By Astrid Empacher
My Time as an International Student and Climate Intern in Sarawak
I come from a city where everything is clean, orderly, and meticulously planned, where trains run on time and bicycles rule the streets. Copenhagen raised me with a sharp sense of structure. But Sarawak taught me something different: the quiet power of letting go. Of control, of rigid planning, and trusting the flow of people, nature, and purpose.
When I landed in Kuching, Malaysia, to begin my student exchange at Swinburne University of Technology, I had no idea I would become part of something far greater than a single academic semester. One of my classes unexpectedly led me to an internship with the Rainforest Youth Summit (RAYS), an organisation I had never heard of before. At first, I doubted whether I belonged, for what could a city girl from the cold north possibly offer to a movement rooted in rainforest conservation? But one thing I did bring was curiosity. A hunger to learn, a drive to understand new cultures, and the excitement of contributing to something meaningful. I planned my content intuitively, letting curiosity guide me. What I didn’t expect was that, by the end of my internship, I’d be leading a beach clean-up on Borneo’s coast, interviewing keynote climate activists at the summit, and hiking through the rainforest with local students whose hope outshone their fear for the future.
One of my first interviews was with Karen Shepherd, strategic director and UNESCO focal point. She spoke about policy with a fire that lingered long after our conversation ended. She reminded me that leadership isn’t about titles. It’s about consistency. Then there was Mark Liao, a local entrepreneur integrating sustainability into his ventures: Plants for Plastic and Sarawak Eco Warriors. He showed me that innovation doesn’t always roar; sometimes it composts quietly, reuses creatively, and commits with steady resolve. I also got the chance to have a conversation with Filipina climate justice activist Mitzi Jonelle Tan. She spoke about grassroots organising as naturally as breathing. “If I have the privilege of engaging in climate activism,” she said, “shouldn’t I be fighting for this planet, for our environment, and our lives? We have no choice. This is our home. Without the planet, humans cease to exist. To fight for our loved ones is to fight for this planet.” That sentence has never left me. And my recent interview with Zoya El Miari taught me that we are all deeply connected in spite of different cultural backgrounds, religions, skin colour and country borders. It´s through these intersections we feel connected and when we do so we don´t just fight for today, we fight for a better tomorrow for everyone.
Outside the interviews, I found grounding in the forest. I’ve always loved nature, but experiencing it alongside the people of Kuching gave it new depth. One weekend, I joined Swinburne’s Green Club for a rainforest hike. We climbed through mud and moss, talking about what it means to be young in a world where policy often moves slower than the urgency we feel.
That hike clarified something for me: small acts do matter. So I organised a beach cleanup at Trombol Beach. It was chaotic and wonderful. I juggled spreadsheets, logistics, media content, and multiple WhatsApp groups, all under the weight of tropical heat and looming deadlines. But the event surpassed every expectation. Dozens of students showed up, armed with gloves, trash bags, and determination. We cleared kilos of plastic waste while children played nearby and the tide ebbed and flowed, a gentle reminder that change requires rhythm and repetition. My time with RAYS gave me more than just professional experience. It gave me a sense of purpose, of global connection. I may be a blonde girl from Copenhagen, raised between metro stops and minimalism, but now I carry something much deeper: the understanding that our actions ripple outward.
What happens in Borneo doesn’t stay in Borneo. It follows you, in your heart, in your conscience. As I return to Denmark, I carry more than memories. I carry responsibility. Because once you’ve cleaned a beach with your own hands, walked a rainforest with youth activists, and spoken with people who radiate conviction, you cannot return to silence.
And I won’t.
