December 11 – Arrival
Somewhere above the Amazon, still on the plane, I thought about the girl I once was—the girl who imagined, almost stubbornly, that one day she would walk inside a COP. I don’t think she understood how heavy that dream could feel once it became real.
Belém received me the way only a Latin American city can: with heat that climbs your skin, colors that refuse to stay quiet, and a sense of life that spills onto every corner. I felt held. I felt overwhelmed. I felt home, but in a way that was also foreign.
At the Casa Vozes dos Oceanos, I walked under a fishing net filled with plastic pulled from the sea. Above my head hung a map of everything we’ve done wrong. Below my feet, a city fighting to breathe and between those two truths walked me, someone learning, failing, and trying again. Later, in the Ver-o-Peso market, I tasted fruits that somehow fused sweetness with sadness. They stayed with me, not only on my tongue, but in the part of my memory that aches. As we watched police clear out unhoused people, I understood that Belém wasn’t going to let me hide from contradictions.
This COP would not be only about climate. It would be about justice, and all the ways we fail at it. I met Indigenous women selling crafts, faces marked by sun, resilience, and stories that felt older than the city itself. Their presence told me more about climate truth than any negotiating room ever could.
December 12 — Education as a Form of Resistance
Our delegation shared our stories, our homes, our fears. I listened, carrying my own identity gently, the way you carry something fragile in your hands. We then joined to watch a panel on creating a UWC in the Amazon, where Gui was one of the panelists. Klever (alumni from UWC Costa Rica), Ariel, Jens, and others spoke about education not as a system but as something alive, something that breathes with the forest instead of replacing it. I discovered the importance of the UWC community.
I realized how desperately the world needs schools that don’t reproduce harm and how desperately COP spaces need people who speak softly but with depth.
December 13 — My First Blue Zone Day
My hands were shaking when I picked up my accreditation. The Blue Zone felt like stepping into another planet. Negotiators in suits rushing, screens flashing, private meetings behind glass walls… and me, a young Latina trying to understand where I fit.
Two worlds lived side by side at COP:
- One polished, air-conditioned, credential controlled.
- The other outside, loud, human, sweating, surviving.
The distance between them felt violent.
Klever and Ariel helped me find my way through the chaos. Without them, I think I would have dissolved into the crowd. There were moments of FOMO, moments of awe, and moments where I wondered if this whole system was designed for just adults. Supporting the #Decarbonize manifesto reminded me why I was there: youth carrying truths the adults sometimes forget.
When a woman from Mountains of the Sentinels offered me a Blue Zone pass for another day, I felt truly seen. Thanks to the contacts who introduced me to her, I was able to form meaningful connections that went beyond a simple visit. It wasn’t just an offer, it was a moment that made me feel welcomed, supported, and part of something larger. Walking out to meet Cam, I couldn’t contain my excitement. If I could live inside the Blue Zone, I probably would. But even then, a question quietly followed me.
What does it mean to fall in love with a space that also excludes so many?
This evening, I went to a concert at the Cultural Pavilion and listened to Loica Music, a Pearson College Alumna and now an incredible artist. Her performance was beautiful, intimate, and full of emotion. Meeting her there, in such an unexpected place so far from home, felt like a reminder of how small and interconnected our worlds can be. It grounded me in the middle of the chaos of the summit, and it was one of those moments that stays quietly in your heart.
December 14 — A Day in the Green Zone
The Green Zone felt more human. More chaotic. More alive.
At Amnistia Internacional’s “Tambo nao Clima” event, drums echoed like heartbeats. We listened to powerful testimonies about fossil fuels destroying rights and histories. Food became activism—flavors telling stories of land, resistance, and belonging.
Amnesty presented a global report that still echoes in my mind: “Fossil fuel infrastructure is putting the rights of 2 billion people and critical ecosystems at risk.” I remember sitting there, feeling the weight of every word. This report wasn’t just data, it was a warning, a map of violence, a list of wounds the world keeps reopening. And yet, within all the heaviness, the language felt human. Clear. Honest. Amnesty does that, they talk about climate change without hiding the human cost behind technical vocabulary. One of the most meaningful moments was listening to activists and researchers from Amnesty talk about communities facing extractivism, displacement, contaminated water, and state violence. A phrase that stuck in my mind was that instead of naming hurricanes and typhoons after people, we should call them by the names of those large extractive companies that cause them.
And again, I wondered:
Why is the Green Zone full of people who feel the crisis, while the Blue Zone is full of people negotiating it?
December 15 — The March
Walking with Latin Americans in the Climate March felt like returning to a piece of myself I didn’t know I had lost.
I saw photos of murdered environmental defenders.
I met Thiago Ávila (Brazilian humanitarian and climate activist), someone who shaped my understanding of activism long before I ever boarded a plane. I saw Peruvians marching, crying, singing, dancing. And I cried too.
Belém became a drum, and thousands of us beat in unison.
December 16 — The People’s Summit
Listening to Raoni (Indigenous activist), ministers, and Indigenous leaders at the Federal University of Pará was like watching history lean forward. Justice isn’t a concept here, it’s a body, breathing, bleeding, dancing.
The banquetasso was joy as protest. Food as politics. Community as strength.
December 17 — Back to the Blue Zone
Thanks to Klever, we had passes for the rest of the week.
The day was full of conferences, press briefings, actions, like the Greenpeace artist painting inside a toxic transparent cube. People stopped because discomfort forced them to. That’s the kind of climate communication I believe in: unavoidable.
At a Canadian networking event, I found unexpected connections: MSF (Médecins Sans Frontières – Doctors Without Borders) workers, British Columbia Provincial Parks staff, policy people. Seeds planted everywhere that I want to take care of.
December 19 — Women and Climate
We heard Marina Silva (Minister of Environment in Brazil), and Brazil’s First Lady Janja speak on women and climate change—clear, fierce, grounded. Then came the waiting. Two hours hoping Lula (Luis Ignacio Silva – Brazilian President) would appear. He didn’t. But the governor of Pará did, and I managed to ask the C40 representative a question in Spanish.
A tiny act of resistance in a space that often forgets Spanish exists.
December 20 — The Fire
This was supposed to be a celebratory day: my panel for Terre des Hommes Germany, with representatives from the German government and the UN.
Thirty minutes later, smoke, confusion. No alarms. I interrupted a panel to tell people to evacuate. The surreal feeling of being in the “safest,” most “organized” space of the COP, while the safety system failed.
Two worlds again: those protected, and those pretending to be.
December 21–22 — Final Lessons
The Rainbow Warrior smelled like courage.
The Belém Package consultations felt like doors half-closed.
The People’s Plenary felt like the truth, stories from Palestine, Indigenous leaders, activists naming the links between war and climate injustice.
On the flight back, in the Bogotá airport, we listened to the final plenary.
Disappointment mixed with pride, because the loudest voices were Latin American.
Read about fellow student Guilherme’s COP30 experience HERE.