By Felicia Kuan, Kennedy Murphy, Rachel Napolitan, Elena Wagner-Bagues, Sened Haddad | April 25, 2017 | Updated: April 25, 2017
I am staring at my plate, and I can hear my father’s voice in my head, “we don’t waste food in this house.” My plate is still halfway full, but I am completely full. As a final attempt to not have the chicken on my plate die in vain, I ask if any of the people sitting with me would like some of my food, but they all decline as they still have food on their plates as well. I am in the dining hall in the Benson Memorial Center at Santa Clara University. I walk over to the compost bin and guiltily scrape perfectly edible food into a compost bin that’s almost overflowing with other people’s food waste. I convince myself that it is not my fault, that they serve us too much food, and the food is not being wasted, it is being composted. But I still can not help but feel bad.