We hear it everywhere—on labels, in speeches, in hashtags. Green choices. Green jobs. Green future. But somewhere between the slogans and the supermarket shelves, the word has started to blur. What does “green” actually mean when it leaves the world of policy and enters our daily lives?

For us, as young people trying to make sense of a world, it’s not always clear.

During workshops, conversations, and quiet reflections, we found ourselves asking the same questions over and over. Is buying something with a leaf symbol really sustainable? Does sorting our waste actually make a difference if the system behind it is broken? And how do we stay motivated when the climate crisis feels too big for one person to touch?

We’re part of a generation that’s more aware than any before us. We’ve grown up with climate warnings, plastic bans and protests. But awareness doesn’t always make action easier. It can make us feel overwhelmed. Or worse, cynical! Because once you start looking closely, “green” can start to feel like another label to show off with.

A product wrapped in plastic calls itself eco-friendly. A fast fashion brand promotes recycling while pumping out thousands of new items a day. A city adds bike lanes but keeps expanding highways. These contradictions are everywhere. And they leave many of us asking—what’s real, and what’s just branding?

Still, despite the confusion, something real is growing. Not in headlines or marketing campaigns, but in how we’re learning to live.

We talked about small things, like learning to sew on a button instead of tossing a shirt. Carrying a reusable bottle not because it’s trendy, but because it makes sense. Saying no to fast shipping, even if it means waiting longer. Choosing second-hand, local, seasonal—not as acts of sacrifice, but of care.

Green, in this sense, isn’t a lifestyle. It’s a perspective.

It’s learning to ask: Where did this come from? Who made it? What will happen to it when I’m done with it? These aren’t questions we were taught to ask in school. But we’re asking them now—on our own, with our friends, in youth projects like this one.

And we’re learning that being green is less about having all the answers, and more about being willing to question.

We spoke about pressure, too. The feeling that if you’re not doing everything—zero waste, plant-based, plastic-free, carbon-conscious—you’re not doing enough. That pressure can turn climate action into competition. But it’s not about perfection. It’s about direction.

One participant said, “You don’t become sustainable overnight. It’s not a finish line. It’s a habit. A way of noticing.” That stuck with us. Because being green isn’t a badge you earn—it’s a series of small, sometimes messy, steps. Choosing a bike over a car. Asking whether you really need that new gadget. Talking to your family about energy bills. Picking a local tomato instead of an imported one.

These decisions may seem minor. But together, they shape a culture.

And culture is where change begins. Not in laws, but in attitudes. Not in headlines, but in kitchens and classrooms and group chats.

We also talked about privilege. About how not everyone can afford to shop organic, or live near a recycling center, or take the time to research every company they buy from. It reminded us that being green isn’t just about personal behavior—it’s also about access, systems, and fairness. If we want real transformation, it has to include everyone, not just those with the means to choose.

That’s why “green” can’t just mean ethical consumption. It has to mean rethinking systems. Asking why waste exists in the first place. Why we need so much, so fast. Why companies aren’t held accountable for what they produce. And why governments promise climate action and then subsidize fossil fuels.

Being green, we realised, is not just about plants, energy, or materials. It’s about values. About responsibility, equity, and interconnection. It’s about understanding that every action—big or small—ripples outward.

So maybe green isn’t a product. Maybe it’s a process. A way of staying awake to the consequences of our choices. A way of keeping hope alive by acting, even when it’s hard. A way of remembering that we’re not separate from the planet—we’re part of it.

And when we start there, “green” stops being vague. It becomes real. Personal. Possible.