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St. Vincents

“Weather” I Like it or Not

 

A Climate Change Poem

 

By Alissandra Waters

 

St. Vincent's Academy, Savannah, Georgia (formerly a student at the Singapore American School

__________________________

 

It’s been almost a month

 

since I moved here.

 

I used to joke back home on how I was lucky

 

to not have to experience the cold weather.

 

Well.

 

I guess I’m in the same boat now.

 

Hello!

 

Sorry for that introduction.

 

I actually like the cold weather here.

 

It’s better than the hot, humid weather back home.

 

You’re probably wondering what, or should I say where, my old home was.

 

I like to describe it as this:

 

It’s smaller than Chatham county but has a population of over 5 million people.

 

Crazy, right?

 

Living on a tropical island was pretty fun in itself.

 

Nothing beats the sound of the jackhammers pounding away,

 

and the sun of a thousand summers blazing everyday.

 

It’s pretty much an endless summer there.

 

It’s a nice change, especially with all the wind here.

 

I love it when my hair is all over on my face

 

and the cold touch the breeze fills you with.

 

It definitely got me shivering the first time I felt it, but nowadays…

 

I still shiver. With a smile

 

I hope you're still wondering about my old home,

 

because I kinda want to talk about it.

 

We didn’t have forests a few feet from our house,

 

or the variety of seasons such as spring and winter.

 

We had concrete surroundings, rainforests, and only two seasons.

 

Sunny and Rainy season.

 

How joyful.

 

Speaking of seasons, the one I hope to see this year is Autumn.

 

Our Autumn back home did not involve orange leaves or a gentle cool breeze.

 

No.

 

Our Autumn involved covering your mouth and coughing from all the haze and smoke

 

The burning of the forests in Indonesia would travel North,

 

right where we were.

 

So for nearly a month we breathed and and got engulfed in smoke.

 

It’s dreadful. Especially when it’s raining and there's smog. No one likes to smell like wet smog.

 

This poem so far doesn’t really discuss about Climate change, right?

 

To you it might not, but to me it does.

 

I was thrust into a new environment, a new terrain.

 

A new

 

Climate.

 

No longer would I have to wipe the sweat off my forehead during a humid day back home.

 

Instead here I am hugging myself tightly for warmth.

 

And I love it.

 

Even if I haven’t sounded very joyful, I used to be jealous of not having four seasons

 

The humid temperature 24/7 got tiring.

 

It got boring.

 

It got annoying.

 

It was even more annoying since the only time I did come here was during the summer.

 

Where there was even more sun.

 

I didn’t have a break from all the heat. It’s all i’ve ever known for the past ten years.

 

Ten years not seeing any flowers bloom in spring.

 

Ten years not stomping on the orange, dead leaves, hearing the satisfying crunch it makes.

 

But this year, I can finally say that I’ve now felt the troubles of February.

 

The pain of having your lips chapped during the middle of the day.

 

The sun setting at early hours.

 

The bright moon shining on a crispy, cold night.

 

It’s only now that I wait to accomplish the seasonal wishes I have.

 

I will one day see myself smelling the fresh, blooming flowers.

 

I will soon see myself sitting inside a cozy home during a summer’s storm.

 

I in the distant future will see myself raking up the fallen leaves in my yard.

 

For now, I’ll appreciate this cold weather.

 

Some people may complain at times of its bitterness, like me.

 

But I remind myself of my old home.

 

And how lucky I am to even experience breezy afternoons.

 

To even wrap your arms around yourself when it’s too cold

 

Without having to be in a theater.

 

It’s little things like this

 

That make me smile.

 

Right now as I write down this poem

 

It has been three months.

 

Let’s just say I got a bit busy with homework.

 

I will say though that Spring is quite pretty.

 

Beautiful actually.

 

Minus the pollen.

 

So I’ll end this poem about my journey on climate change

 

With some simple rhyming.

 

Roses are red, violets are blue,


I enjoy all the aspects of seasons, but all I can reply with is “Achoo.”

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