Forest Fire Feels: My Epic Homecoming!

As a Gen Z survival enthusiast, I’ve always been obsessed with prepping for the apocalypse.

You know, binge-watching survival hacks on TikTok, hoarding freeze-dried food, and dreaming of outsmarting zombies in the wilderness.

So when my bestie, Zara, dared me to test my survival skills in a real outdoor adventure, I was like, “Bet. Let’s do this.”

Little did I know, this camping trip in the dense forests of Oregon would hit me with a plot twist wilder than a Netflix cliffhanger.

I spent weeks planning. My backpack was a masterpiece: a multi-tool, firestarter, water purifier, and enough energy bars to feed a small army. I even watched a YouTube tutorial on how to build a shelter with just sticks and vibes.

My Google searches were all “best survival gear 2025,” “prepping for beginners,” and “how to not die in the woods.” I was ready to flex my outdoor skills and prove I could survive anything.

Zara, on the other hand, was the opposite. She packed a cute tote with snacks, a portable charger, and her AirPods. “I’m here for the aesthetic,” she said, snapping a selfie with her “glamping” setup. I rolled my eyes but secretly loved her chaotic energy.

We hiked deep into the forest, the kind of place where your phone says “No Service” and you start questioning your life choices. The air smelled like pine and freedom, and I felt like a legit wilderness warrior.

We set up camp near a creek, perfect for my survival prepping flex. I built a lean-to shelter, started a fire with my flint (after, like, 20 tries), and purified water like I was starring in Bear Grylls: The Gen Z Edition.

That first night, we roasted marshmallows and laughed about how we’d survive an alien invasion. I felt unstoppable like I was born for the outdoors.

But then, around 2 a.m., I woke up to a rustling sound. My heart was pounding like a TikTok sound on loop. “Zara, you hear that?” I whispered, gripping my multi-tool like it was Excalibur.

“Probs just a squirrel,” she mumbled, half-asleep. But the rustling got louder, and I swear I saw a shadow move past our tent. My prepper brain went into overdrive: Bear? Wolf? Serial killer?

I grabbed my flashlight and peeked outside, ready to fight for my life. Nothing. Just the wind messing with me. Still, I barely slept, clutching my survival knife and rethinking my life choices.

The next morning, we decided to explore deeper into the forest. I was in full survival mode, checking my compass and marking trees like a pro.

Zara was vlogging, narrating her “wilderness glow-up” for her followers. We stumbled across an old, abandoned cabin—straight out of a horror movie. “Yo, this is giving Stranger Things,” I said, half-joking but lowkey spooked.

Against my better judgment, we went inside. The cabin was creepy but had old cans of food, a rusty axe, and a journal that looked ancient.

I flipped through it, expecting some survival tips from a long-lost prepper. Instead, I found a letter addressed to… me. Yeah, my actual name, written in shaky handwriting.

My stomach dropped. “Zara, look at this,” I said, my voice shaking. The letter read:

If you’re reading this, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner. Follow the creek north. You’ll understand everything. – Dad

My dad? He disappeared when I was 10, leaving me and Mom with nothing but questions. I thought he was gone for good—maybe dead, maybe just a deadbeat. My hands trembled as I read it again. Zara’s eyes were wide. “Bruh, this is wild. What do we do?”

I didn’t know, but my gut said to follow the creek. We packed up and trekked north, my heart racing with every step. Was this a prank? A coincidence?

My prepper skills kept me focused—stay calm, stay alert—but my emotions were a mess. I was angry, confused, and, honestly, a little hopeful.

Hours later, we reached a clearing. There was a small campsite, and sitting by a fire was… my dad. Older, grayer, but unmistakably him. I froze, my multi-tool slipping from my hand. “Dad?” I choked out.

He stood up, tears in his eyes. “I knew you’d find me,” he said. Turns out, he’d been living off-grid, prepping for years, haunted by mistakes he’d made.

He left to protect us, thinking it was safer if he was gone. The letter was his way of reaching out, hidden in that cabin, hoping I’d follow my love for survival and prepping to find him.

I wanted to scream, to hug him, to cry. Instead, I just stood there, processing. Zara, bless her, broke the tension with, “Okay, but this reunion needs a TikTok moment.” We laughed, and it felt like the first breath I’d taken all day.

We spent the night talking by the fire. He taught me outdoor survival tricks I’d never seen on YouTube, like how to trap small game and read the stars.

I was still mad, but I felt something else too—closure, maybe, or a chance to rebuild. Zara and I hiked back the next day, my heart heavier but lighter at the same time.

Now, I’m back home, still obsessed with survival gear and prepping tips, but with a new mission: to understand my dad and maybe bring him back into my life.

The outdoors didn’t just test my skills—it gave me a piece of my past I never expected to find.