How I Filmed The Entire Planet

Harshitha satish, Masters LLM

Image: Jiatong Jin

My journey began somewhere in the early 19th century, born from the mind of an inventor who lived by the motto: "Necessity is the mother of all inventions." I was an accident, yet I was welcomed into society faster than I could comprehend. From my humble beginnings in England, I have grown exponentially. To borrow the words of a great traveller, "The farther I travel, the closer I am to myself." Today, there are few places on Earth I have yet to tread.

Like all things, I started as a single molecule. Strength, malleability, and durability were woven into my very existence, making me adaptable to any condition. I became inseparable from what people call ‘nature’, reflecting back at them like an infinite mirror maze.

Yet, despite my versatility, I was never cherished. I was passed from hand to hand, discarded thoughtlessly, taken for granted. I multiplied—until I could no longer count my own kind. When I saw myself everywhere, I began to wonder: was I suffering from some me-obsessive syndrome?

One careless act led to another, and soon, I found my population outgrowing what even 1.5 Earths could not sustain. Billions of years had sculpted this paradise, where life thrived for millions more—yet in less than two centuries, I had helped transform it into whatever-it-is-today. And the best part? I did nothing.

I could have remained an abandoned experiment. But no—they celebrated my existence, awarded Nobel Prizes to those who perfected me. And I have never felt worse about myself.

A philosopher once said, "The more you know yourself, the more clarity there is." So I turned inward. My realization hit hard: while I had served science in remarkable ways, I had been misused in far greater measure. Now, I am omnipresent. People walk over me, discard me, ignore me—as unconsciously as they drink water. I fear we have reached that point where the world's most successful motivational speakers say: "There is no looking back."

The Earth can hold no more of me. I am strewn across its surface—above, below, in between, suffocating land and sea. And now, as I listen to voices crying “Go Green. Save the Planet," I wonder—am I truly to blame?

I was, after all, an accident. My growth from singularity has been no less spectacular than the Big Bang.

And by the way, they all call me Plastic.