There’s more than one way to do something, and the way we choose becomes our story.
The story of a book.
When I was made, the elders told me that trees were uprooted, they were stripped off their bark, and cut into small pieces known as wood chips. The wood chips were cooked, and lignin was dissolved. Lignin is what makes trees stand tall and look dignified. Scientists—those folks in white coats—call it an organic polymer, a large molecule that has many small molecules of the same type. But the elders said the trees didn’t want to lose their large molecule, they liked to stand tall and look dignified, that’s what let them cast their shade, it made them who they were.
Without lignin, the wood chips became soft and pulpy, then they were re-coloured with bleach. What’s wrong with being brown in colour, I asked? I would have liked my pages to be brown. However, here I am with white pages.
Then the bleached pulp was pressed into paper that was ready to be inked. I was told that the planet sighed, while I was being inked. Really, why, I asked? The elders knew the answer, they had seen a lot. The planet sighed because carbon compounds were being released in the atmosphere, the planet knew that this would be disastrous over time. Now these carbon compounds have collected in the atmosphere and have made the planet uncomfortably warm. How could it not sigh?
The story of another book will follow soon.