Narrated by: My Backpack.
I’ve been slung over shoulders in countless cities, crushed under textbooks, left behind at cafes. I’ve held snacks, secrets, and occasionally shame. But tonight is different. My human is packing for her exchange trip to South Korea, and for once, she is packing with intention. No frantic overstuffing, no just-in-case-you-never-know junk. She is quiet, focused. I sit here, wondering what kind of journey this will be.
Usually, travel means chaos for me. Spilled shampoo, crumpled airport receipts, overpriced souvenirs — I’ve seen it all. This time, she pauses, examining each item before packing them carefully. I watch as she turns a metal water bottle over in her hands before slotting it into my side compartment. First come the usual suspects: passport, socks, well-worn childhood teddy. But they are followed by bamboo cutlery, fabric shopping bags, a reusable menstrual cup. I’m used to being stuffed with disposable clutter. I feel different this time. Lighter, in a way that matters. I feel that I’m not just carrying things, but purpose.
In Korea, we walk. A lot. To Sogang University, to the local cafe with the refill station, to the hanok-style secondhand bookstore. We ride the bus and subway, the Seoul Climate Card like a golden ticket, always tucked away in pride of place in my front pocket. I’m never crammed into taxis or stuffed with impulse shopping. Instead, I hold a metal lunchbox; a camera, with photos of more mountains and beaches than malls and bars; a cap purchased from the vintage market.
My human joins a local clean-up along the Han River, sorting plastic from paper, chatting with locals in clumsy Korean all the while. That night, she slides a note into my pocket: “SDG 11: sustainable cities begin with shared care.” I didn’t even know we were taking notes. Soon, our trusty notebook is full to the brim with ideas. A Korean-English zine on low-impact travel for students. A list of zero-waste shops in Seoul. Interviews with locals on environmental and cultural respect. I don’t pretend to understand it all. I’m just proud to carry these things, proud to be a part of her quiet activism. I am lighter, yet fuller. Every day my seams hold a little more meaning.
I know I’ll still be with her when we return home. Maybe with more wear and tear, perhaps a few stains, but also with something more: proof. Proof that it’s possible to travel as a guest, to move without damage, to leave fewer scars on the places that welcome us. When we head home, we’ll be carrying less waste and much more wisdom. And I’ve learned something too. The weight we choose to carry isn’t measured in kilos. It’s measured in care. This time, we’re carrying all the right things.
