by Rishu Priya
PureTravel Writing Competition 2025
The river didn’t roar. It whispered and, for the first time, I listened.
I first noticed it on a school trip to a protected wetland, the kind
of place people pass by without seeing. I carried a notebook, curious
and observant, expecting to jot down facts about birds, plants, and
water. I was ready to record a pretty scene but not ready to be
changed.
We walked along a narrow boardwalk, sunlight fracturing through the
canopy and sparkling on the water. Dragonflies skimmed the surface,
herons stood silently on the banks, and tiny fish darted beneath the
ripples. The air smelled of mud, reeds, and something wild, alive, and
urgent.
Then I saw it, a cluster of volunteers tending to creatures caught in
plastic waste. A little girl, maybe twelve, carefully lifted a small
turtle tangled in fishing line and set it in a shallow pool of clean
water. Her hands were gentle but certain, her focus unwavering. I
froze, watching, feeling a strange mix of awe and shame. I had
traveled to see nature, to take photos, to write stories but I had
never truly understood it.
That moment became my turning point. The girl wasn’t just helping the
turtle; she was protecting life itself, quietly but fiercely. I
realized how often I had moved through the world as a spectator,
admiring beauty without responsibility. Travel is not about collecting
moments, it is about connecting, acting, and caring.
I joined the effort immediately. I scooped out plastic bottles,
untangled debris, and watched the turtles swim freely into the water.
The wetland, which I had thought of as quiet and passive, suddenly
felt alive, watching me, testing me, teaching me. Every ripple I
disturbed carried a lesson, every creature I helped reminded me that
the world was fragile, yet resilient.
By evening, the sun dipped low, turning the water into a pool of
molten gold. The turtles were safe, the volunteers smiled, and I felt
a surge of gratitude, not for recognition, not for photographs, but for
the lesson the river had offered. It whispered a truth I could no
longer ignore: even small hands can make a difference, even young
travelers can act.
On the ride home, I replayed the day in my mind, the glint of sunlight
on water, the turtle’s struggle, the girl’s steady hands. I realized
that every journey I take from now on could carry meaning. I started
planting trees, volunteering at animal shelters, and speaking to
friends and family about protecting the environment. I understood that
travel is a dialogue between the world and me, not a one-way street.
Even at fourteen, I learned that age does not limit action. Every
choice, every effort, ripples farther than we imagine. The river,
silent and patient, had called my name, and I answered. From that day,
I have traveled not just to see the world, but to protect it.
Travel taught me that the world is full of stories, quiet, fragile, yet
powerful. And sometimes, if you stop and listen closely, it chooses
you to carry one forward. Look closely, act bravely, and remember:
even the smallest hand can change the course of life.
Thank you for taking the time to read my submission. I truly
appreciate your consideration.
Photo by kazuend on Unsplash
