Reporting from Biloxi

I hate when I learn a life-changing lesson and forget about it shortly after. It happens all the time. My mom used to hammer into my brain the importance of eating vegetables, and I still weigh 125 lbs. I’m terrified I’m going to forget the lessons I’ve learned on this trip a few months down the road.

Living in military tents without the luxury of stable showers and clean toilets toughened us all up down here. I’ve been chatting with people at the camp, and we’ve learned from first- hand experience this week to be thankful for the lives we’re blessed with.

When I boarded the bus today, I saw people forget those lessons already. A handful of students on one bus began complaining about the television sets not working. They protested by walking off the bus.

Civil rights activists in the 1960s walked off buses in Alabama to push for needed racial appreciation. Seeing these students walk off the bus to protest the capability to watch movies was disgraceful.

But of all people, I should be most critical of myself. I’ve appreciated the luxury of home cooked meals after eating mush for breakfast, lunch and dinner all week. I’m scared a few months down the road, if not weeks, I’ll be complaining about my mom’s rice being too cold.

I don’t mean to preach, but I do have this rampant fear of returning to normalcy. But perhaps maintaining this fear will be a safeguard against them from happening.