Living in South Korea, surrounded by sea on three sides and a closed border on the north, flying abroad isn’t a choice — it’s the only way out. When I board my flight to begin my exchange at the University of Leeds, I accept it as unavoidable. What I do once I land is within my control — and that is where my sustainability journey begins.
One reason for studying abroad is to broaden my perspective — to see new places and step outside my usual life. Travel is part of that, but I want it to follow SDG 13 (Climate Action): by train, rather than flying, whenever I explore Europe — booking through Trainline and Omio, crossing mainland Europe via Eurostar, and riding Nightjet for overnight routes. I’m drawn to night trains — South Korea doesn’t have them, so moving between cities this way feels different. It’s a slower way of moving through the world, letting a place stay with you rather than passing by it.
Leeds seems built for this mindset. It’s a walkable city with public transport, reflecting SDG 11 (Sustainable Cities and Communities). I won’t need a car — just my feet, a bus, or a train — the same philosophy I want to carry across Europe.
But sustainability isn’t only about big trips; it lives in small choices, in what I choose to keep rather than discard. I’ve worn my clothes for years instead of replacing them, and I want to bring that habit abroad. Anything I buy in Leeds won’t be an object — it will carry a memory of this exchange, making me want to look after it rather than discard it once the semester ends.
This same idea — caring for something because it carries meaning beyond itself — extends into a tradition among Korean exchange students: passing down household items. Rice cookers, kitchenware, bedding — handed from the student leaving to the one arriving, arranged through community platforms like Everytime or Naver cafes. For someone on a single-semester exchange, buying a rice cooker only to abandon it months later felt wasteful before I arrived. I plan to receive one from a student finishing their exchange, and when mine ends, pass it on to the next student, encouraging them to do the same rather than start from scratch. It’s a system that extends the lifespan of objects and spreads sustainable habits onward, an everyday expression of SDG 12 (Responsible Consumption and Production).
Sustainability abroad doesn’t have to be loud. It can be as quiet as a rice cooker changing hands, as deliberate as choosing a night train over a flight, as personal as wearing a jacket after the semester that gave it meaning has ended. What I receive during this exchange — an object, a place, a perspective — I want to care for well enough to pass on. That is what makes a study abroad experience sustainable: not just what I take in, but what I leave behind.
