Confessions of a serial polluter


Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned.

Sorry I haven’t spoken to you in a while. It’s just… I can’t stop thinking about what I’ve done. Or, rather, what I continue to do. It sits at the back of my head and festers like an old ham sandwich hidden in the crevices of my school bag. Should I tell you what it is? It all seems very blurry to me now, looking back. The colours, the noise, the pure adrenaline pulsing through my veins...

Yes. It is what you think it is. You don’t know what it’s like, to hold a revolting piece of rubbish in your hands for minutes on end, praying that a bin will come your way. Alas, it didn’t, and I found myself sneakily dropping the rubbish in the grass and moving on. And then there was the time I went to Echuca for the weekend and didn’t turn any power points off. I eat my genetically modified food in a plastic wrapper and take thirty-minute showers each morning and night.

What can I say? I know what I’m doing is wrong, but really, why should I change my ways? I have the power to either pick up a piece of rubbish or walk past it. I could take shorter showers. I could bring my lunch to work in reusable containers. But I don’t choose to do any of these things. I’m quite content to rely on some young, passionate, fresh-out-of-university greenie to eat enough lettuce for the both of us.


Confessions of a serial polluter (Anushki De Cruze / Australian Catholics)