Growing up in Singapore - a country just about 50 km (30 miles) long - came with some inherent challenges. With over 6 million people occupying a space you can traverse in just an hour by car, one can imagine how it might feel… cramped and overwhelming. Using that same amount of time to travel in Atlanta barely gets me out of the neighborhood, let alone across the entire country. It became immediately apparent upon moving here: the scale, the size, the possibilities for exploration - they were endless. This was the same country that had featured all these incredible things I’d only ever learned about through the TV.
We didn’t have streaming back then. We had to connect a 4-ft long antenna to our TV and wiggle it around until the picture was clear enough - then flip through channels until something we liked was on. In Singapore, watching programs of people climbing Denali, cars racing through the salt flats, or the wolves of Yellowstone - it was just unfathomable. I was whisked away by the magic of a world that lay far beyond the concrete horizons of Singapore. It gave me escape from a burdened childhood and filled me with hope; knowing the world was such a big place. Before I’d even encountered them, these places, animals, and experiences had already become dear to me.
I’ll admit - coming from South East Asia where we have wetlands galore, the wetlands of southeastern USA, though incredibly beautiful in their own right, have never really been at the core of my adoration. The mountains in Colorado, glaciers in Alaska, or massive expanses of desert out west are where my heart lies. Since moving here for high school, it became tradition for me to save up all my earnings from part-time jobs throughout the year and blow it all on one giant summer trip; I’d go backpacking, exploring these lands while giving myself a break from life.
Turns out, life didn’t get any less stressful, but the importance of the outdoors as a vehicle to sanity grew with each year.
As one of the regions I believe to be most in danger from climate change and most in need of support, I’ve spent the last few years working in the polar regions - the Arctic and Antarctic. However, due to the misinformation, illegal practices, and ecological genocide that the 2025 U.S. administration is inflicting upon the country, I felt it more important than ever to spend time in these lands that captivated my heart so many years ago.
It’s August 25, 2025, and I’ve just come back from spending nearly a month in the American Southwest. I was joined by two friends from Hong Kong and a friend from Atlanta who just so happened to also be out west on a road trip, following roughly the same route. As we made our way from Denver, Colorado, to Las Vegas, Nevada, we passed many sites I’d been to many times before; though with different people, during different eras of my life.
As my friends and I sat on High Dune, I was reminded of 2017, when I cowboy-camped at the base of a dune deep in the dune fields of Great Sand Dunes National Park. We’d severely underestimated the weight of our packs, the steepness of the dunes, how long it would take us to scale them, how cold it would get at night, and how warm it’d get during the day.
Driving down the Colorado River, I remembered the time I train-hopped with some vagabonds and hid out in the 14ers of the Chicago Basin (but that’s probably a story for another time - one I don’t think I’ll be ready to tell for another 10 years).
Sitting at Delicate Arch, I was transported to 2019, when the COVID lockdowns went into effect while I was out west camping with my sister. Getting to enjoy Arches National Park all by ourselves was such a special moment - something I’ll hopefully never get to experience again, as much as I want to. I’d never seen Arches like this - devoid of any humans, leaving the scale entirely up to us to absorb.
We’re hiking the infamous Angel’s Landing in Zion National Park. It’s my fourth time here, but I’m remembering the first. I was helping my friend move cross-country on a giant road trip from Atlanta to San Francisco - and we decided to stop and hit up random places along the way. Zion happened to be one of them. At the time, we literally didn’t know anything. Had no idea what Zion was, didn’t know what Angel’s Landing was - there wasn’t even a permit or lottery system required to hike it. The two of us idiots rocked up in flip-flops with a single bottle of water between us. Through all the scrapes and blisters, we made it to the top and back, laughing at our idiocy the whole time.
Friendships were made and forged on these lands. Relationships were established, broken, or reconciled here. Countless hours of tears shed - from both laughter and sorrow. Blood spilled, through both stupidity and as proof of accomplishment. It’s on these lands that I pushed my mind and body past limits I never thought possible as I scaled mountains and hiked trails. It’s on these lands that I’ve healed and regained the humanity I’d lost in the city.
It’s in these lands that we’re able to escape from the horrors of modern civilization. It’s out in nature that I feel most at home. It’s when I’m listening to water run, leaves rustle, birds sing, bears growl, thunder roar, watching sunrises, marveling at the pink glow of the Belt of Venus. It’s where I feel the most connected and welcomed, despite being just a small part of something much larger. Perhaps that’s the joy of it all
The National Park Service has, and always will be, America’s best idea. Increasingly, it’s looking like it really will just be an idea, and not a reality. As the Trump administration moves to dismantle everything that makes America truly great and unleashes the hell that drilling, mining, and oil companies are about to impose upon us, I hope more people will stand against this assault on the environment. With 2024 setting record visitation numbers, more people than ever are showing interest in the outdoors and our National Parks. Hopefully, this means there will be more pressure placed on those in charge - so they can truly represent the wishes of the people, not billionaires.
There is hope. Not all is lost. The environment is in a horrible state globally, but it is not too late.
Since 2024, the Georgia Conservancy has been leading efforts to pass legislation for more protections in the Okefenokee region - with a middling degree of success. Just two months ago in June, The Conservation Fund purchased land that was under threat of exploitation by the heavy mineral mining company Twin Pines. The property, all 8,000 acres of it, borders the Okefenokee Swamp: one of the rare dark sky sites in the southeastern U.S., and home to over 15,000 alligators. Sewage from the mine would have polluted the Okefenokee, surely destroying everything in it. While my donations were ultimately insignificant compared to the $60 million purchase price, I’d like to think my very vocal and public advocacy played a part - however small.
Never, ever neglect the power of our voice. Never underestimate the power of an individual—because it’s never just us. We are never the only person out there feeling a certain way about something.
Before I get too off-topic, I’d like to end with this:
Happy 109th Birthday to the National Park Service.
Thank you to the park rangers, volunteer staff, & SAR that make recreating in the outdoors safe for everyone, including the animals. Your efforts do not go unrecognised. It feels wrong to celebrate something so under heavily under threat, but it also feels more important than ever to do so.
As always, thank you all for reading. What’s your favourite National Park? I’m undecided, but Arches and Kenai Fjords NP are some of my favourites!