Once upon a time there was a guy called Zero.
Before Zero packed for Argentina, he tipped everything he owned onto the bedroom floor, not to flex his wardrobe, but to ask a quieter question: What can I leave behind?
A suitcase is a mirror. It reflects what you think you need to carry in order to become who you’re trying to be. Clothes. Shoes. Products. Fears. Most of it, Zero realised, was just noise.
On top of the pile was a soft cotton tee from a thrift stall in Christ Church, Barbados—his hometown. It didn’t shout. It settled. It smelled like sun and second chances. The stitching had been tested, the fabric softened by time. And that’s what made it beautiful.
It had lived many lives before the one it started with Zero,each one written into its folds like a quiet story.
He folded it once and placed it at the bottom of the suitcase. That was the first thing he decided to take.
Zero never had much growing up. But maybe that’s why he saw value where others saw waste. Old things were never thrown away—they were fixed, reused, handed down. Nothing was “just rubbish.” Even now, long after childhood, that instinct stayed with him. The habits he’d once seen as chores turned out to be quiet lessons in sustainability.
In Barbados, Zero had watched batts rock bay breathe plastic. Bags curled around reef stones like dead jellyfish. Food containers washed up like coral imposters. For a long time, he’d thought those problems belonged to someone else, until he realised he was someone else.
So he started small.
Less takeaway. More home-cooked meals with veg that didn’t come triple-wrapped. One water bottle, washed and reused. He shopped second-hand, wore clothes like stories. Not to look minimalist, but to feel lighter.
When he zipped the case for Buenos Aires, something shifted.
He wasn’t just packing clothes…he was packing a mindset.
One that could be unpacked anywhere, even with nothing in hand.
At a street market in Argentina, he would trade a hoodie for a hand-stitched jacket. Local. Pre-loved. No guilt. He ate meals that tasted like culture, not carbon. He walked. He reused. He spoke. Not perfectly, but purposefully.
Zero doesn’t have a climate science degree. He’s not perfect.
But he cares,and sometimes, that’s the first real weight to lift.
One shirt. One suitcase. One student.
If that can ripple across a friend, a class…a city; maybe packing light can help the world breathe easier.
And if that sounds small, just remember: oceans are made of drops.
Anyway, enough about that guy.
Hi. I’m Zero.
And here’s what I’ve learned:
You don’t need to have a lot to live with care.
You don’t need to be perfect to make a difference.
You just have to try.
You just have to care.
That alone can carry you further than any plane ticket.
—Zero Niles
University of Westminster London
W2079764@westminster.ac.uk
