A Climate Refugee's Diary Entry

I know I'm suddenly writing a lot about climate refugees, but they're people who need to be talked about, to be recognised, and to be protected.

November 12, 2040

Dear Diary,

Saying today was a long day is the understatement of the century. It feels as though I last woke up and got ready for school in another dimension, not 48 hours back.

A month ago, I distinctly remember, Papa’s friend, the farmer, gave an impassioned speech about how the wet and dry spells were ruining his crops. I mocked him then (Mamma mustn’t know this). Our family business is – was – involved in overseas trade, so I really didn’t care about what happened with the weather. But when the tornado hit a week back, that occupation got disrupted too — and so did my attitude.

However, now that I think of it, it’s almost funny the way we cowered below the giant wings of that grey beast. Yet, that seems like nothing compared to what happened today. Or maybe, it is the combined happenings of the past seven days that has left me this devastated.

The skies were clear, and the heavens bright. The weather remained the same till afternoon. As Ted Mosby said, ‘Nothing good happens after 2 a.m.’ I guess we’re in different time zones, so it’s safe to say, ‘nothing good happens after 2 p.m.’ Word.

I ran to the beach after school, and as I stood in my favorite spot – where a rather large number of my previous entries have been based – I realized it wasn’t my favorite anymore. No, the sea didn’t leave my feet asking for more; it left it fleeing to save itself. The water levels rose drastically and it now reached my waist. The sirens blared throughout the city — and I knew, oh I knew, it was the end.

So it came as no surprise when helicopters dropped ropes to save us. And as I sit on my bunk right now in a country far from home, with my parents arguing with the authorities right outside, mamma’s ‘strong boy’ can finally admit: I’m scared.