that? Who do I have to blame for screwing me over? Who do I have to blame for causing me, a child, to worry about this?

But do not listen to me. I am a student. I am only a child, what do I know about this? How can I care so much about this when I don't even know who I am? The truth is, if I do not care about this, if I do not say something about this, who will? Who will bring up the issues I must bring up? Who will fight for what I must? If no one says something at all, will there be anything to save when you decide that I am old enough to think for myself? Will there be anything to save when you stop being so self-centered and actually start listening to someone who cares? Will there be anything left for me to care about when those who are too stern headed to actually listen and see that this is not their planet anymore. When they get it through their thick skulls that it is not their planet to care for anymore, maybe then, just maybe then is when it will change.

It is not their planet anymore. This is my planet. It has been my planet since you decided to give birth to my generation. It is my planet to protect, my planet to save, and my planet to make better for my children. It will belong to my generation until I give it to my children, and while you may continue to be selfishly living your life with the thought that you need to save this planet for yourself, I have come to realize that is no longer an option, at least for me. Now the only option left is for me to make you realize that you need to make it better for me, so in turn, I can make it better for the next generation.

Think about it like this, who will be there when the next generation has taken charge? Not me, for I will have passed away. I will have left what I did in my life at the door step of the next generation, expecting them to deal with the good, and the bad of what I could not fix. I will be expecting my children to make up for the mistakes I made. Do I really want that for my children? The answer is clear. The answer is no.

I am a student... And I can see this. You are a parent, a chancellor of evil, a doctor of harm, but not to yourselves. No, you are what my generation fears, all because you are so focused on the question "how can I make this better for myself?" Only when you start listening to what I have to say is when you will be asking "how can I make sure that my children do not have to go through this? How can I make sure that my children will never have to deal with my problems?" These are the questions you need to start asking so that I may live peacefully; so that I do not have to fix your problems.

But do not listen to me... I do not know what I am saying. I am not old enough to think for myself. I do not know how things work for I am only a student.

Cover Image Credit: pixaby.com

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11 Things 20-Year-Olds Who Look 12 Are Tired Of Hearing

No, I don't need a kids' menu, thank you very much.
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I used to just laugh it off when someone thought I was 12 years old back when I was in high school, but now that I am three years deep into college getting ready to graduate, I don’t laugh anymore. If you are in the same situation as me looking like a child trying to get into a bar/club and the bouncer is questioning if your ID is fake, please read on — you may relate very much. Here are 11 things 20+ year-olds who look 12 are tired of hearing:


1. I didn’t know they let 12-year-olds work here.

Nope. They don’t.

2. What school do you go to?

Me: Florida State.

Person: University?!

3. *Tries to get a sample at Target* Is your parent nearby?

Let me FaceTime my mom really quick and ask her permission for this protein bar sample.

SEE ALSO: 11 Things 20-Year-Olds Who Look 12 Are Tired Of Saying

4. *Server at a restaurant* Here you go, sweetie. What can I get you, darling? Hi, honey, how are you?

You are no more than three years older than me, there is no need for "sweetie."

5. It’s your birthday? Happy Birthday! How old now, fourteen/fifteen?

6. You look so much older when you wear makeup.

Is that supposed to be a compliment?

7. Wow, you're how old? You look like you are twelve.

Have you seen a twelve-year-old lately?

8. You probably just look young because you're short.


9. *Tries to flirt with a guy* You're a little too young for me I think.

I'm your age. Maybe even older.


10. Are you old enough to see this movie? Can I see your ID please?

11. You're going to be so thankful when you are in your 50's.

So I've been told. Hopefully, it's worth it.

Cover Image Credit: YouTube

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The Little Girl Who Touched My Heart

A snapshot of a little girl named Crystelli.

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Sitting in the back of a beaten down, white pick up truck, I looked out and saw a rural village filled with rubble and trash. It was quite different from anything I had ever seen.

Small, hand-built shacks were spread out along the side of the road with families waving and smiling — welcoming me to this unfamiliar country they call home. As the drive down the dusty, unpaved road continued, the crowds of people started to diminish.

At first, I thought we had lost sight of our destination, but then to my surprise, I spotted the small, four concrete walled school.

The truck came to a haulty stop, and I apprehensively took my first steps outside this unknown land of dirt and debris. Before my eyes were nothing like a school, rather it was a four-walled concrete structure. As I cautiously approached the schoolhouse, I found several rows of wooden desks and chairs.

It was a haven for students; a place where they could vividly imagine their future. As I stood in awe of this place, I felt sweat beating down my face. The mere ninety degrees of Cercady, Haiti felt like the temperature of the Sahara desert. I reached for my water bottle to quench my thirsty throat.

A few moments later, about a dozen or so children came running into the school; with smiles so contagious I merely overlooked their ripped and tattered clothing. Out of all the children that came hustling inside, one little girl stood out in the crowd. I would later find out the little girl's name was Crystelli.

Crystelli was sandwiched in between her two sisters, almost as if she wanted to be hidden. Her shy nature took the best of her as we made eye contact for the first time. She had a smile that was so innocent yet so fearful, and her eyes looked as if they had seen a thousand years.

I worked up the courage to say hello to Crystelli in Haitian Creole; a language that was quite unfamiliar to me. "Alo," I said fearfully as I awaited a quiet response.

Crystelli mumbled a few words to me in an indecipherable language and greeted me with the most gentle touch. After an awkward greeting and an exchange of names, she took my hand and led me down a narrow dirt path.

Reluctantly, I followed in the shadows of her footsteps. The ten-minute walk to the watering hole felt like a lifetime.

As the watering hole approached, my footsteps grew slower and slower as Crystelli's grew faster and faster. We had finally reached our destination.

A joyful smile erupted on Crystelli's face as she demonstrated how to fill up a bucket of water and balance it gently on her head. I tried doing the same but failed miserably despite my efforts.

Crystelli laughed at each of my failed attempts, which only brought us closer together. Through my quiet laughter and shy smile, I commemorated the process I had just born witness to. I knew something about this little girl stood out to me. It took me walking a mile in her shoes or lack thereof for me to pinpoint what was so special about her. She was beautiful, kind, curious, and full of adventure.

Crystelli stood out to me because of her incredible beauty, not only on the outside but also on the inside. She exerted a kind nature about her in the way she talked.

She had a servant's heart — one that loved others in a gentle and inviting manner. She fell deeply in love with life, no matter the circumstance.

She smiled at the simplest of matters, like walking on a dirt road and filling up a bucket of dirty, muddy water. She had an adventurous side to her and was curious about the world around her.

She is a true inspiration and our trip to her watering hole allowed me to see that. In the crowd of a dozen children, this one little girl caught my attention and touched my heart.

I left the watering hole with a vivid memory as I parted ways with Crsystelli. Our goodbyes sounded like"orevwa and our see you laters sounded like "we ou byento.

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