Houseplants have quietly rooted themselves into Gen Z culture, like those guests who came over once and never really left. Scroll through any feed and you’ll find sunlit windowsills crowded with monsteras stretching like they own the place, pothos vines creeping like quiet guardians, and tiny succulents sitting on the desks as if they pay rent with vibes. What used to be simple decoration has taken on a personality of its own. Somewhere along the way, plants stopped being objects and started becoming companions, small responsibilities, and, for some, an oddly accurate reflection of who they are.

It’s not just about the plants themselves, but the little world that has grown around them. Nurseries feel less like stores and more like sanctuaries. There are plant swaps, online communities, and people casually referring to themselves as “plant parents” with the same seriousness and humour. It’s a soft kind of culture, one that doesn’t demand attention but gently grows into your life. And before you realise it, you’re no longer just someone who owns a plant. You’re someone who checks on it, worries about it, and celebrates a new leaf like it’s a personal achievement!

So, why has this quiet little habit grown into something so big? For many Gen Zs, plants offer a kind of comfort that feels almost rare today. In a world filled with constant notifications, deadlines, and the quiet pressure of uncertainty, plants exist at a completely different pace. They simply grow, slowly and steadily, asking only for small, consistent care, instead of demanding instant attention or perfection. Watering a plant after a long day, turning it towards the sunlight,  trimming a leaf, or noticing the first curl of new growth becomes a quiet ritual. It pulls attention away from screens and into something tangible and alive. There is no urgency in it. No competition… No noise. Just a simple exchange of care. Maybe that’s why Gen Z holds onto it so closely. Because in all the noise, plants offer something rare. A kind of calm that doesn’t demand anything back, yet still makes you feel like you’re doing something right and you’re making progress.

And maybe it's not just the calm and comfort. There’s something meaningful about being responsible for something alive. For many Gen Zs, life can still feel a bit in-between. Not quite settled, not quite stable. Pets can be expensive, time-consuming, and a full commitment. Vet bills, food, constant attention, and the guilt of leaving them alone all day. It’s not always realistic. Plants, in a way, become that first step into nurturing. They don’t ask for everything, but they ask for enough. And when you keep one alive, when it actually grows instead of… slowly giving up on you, it feels like a small win. A tiny, green proof that you can care for something, that you can be consistent, that something is thriving because of you. It’s a kind of accomplishment that is  nothing loud or showy. Just a new leaf, unfolding like a soft “you’re doing alright.”

Simultaneously, there’s also the aesthetic layer of it, where plants start becoming part of a visual identity. You see it woven into so many styles Gen Z gravitates toward: cottagecore with its soft, nostalgic, garden-like charm; goblincore with its love for moss, cluttered natural oddities, and earthy chaos; fairycore with delicate vines, dried flowers, and almost storybook-like greenery; forestcore with deep greens, wood textures, and the feeling of being tucked away in something ancient and overgrown. It’s not accidental. Plants are one of the easiest bridges between imagination and space, letting people create environments that feel slightly enchanted, slightly grounded in nature, even if they’re living in the middle of a city.

In a world that’s mostly concrete, screens, and artificial light, adding a bit of green changes the entire mood of a space without needing much effort. It’s a small way of bringing something organic back into daily life, even if it’s just a pot on a desk or a vine by the window. In that sense, it also becomes a gentle return to nature. Not in a grand, world-saving way, but in something more personal and immediate. One plant at a time, one space at a time, it’s a reminder that the natural world doesn’t feel so far away after all. Even something as simple as keeping a plant alive quietly contributes to a sense of connection, and yes, a slightly greener world in its own small, steady way.

So, to conclude, plant parenthood isn’t really about the plants alone. It’s about what happens around them. The small pauses it creates in a day, the habit of checking in on something that depends on you, the quiet satisfaction of noticing change that didn’t exist yesterday. A new leaf. A taller stem. A pot that suddenly feels a little more alive than it did before. It may look simple from the outside, just watering a plant and placing it near a window, but it carries a kind of intention. A willingness to nurture something fragile and stay consistent with it, even when nothing dramatic is happening. Maybe that’s what makes it resonate so strongly with Gen Z. Beneath all the aesthetics and trends, there’s a deeper search for connection in smaller, more tangible forms. Something that doesn’t overwhelm, doesn’t rush, but still grows alongside you.

Additionally, there’s also something quietly grounding about it, almost like learning to trust slow progress again. In a world that often measures everything in speed and visibility, plants remind you that not everything needs to prove itself instantly to matter. Growth can be subtle, almost invisible at times, and still be real. In those small green corners of rooms and routines, plant parenthood becomes more than a habit. It becomes a way of noticing life as it slowly unfolds—one leaf at a time. 

20, it came almost too quietly, blending into my daily mundane as I struck off ‘eat bday mashed potato volcano with dino nuggets’ from my to-do list.

Growing up with chick flicks and coming-of-age films, the idea of being ‘not a teen’ for the first time in a long time made it feel like turning 20 would be so… defining. It was magical, the way the number carried with it such a heavy certainty and conviction.

Yet, as I waited until the very second of turning 20, that dramatic defining moment of my life never came. And that evening, I stared at the ceiling and wondered: What does it mean to be 20?

For most of us, teenhood might’ve felt like 7 long years of being at a flea market, navigating and bargaining portions of ourselves as though we’re made of spare parts for sale. But life extends far beyond teenhood, and a 7-year leeway for identity crises just isn’t enough.

Especially not when every journal article ever about the 21st-century phenomenon of emerging adulthood highlights that we could take up to the age of 40—yes, you read that right—to finally feel like an adult.

According to American developmental psychologist Dr. Arnett, emerging adulthood refers to the period of development from the ages of 18 to 29 experienced by most people in their 20s, primarily in developed regions of the world.

The nature of this phenomenon is marked by new adults opting to explore adult social roles from a different perspective, retaining adolescent quirks while trying to delay their new responsibilities and obligations.

Most notably, feeling ‘in-between’ is a tell-tale characteristic of emerging adulthood. You've probably felt it too if you’ve ever had to be your own plumber after moving out. Google isn’t helping, your sink is stuck because you forgot that noodles clog pipes, and you desperately need a real adult because you’re just a kid.

What else could you even be?

Well, the answer to that depends on whether you can embrace and utilise the phenomenon’s nature of delayed adulthood.

The issues of emerging adulthood are most evident when new adults are held to the same expectations as those well into adulthood regarding decision-making skills and self-reliance. This is because what is afforded to these new adults during their adolescence often becomes the determining factor of how they view what is expected of them in their new stage of life.

As we pair the innate instability of the phenomenon with the lack of proper guidance for adolescents and new adults, studies reveal that many emerging adults show high levels of externalising problems through risky behaviours. For instance, developing a heavy addiction to substances. Some others also show high levels of an internalising nature, with symptoms of depression, anxiety, and low self-esteem.

In contrast, a 2014 study by Steinberg asserts that intentional use of the extended adolescence period allows new adults to reap benefits. In the 21st-century context of stagnating economies, young adults—particularly in developed countries—need more time to transition to adulthood successfully.

Emerging adulthood functions as a framework for that by delaying full-fledged adulthood through extending academic requirements. Tertiary education institutions act as environments that allow new adults to go through sufficiently stimulating experiences, cultivating their mental maturity, and equipping them with the resourcefulness needed to navigate adulting complexities (like filing your taxes, ew).

Honestly? Pretty neat for a phase of life that started off sounding dreadful.

Beyond the psychological phenomenon, though, is the emotional aspect of crossing the bridge from adolescence to early adulthood.

Entering and being in your 20s is like having a 40Hz Gamma brainwave video humming into your ears on loop. And like life, the beat doesn’t change: wake up, eat, watch some people come, watch some people go, rinse, sleep, and repeat.

Yet unlike the overflowing emotions you tried to hold back in your teens, your palms today are dry and cracking at the lines. It’s a vague stuffiness in your chest—constantly bored with the mundane, always waiting for something to break it, and forever feeling like you’re changing but never really knowing into who or what.

Whether that’s an allergic reaction to the peace you never expected to come, or a soft realisation that growing up and out of teenhood doesn’t have clarity built-in, it doesn’t stop it from feeling odd because teenhood taught you that emotions never come quiet.

But here you are still, persevering through the in-betweens with all these indescribable, contradictory emotions.

You could assume that maybe this is it, the entirety of your 20s: just a slow, beautiful mess that unravels each time you learn a bit more about yourself.

Full of what-ifs and maybes, but also full of despite-s.

And it makes you think that perhaps the growing pains of the in-betweens were meant to teach us how to live between opposite extremes and still find something valuable in it all.

To face the unknown, scared but brave. To love despite and because of loss. To nevertheless live meaningfully, though searching for a personal meaning.

A surprisingly gentle beginning that's ready and set when we are.

From a global perspective, recycling has been touted as one of the best ways the general public can help the environment. Instead of letting trash be sent to a landfill, it can be processed and turned into a new item, helping us prevent the wastage of resources and conserve our remaining landfill space. However, have you ever stopped to consider what happens after you drop that can or wrapper in the recycling bin? Where does it actually go?

Unfortunately, various research efforts have revealed the much less optimistic truth behind our attempts to clean up our act. While items such as aluminium and paper are easily recycled over and over again, only about 9% of plastic ever gets recycled. The rest ends up in landfills, incinerators or water sources like oceans. Considering just how much plastic we use and dispose of every single day, it becomes clear why this disparity between recyclable waste is a problem. Furthermore, certain types of plastic, like multi-layer plastic, are more challenging and expensive to recycle due to the high energy cost of separating the parts making the process infeasible. As such, many companies avoid trying to recycle plastic at all. Even worse, companies have been caught in the act of greenwashing, which is when they market themselves through activities that lead customers to believe they are doing more to conserve the environment than they actually are. Corporations have done this by claiming that their products are made of materials people typically consider to be environmentally friendly, only for them to be actually unrecyclable.

Additionally, the world of recycling has been rocked in recent years due to the revelation that wealthy countries, typically in the Global North, have been claiming to recycle, only for them to then ship off their waste to poorer countries in the Global South. Oftentimes, this act of passing the buck results in waste ending up in landfills anyway. This practice has sadly become so common that there is a term for it: waste colonialism. Despite the intention to recycle the shipped off waste, more often than not, the final resting place of the waste simply ends up being the postcode of the poorer country rather than the wealthier one. Some of the waste may get processed, but it is usually accomplished through highly polluting means such as open burning, which releases countless toxic chemicals into the air. Malaysia has been a victim of this too, especially in regards to plastic waste. Millions of tons of plastics are shipped into our country, sometimes illegally, and the burden falls on us to process it despite the waste being produced by another country.

Because recycling is a flawed answer to our waste problem, perhaps the conversation should be shifted to how a more fundamental change might be needed. On its own, recycling is really just a band aid solution that doesn’t have the best long term outcomes. The core principles of waste management are Reduce, Reuse and Recycle, yet so much emphasis is placed only on recycling. This could have the side effect of encouraging people to think in a ‘cure’ rather than ‘prevention’ mindset, such as by overbuying items as long as they choose something environmentally friendly that can be recycled later on, believing it will equalize their choices. However, creating a product still requires resources and energy. 

It is clear that a fundamental cultural shift from consumerism is needed to decrease the amount of waste we produce. Recycling should be viewed as a tool alongside the other Rs that are often neglected when discussing how we can help our environment. Waste will always be a part of our lives, so through reducing what we buy and reusing what we already have, we can choose to minimize it as much as possible, and recycle the rest. No matter how small the impact, making recycling a part of our lives remains important to avoid increasing the burden on our environment.