Look up. There I am. I am the sky. I am a warm, protective blanket. Wrapped around everyone on earth. I can bring clouds, rain and wind. I can be an ice storm. Without me, you’d fry. Every day, I am the breath you take in.
Yet you are making me sick. I am congested. Off balance. Polluted. You see, I am more delicate than you think. It took millions of years to get it just right my perfect mix of gases, temperature and weather that you enjoy. But now your cars, your factories and dust, they have pushed me pass the limit.
And you wonder why my typhoons and tornadoes are more intense, more frequent? I’ve become unpredictable. Less rain here. A lot more rain there. Hotter summers. Colder winters. I can’t even control myself anymore.
Enough about me. I will show my changing self to you in your days ahead. But in the end, I’ll be fine. Give me a few thousand years. I have weathered trauma before. I am not worried for myself. Look up.
Phiêu Linh