Leon Gubler

We arrived in Sri Lanka a week ago, and from the moment we stepped into the 5-star resort, it felt like we’d landed in a travel brochure. Palm trees, infinity pool, fruit platters shaped like swans. My parents were in heaven. I was trying to act cool, scrolling on my phone and pretending I wasn’t impressed. But honestly, it was paradise—and absurdly cheap, compared to what we’re used to in Zurich, Switzerland.

I’m 16, and I’ve lived my whole life in a big house overlooking Lake Zurich. We have two cars, a robotic lawn mower, and a fridge that talks. My parents have always tried to shield me from anything uncomfortable—poverty, conflict, even bad weather if they can help it.

A few days into our trip, we planned a visit to a temple in Colombo. But the taxi driver got lost and dropped us in a chaotic neighborhood full of noise, broken sidewalks, and people staring at us like we didn’t belong. And we didn’t. There were no taxis. No one spoke English. And suddenly, our matching linen outfits and fancy sandals looked ridiculous.

We walked for over an hour through dusty streets where kids ran barefoot and entire families sat under plastic tarps. My mom kept saying, “Just keep walking.” My dad was sweating like crazy and trying to hide his gold watch. I’d never seen them so rattled.

That walk changed something in me. I’d never seen real poverty up close. It made me angry that I didn’t know. Angry that it’s so easy for people like us to pretend it’s not there. That evening, back at our private pool, no one said much. The air felt heavy, like we were all thinking the same thing but didn’t know how to say it.

That night, I made a quiet promise to myself: I don’t want my world to stay small and soft. One day, I’ll break out of the bubble I was born into. I know it’s a privilege just to be able to choose that. And I won’t forget it.