You guess it started in middle school when you really related to that photosynthesis unit in intro Biology. Or maybe it was when you answered D to the following question on the BuzzFeed quiz, “Are You Actually a Sequoia Sempervirens?”:

Where do you feel most at home?

  1. The library
  2. A café
  3. The mall
  4. Nestled deep into the hearty soil of the Redwood National Forest

Nevertheless, you’ve started waking up in the middle of the night in the woods by your house, standing stiff and upright, swaying in the crisp breeze.

Maybe you’re going through something like Kafka’s Metamorphosis, or maybe it’s the other way around, you are actually just, like, a really evolved tree. That would mean your parents are redwood trees too. Why didn’t they tell you? Why didn’t they prepare you for the life ahead? Good God, you could live 2,000 years! You start to resent them for sending you, a small and feeble redwood, into the world of human beings, entirely unequipped. You begin to hate the way they blithely toss more wood on the fire, how they slaughtered those young Christmas trees, year after year, how they mistook the forest for the tree.

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