I was bending down, helping a little girl with a pink schoolbag drop her milk carton into the recycling bin. It was the Chinese community’s market day, and CCET’s booth was swarmed with people. I held a "Proper Recycling" handbook in my hand, playing the "Garbage Home-Finding Game" with the kids: "Which bin does a drink bottle go in? Can expired food be turned into compost?"
A mom walked by, saw her daughter focusing on sorting, and smiled as she chatted with me: "I used to think recycling was such a hassle, but seeing my kid having so much fun with it—I’ll give it a go at home too!" That moment hit me: "environmental education" isn’t about lecturing with a stern face. It’s about turning knowledge into games that make kids’ eyes light up, then pulling the adults into the "eco-circle" right along with them.
That photo of me in a neon yellow vest, holding a hand tool? That was in a native rainforest on the outskirts of Auckland. Our job that day was to clear invasive species to make space for local plants. The mud was wet and sticky, caking my shoe soles, and a thorn had torn a small hole in my glove. But when I squatted down and saw ferns sprouting new shoots from the humus soil, my sore arms suddenly found a second wind.
A Kiwi volunteer with us said these trees were almost cut down decades ago—now, they’re slowly reclaiming their space, all thanks to repeated clearing and protection efforts. It dawned on me: "environmental protection" isn’t just a word in a textbook. You have to get down in the mud, touch it with your hands, work with it, to truly understand what "conservation" means.
The picture of me standing under the "Chinese Environmental Education Center" sign? That was right after I helped carry activity supplies into the center. Everything—from instruction manuals for recycling equipment to the binding of educational booklets—needed to be sorted and organized properly.
Once, while preparing for a community lecture, my friends and I turned waste materials into decorative paintings: petals cut from plastic bottles, stems rolled from old newspapers. When we hung them on the wall, they unexpectedly became the most popular "eco-exhibits." A grandma visiting stroked one painting and sighed: "Who knew trash could be used like this? I’ll revamp my grandson’s old toys when I get home!" See? Even "logistics work" like carrying boxes or doing crafts can quietly pass on the idea of "making the most of what you have."
In these photos from event sites, I’m either checking the location of recycling points with my buddies or "patrolling" in my neon vest. Once, an uncle was about to toss a drink bottle into a regular trash can. I hurried over to explain: "If we separate recyclables, we can cut down on a lot of waste!"
After listening, he turned the bottle around, carefully dropped it into the recycling bin, and patted my shoulder: "You’re right, kiddo!" That feeling of being recognized? It’s better than getting a top score on a test.
Now when I look back at these photos, I realize I wasn’t just doing "volunteer work": at the market, I was an "eco-game host"; in the rainforest, a "nature guardian"; at the center, a "creative preparer"; and at events, a "concept spreader." What CCET taught me is that environmental protection is never a one-person job. It’s when you bend down to teach a kid to sort trash, and the parents behind you are listening too; it’s when you clear weeds in the rainforest, and the people next to you start learning to identify invasive species. These little actions—they all add up to a big force for a greener world.
