Dear Diary,
Merry Christmas. It’s 86 degrees today, and the sky still looks blood orange.
I didn’t intend to write to you today, but by chance, I spilled some Impossible yogurt on your cover while doing some WeXercise (hope you don’t mind).
I’ve made myself some Impossible beef patty in the spirit of the holidays. Sometimes, I wish I could travel back two decades ago to taste some roast beef one more time. Back then, the smokey smell during Christmas time was from the beef roasting in the oven, but what’s left is the smoke covering the sky all the time from burning trees, grass, and other rubbish around me.
I’m sure I’ve reiterated the whole cow-extermination thing to you plenty of times, but I just can’t get over the fact that the government massacred a hundred million cows out of desperation because they “passed too much gas.” Don’t you think something could have been done to prevent it earlier? And yes, I know livestock does produce a lot of methane, and killing off all the gassy animals probably slowed down global warming, but we all know it was too late. And come on, how many people would die for a real greasy cheeseburger, a fat juicy steak, or even some beef jerky? On a more serious note, annual weather briefings show that California’s average daily high temperature has risen 15 degrees since 2020. Isn’t this too hot to even consider this winter? Winter should be chilly winds and snowflakes that tickle my nose. Or white-powdered hilltops and glistening trees. But it’s too hot to go outside, and when I look out the window, the Sierra Mountains tops are coal-black from the burnt trees. If we tried to maintain our annual ski trips to Tahoe, we would basically be skiing on rocks and what’s left of the tree stumps. When I was a kid, adults used to tell us that Santa had a little house and a wonderful factory at the North Pole. Now, since there is no North Pole because it all melted away, we just tell kids Santa emerges from the ashes, like some kind of phoenix ghost story. That isn’t the only ghost story, though. Yosemite is more like a desert after that big fire in 2065. Heck, even that old town called Napa used to be wine lovers’ heaven. I had always wanted to try drinking some good old wine when I grew up, but people don’t drink wine anymore. All the grape vines are extinct due to temperature changes and viruses. It’s like the universe wants me to stay sober.
Anyways, since I can’t make plans for the winter, I would like to plan for summer vacation instead. But surprise! There are no beaches anywhere because the water has risen more than 5 feet. Though, I guess our summer escapades could happen just about anywhere. I mean, even all the bleachers in Giants park in San Francisco are now under water. Who needs Hawaii to go swimming anyways? Well, unfortunately, no one lives in Hawaii anymore after a series of wildfires that started in 2023 that completely devastated the island of Maui. Even the Colorado River is just dead dry; I guess no more family vacations.
The funny thing is, exactly fifty years ago, I read an article about this. Not just one, actually. Hundreds of articles. I remember reading all those predictions about the fires, the droughts, the smoke, the temperatures. How we don’t have water to drink and how all the animals are dead. And you’d think it’s crazy how just about every darn thing they warned us about has indeed happened. But to me, it’s not crazy. Because we were told time and time again with all those numbers and scientific data, proving it was real. We were just too busy arguing and fighting against each other when we should have been working together for a future—a future that no longer exists.
Well, that’s it for today. I got to head out now—if I can only find my N-95. Covid-70 has been all over the news about how high its mortality rate is. Cough cough. I hope I didn’t catch it already.
If I make it tomorrow, I’ll see you then.
Aiden Park
The views and opinions expressed are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect nor represent the Earth Chronicles and its editorial board.
