In the Arb, I Cosplay Buddha

Pakistan’s ever-growing cities rarely leave space for nature.  As an international student from this bustling scene, the 880 acres of Cowling Arboretum at Carleton College became the site where I developed and nurtured a sacred relationship with nature, and by extension, with myself. 

An aspiring arb enthusiast, I would try to meditate. But I couldn’t fully relax: there were bugs! What if I got bitten? What if I got an infection? What if-?

To confront my what-ifs, I sat on the muddy banks of the Cannon River and let its infinity of bugs swarm me. I walked out stung and swollen, but the pain I did experience was quieter than the fear my mind was anticipating: I was fine. 

And that surprised me. Somehow, I always turned out fine. Despite the many solo adventures I have undertaken in the arb – falling from tall trees, slipping into waters that could have churned me alive, balancing myself on sharp rocks for funsies – I have walked out scratched, bruised, injured and bleeding, but somehow still in one piece. 

The arb helped me develop trust. I started to leave behind my phone, then my watch. I would go in without my water bottle, eventually also my OneCard that would let me back into my dorm. I stopped tracking where I was walking. For hours. And somehow, I always returned home. Home wasn’t in the arb, but neither was it my dorm, nor the house in Pakistan where my parents live. The arb showed me that home is inside me, and taught me how to reach for it regardless of space and time.

Over time, the arb became sacred: I started feeling nervous approaching it. I now go into nature with humility, gratitude and an appreciation for the life in the arb: squirrels that sprint up and down tall trees; bunnies that keep a keen eye on you; geese that hiss at you because they think you’ll take their (chugly) babies; deer that just stare at you from a distance. I have long wished for my Cinderella moment, where animals that have evolved to avoid apex predators make an exception, and warm up to me. Much to my dismay, life around me is constrained by factors I can’t comprehend. The arb showed me that you can’t force your connections. 

The one time I did force my friendship on another creature was when I plucked a freshwater mussel from the river and brought it to our spring concert. My friends and I named it Goby; it matched my outfit! It was later in the night that I noticed it was still alive: opening and closing, probably super confused. So I returned it to the river the next morning. It made me reflect: I was able to use another form of life as a prop only because I happened to have power over it. With my friends, I joke about how I plan on abusing power if I ever have a lot of it, but the arb taught me that it would come with a weight on my conscience. And probably also injuries (trigger warning!)

The arb teaches its lessons at a cost. The cost is the pain you will endure exercising, meditating, climbing, falling, and failing. Sooner or later, you will forget the pain. It will become a memory. In the arb, I learned that being able to forget was one of the biggest gifts of my human experience. The arb reminds me to appreciate the here and the now: that at any moment, I can choose the story I tell. 

Zainab (she/her/hers) is a rising junior from Pakistan. A Physics major, she is the founder of Carleton’s Futures Thinking and Foresight Club, a member of Semaphore, and passionate about singing. When not in class, she can be found side questing in the arb, learning some new skill, or wandering across Downtown Northfield.

Zainab has a background in climate activism and journalism. With over thirty publications in Urdu and English, she serves as a Youth Advisor to Pakistan’s Prime Minister, represents Pakistan to the United Nations’ Youth Force, and has worked with UNICEF for grassroots climate organization.