I remember hurriedly running home on a Monday in November after my classes were done so I could sneak in some tennis before I had to start homework. I was excited for Thanksgiving break, which was quickly approaching that Thursday. It would be a much needed break from the recent personal issues I was facing, along with the mass of work I had to do. My relief, however, was quickly matched with growing concern and anxiety.

 

I bent down to pick up a tennis ball, and looked up to the sky and saw a plume of smoke coming from the mountains. I was alarmed, but still cautious about the source of the smoke. I continued playing, trying to ignore the massive problem that was right in front of my face, until the growth of the smoke became too pervasive. I was afraid of the peril I might face on my way home, with possible road closures, etc. I got in my car quickly, went home, and much to my dismay found out from the news that a fire had broken out in the area of Highway 154, an area I was very familiar with from living there the previous year. It was around 6 p.m. by that point, and I was unaware of the long tiresome night I had ahead of me.

 

The news was never turned off that night, as the map with the mandatory evacuation zones was growing seemingly by the minute, inching closer and closer to Patterson Avenue, which was directly perpendicular to my apartment. I wasn’t sure what to do, as I had a massive amount of things to pack if I needed to evacuate. I sat with my eyes peeled on the TV pacing my living room constantly, not being able to focus on anything else (much less the homework I had due the next day). I continually looked out my window during the night and every time I returned the spark I once saw grew to a fierce glow that seemed like if I reached outside my window I could touch it. This was enough to send my anxiety into shock, and I felt helplessly insane. Who would help me? Who would check in on me in this situation?

 

By midnight, the evacuation zone had still not quite reached my area but was just above it. I decided to go to sleep, but with alarms to wake me up at certain points every hour to check things out. Little did I know I wouldn’t be able to sleep from the buzzing planes sent to the burning area that would shake my apartment every few minutes. I was worried, not only about my own health and safety, but about others in my area as well. While my friends were safely and soundly sleeping in Isla Vista or on campus, there I was basically alone and highly unprepared. I was riddled with fear about missing school due to this setback (yes, I know crazy) and felt distressed at the potential that my professors wouldn’t understand my situation. I eventually fell asleep around 5 a.m., waking up around 10 a.m. to find out the fire had burned 4,200 acres already with 0% containment. I rode through the next few days as my fear was settled little by little. Going outside was met with breathing in the thick air, an aspect I didn’t want to face, so I largely stayed inside. 

 

I was constantly messaging that night with the Nexus news team, mostly due to my inability to post breaking news because I was quite literally involved and affected by the breaking news. It was a breath of relief to see that school was cancelled for the rest of the week, but it baffled me that Chancellor Yang sent an email writing that the fire posed “no threat to our campus.” It left me questioning the Chancellor’s priority and attention towards the safety of his students, many of whom live off-campus for access to more affordable housing. It felt like a cop-out, one that distanced UCSB students from the Santa Barbara community, and the 15,000 houses threatened in our county. Other students took issue with the Chancellor’s statement as well, noting on social media his lack of empathy for the community and his delayed response in cancelling classes.

 

I learned something very important that night — we really don’t know what it’s like to live through such an extreme and uncontrollable disaster caused by the drought, heat, and high winds caused by climate change, until we experience it ourselves. Before I moved to California, I knew about the rampant fire season and the prevalence of earthquakes, but nothing about this phased me. While I did experience a scary California earthquake before the “Cave Fire”, I was naively unaware of just how frightening an experience like that could be. This experience was scary, but it reignited and reinforced my passion for environmental studies, and my interest in studying and being compassionate towards the citizens of California who weren’t as lucky as I was, who had to evacuate or lose their homes. A very important aspect of studying environmental issues is discovering and learning about personal accounts and experiences in order for us to build emotional intelligence and resilience to ignite action towards impactful action.