The earth does not belong to us

“Are you looking for the best snorkelling spot?”

A local asks me, thickly smeared layer of sunscreen across his nose. This point is where he checks the weather conditions every day.

“I’ll tell ya, you picked a good day to go. Park a little further down the road, enter the bay there and you might even spot a sea turtle.”

I follow his instructions like they are the coordinates to finding gold.

I slip into the ocean and kick my flippers, watching schools of fish change their course of direction beneath me. Words I’ve only heard in elementary spelling tests - amethyst, azure, cerise, chartreuse - come to life in the hues of the coral and wildlife. I’m busy taking it all in when I feel a burst of movement directly below.

A giant sea turtle. It passes underneath my belly, completely uninhibited by my presence, even within my arms’ reach. Its lack of fear catches me off guard until I realize:

We belong to this earth. It does not belong to us.

A man once complained to me that the ban the straws campaign was blown way out of proportion; but if the reduction of straws is equal to one less turtle choking on our waste, then it is a worthwhile measure to take.

I don’t want to contribute to a world that causes the wild to fear us. If that means becoming conscious of every little piece of plastic I use until I learn not to use it, so be it.

Ocean degradation is a problem requiring system-level shifts, but I still have a responsibility to be better.

We all do.