The Lady was reed-thin and had long white hair. Her hair was so long she had it braided and it fell to her ankles. Our teacher said she’s around 90 but nobody could really be sure, as she looked nowhere near that age, more like 40. Maybe it was her smile, so warm and genuine, that gave her that pinkish glow of youth. Or it could be the peacefulness she exuded, like there was truly nothing in the world worth worrying about.
Nobody dared to ask her real name. She was simply known as the Garbage Lady.
We were bored teenagers horrified at the thought of enduring another field trip. But there we were, in front of the Garbage Lady’s compound, as our teacher rang the doorbell. All of us, furiously munching jaw breakers, with dead eyes.
But our collective stupor was no match for the sight that welcomed us.
We gawked at the mansion, the garage, the drawbridge, everything, which looked like a dream straight out of Home and Living. And the amazing thing was that everything was built from scrap wood and metal, used plastics, recycled cartons and newspapers. The chandeliers were intricately crafted from tin cans and glass. Wooden pallets became furnitures and bookshelves. The rugs and wall decors were made out of woven water lilies and grass.
Our teacher introduced the Garbage Lady as an environmentalist.
I have never met an environmentalist before. I heard myself say. The Lady and everyone else looked at me, so I felt compelled to add, Err…and I’d like to be one…someday! Smile. Blink. Blink.
Without hesitation, the Garbage Lady gave me a heads up with some very kind words of encouragement. Looking back, I wonder how she managed to keep her composure and politeness. I really felt sorry for her because she caught me in my all-black Goth phase. I can only imagine what was going through her mind as she talked to me about biodiversity and sustainability while staring at my charcoal-heavy eyelids and asylum-inspired lips.
Hers was like an aria about lush vegetations …and flourishing wildlife. While I…pretty much looked like an oil spill in a tar pit…like blood-clotted vomit…like a human carbon footprint…you get the drift.
But still.
It used to be that eco-consciousness was unheard of until the Garbage Lady pioneered efforts to care for the environment, one garbage at a time. These efforts also inspired many to take on the challenges of nurturing and preserving the bounties of the earth.
So I have come to regard the title, environmentalist, with great reverence.
I associate ENVIRONMENTALIST with the SUBLIME, the EVOLVED, the BRAVE.
It has become one of my life’s goals to be that. An environmentalist.
But I also lament the abuse of the word by shams who think they can fabricate themselves into the myth while remaining hollow of purpose.
The ENVIRONMENTALIST is the ACTIVIST.
The WARRIOR
the THINKER
the LOVER.
It must be deserved.