The alarm blares in my ears, its pull just a little stronger than that of my bed. I trudge down the hallway to the bathroom and look in the mirror at myself—bloodshot eyes and messy hair. After eating breakfast is the short walk to the bus stop and the ride to school. There, I turn in my assignments, brainstorm ideas for the next big project, and politely raise my hand when I have a question or answer. After school, I socialize with my friends while waiting for the bus to come, and then doze off while listening to music on the long ride home. Once I have arrived, I plop myself down at my desk and force my hand to write when it seems I could fall asleep at any minute. When finished, that is exactly what I do.
This could be any other day. This could be any other person.
But this is me.
The alarm blares in my ears, its pull just a little stronger than that of my bed. I trudge down the hallway to the bathroom, blinking my bloodshot eyes as fluorescent light shines into my face. My hands splash water into my face, with the faucet being promptly shut off afterwards. I comb down my messy hair and leave the bathroom, flicking the light switch on my way out.
I take the bus to school, and get increasingly aggravated by the amount of traffic that delays the start to my day. I turn in my assignments, take the old ones out of my binder, and put them into my backpack to take home to recycle. I brainstorm ideas for the next big project, knowing that sustainable living has to make it in somehow. During class, I politely raise my hand, yet it is only to argue with my classmates. Too many of them believe that small acts will never add up, and that we should not even bother. They are the non-believers.
After school, I socialize with my friends while waiting for the bus to come, but instead of dozing off while listening to music on the long ride home, today my mind runs wild, coming up with the lines to a song, a song about the non-believers in this world. Once home, I plop myself down at the piano to write out the music to this song. Inspired, I go on to write three more poems, printing them out and taking extra steps to make sure they are double-sided. Maybe someday they will be published for the world to read.
I call my older sister, a long way off at college. She knows where she is headed. She knows how to make a difference. I tell her about my day and she tells me about her latest adventure into the world of environmental science and sustainability. I take note on how to change my lifestyle the next day, before stumbling across the evening news on the TV in the living room. Despite all I do, how could this world be so bleak?
But then I start thinking about all the non-believers. What can I do tomorrow? How can I change the way this world has become? As I lie in bed that night, my mind races with possibilities.
This is the day in the life of a difference-maker. This is my day. If this were everyone’s day. . .
Day in the Life of a Difference-Maker Maker
By Laila N.