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# A History of the World in 100 Objects<br>## Chris Cecilie<br>***<br><br>## The Exposure<br>***<br><br>I still have the image embedded in my mind. I remember the sweat enrobing my skin and the stench of the dead as I held the picture. My cousin had left it on the bed in our guest room, which I had converted into my own bedroom. I was 12 years old at the time and I sat staring at the large, oblong image that made me ask for the first time why I was born into this situation. The image was that of a man, standing on the left side of the frame, with his upper half severed from his lower. His dark skin seemed to glow against the soft grey of the misty sky above. His legs still standing, holding his lower half up as if nothing had happened. It terrified me. I thought of all the dead bodies I'd seen, all the bloodshed I'd witnessed, and all the war I'd endured. This image enforces the desperation of the situation in Burundi. A simple photo, but a photo that holds a history unlike any other. <br><br>***<br><br>## My History<br>***<br><br>I was born in Burundi. A small country in East Africa. We were ravaged by war for the first 15 years of my life until we escaped. The war was over which ethnicity group deserved to run the country. We were the minority. The Exposure made me ask why. Why do we have to live like this? Why can't we be allowed to live like other. I was born in this situation. This was my norm. But that day, it was different. It forced me to appreciate the life I had, my family, my friends, and my home. The situation was not ideal, but it was better than it would be in enclaves with the thousands of others who lost their homes. I did not lose my home. My house in Burundi still stands. I was extremely fortunate to be allowed to live in a country where I could live in peace. I was forced to ask myself why I was allowed to live like this while my neighbors were forced to live in those conditions. The Exposure showed me that I did not deserve to be alive. I do not have the power to change the past. I don't know why I have made it this far. I don't know why I was born into this situation. I don't know why I lived while my neighbors died. I do not know why I was allowed to leave. I don't know why my family still stands. I do not know why. <br><br>***<br><br>## History<br>***<br><br>**The Morning before I left.**<br><br>We were packed into the car, we had made our escape. We left behind friends, family, our home. We left behind everything. I didn't ask why. I didn't know why I made it out. I didn't know why we were being born into this situation. I didn't know why we were allowed to escape. I don't know why I was allowed to leave. I never asked why.<br><br>**Our First Morning in the new world.**<br><br>We were settled into our new home in the United States. I was still 12, but everything felt different. My surroundings were new, my neighborhood was familiar. I was allowed to go outside, to walk alone, to live. I was allowed to live. I never asked why.<br><br><br>**My First Day in the United States.**<br><br>I sat in class for the first time as a seventh grader. I had never learned in this way before. In Burundi we didn't attend schooling like we do here. It was different. I didn't have the same education. I didn't have the same level of knowledge. I was like an elementary student. I did not know how to read and write in English. I did not know why. I didn't know why I was able to leave. I never asked why. I did not know why I was able to get an education like this.<br><br>**Life after the Morning before I left.**<br><br>Now I sit in a small coffee shop in Provo, Utah. A single man, on my own path, weeks away from my college graduation. I have become a man in the US. A man who did not ask why. A man who made it out. A man who lived. I still sit in that small coffee shop, staring at this picture. A man who wonders why he made it. I still sit in that coffee shop, still staring at that picture. I have sat there for the past two hours. My friends have texted me. My family has called me. I think this is the first time I have ever seriously thought about my past. My past is made up of moments in my life where I have thought about. That day in our guest room, that morning on which we left, my first day in the new world, my first day in a US classroom, and this day, as I sit in this coffee shop. These are the moments throughout my life when I thought about why. I think this is the first time I have ever seriously thought about my past. I still do not know why. I do not know why I made it. I do not know why I was allowed to escape. I do not know why I was born into this situation. I feel I have been given a life I did not deserve. A life I have not earned. I am a man who has not earned the life I am living now. I did not do anything to deserve this life. I was given a chance. A chance that many do not get. I have not earned this chance. I don't know why I have made it. I don't know why I have been allowed to continue living. I do not know why. <br><br>***<br><br>## Conclusion<br>***<br><br>I still sit in this coffee shop, staring at this picture. I still ask myself why. Why have I made it? Why have I been allowed to live? I do not know why. I just want to be able to make a difference in the world. I don't know why I have made it, but I want to make a difference in the world. I want to leave a mark, an impact. I want to be able to change someone's life. I want to be able to show them a picture and have them cry. I do not know why I have made it, but I want to be able to be able to leave my mark on someone's life. I want to be able to leave a mark, an impact, on the world. I do not know why I have made it, but I hope that I can leave a mark, an impact, on the world. I still sit in this coffee shop staring at this picture. I still ask myself why, but it seems that the only thing I can do is leave a mark, an impact, on the world.