Over a year ago, just before my 16th birthday, I was returning home from a 2-week cultural exchange program in China that my school in Connecticut sponsored. It was on this plane flight that I read Conor Grennan’s book, Little Princes, about his life-changing experience in Nepal during civil unrest. Beyond the subtle humor and romance was a story I believed more compelling than any Artemis Fowl or Harry Potter could contend with. I felt everything from a shrill delight in Conor’s ability to escape the perilous Nepali Mountains and meet his fated love, Liz, in the most cliché of scenarios, to the utter anguish he felt in realizing that the “herd of rambunctious, resilient children” he’d believed to be orphans for a month were not orphans at all. It then dawned upon me that I didn’t want to simply be a spectator, an onlooker to this story; I wanted to be a part of it. And then a few months later, I actually was.
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