At seventeen-years-old, I am a young, American girl who loves her fair share of boys and bags. From Bloom, Efron, and Reynolds to Burberry, Chanel, and Coach – I would consider myself a fairly normal teenage girl. However, I do believe that there are other aspects to life which do not include Zac Efron’s perfectly defined eight pack nor Chanel’s new $3,000 calfskin tote bag. Don’t get me wrong, I most definitely admire the time and money that Mr. Efron puts into sculpting his beautiful stomach, as well as the craftsmanship that goes into designing the remarkable and world renowned Chanel handbags, but I wouldn’t mind exploring some new territory every time I catch up with my fellow seventeen-year-old friends.


For instance, a few years ago I traveled to Kenya, Africa with my family. We visited villages and orphanages in the most rural areas. I saw the most horrific and devastating parts to life, heard tragic stories, and came back from that trip completely changed. I had seen extreme malnourishment with my own eyes. I had seen the effects of HIV/AIDS with my own eyes. I had heard the stories behind these beautiful people with my own ears.


A few weeks after that experience, I sat down with four friends and began to tell them about my experiences in Africa. As they slurped down their caramel
frappacinos, their eyes grew in horror as they learned that “No, the Kenyan children I had met did not have a Starbucks and no, they do not always get to eat every day.” Almost as if my voice was the wind and my story was a howling side effect to a wind storm, they preceded to dismiss my story as well as my existence. What did they start talking about just a few seconds after I had finished my story? They began to discuss the condition of their cuticles and how they were each in desperate need of a manicure.


I left the group of girls in disgust and meandered my way into the girl’s bathroom where I thought about the ignorant nature to these teenagers. I hoped with all of my heart that this was not the reality of America. Throughout the years following this incident, I have unfortunately come to learn that this is the reality of American society.


One does not need to travel across the world to Africa in order to understand the other sides to life. The Internet is a wonderful and addictive invention. Instead of spending an hour and a half on Facebook, one could easily stroll onto Huffington Post for fifteen minutes and expose them selves to the harsh reality of our world. It does not take hours nor cause physical pain; all it takes is some will power and a wanting to be aware.


I am not dismissing the teenage girl’s natural urge to please her eyes or her closet, but I am simply stating that there are more important things in life than boys and bags.