Like a snowflake floating at the beginning of summer, the white cottonweed travels with the wind, without a passport or a visa.

As an immigrant and a woman in Italy, there are days when I wonder if I belong here.

A generation ago the women in my family couldn’t step out of the house at their own will. They were tied to traditions, often hiding their faces behind the veil of a saree. Yet here I am, on my bike, following the cottonweed. I wish I could ask these fluffy seeds: how do they decide which territories will be their home and which ones to avoid? 

I always thought borders and politics were human-made notions—that birds fly freely, fish swim through their chosen streams, and animals roam the forest without a pulse of territorial fear.

Yet, many animals have evolved to be territorial, and others live in social orders, following a hierarchy.

In arid deserts, meerkats are led by the matriarch and defend territories of their clan. In the Amazonian rainforest, the solitary jaguars scent-mark their habitat, sending a clear sign that the land is taken. In African forests, the male chimps are always looking out for an opportunity to ascend their social standing; when two groups confront each other, war is certain. 

Territorial violence seems absurd yet is not solely a human behaviour. Perhaps we only amplify what we have already learnt; both in brute and beauty, novelty is limited. 

Even empathy has evolved as a well-calculated moral virtue. The emotional boundaries protect the predators from identifying with the pain of the prey and yet it expands while caring for their young. It’s a boundary in flux, and without it, life will crumble.

Psychologist Jamil Zaki believes we are the kindest species on Earth. He beautifully articulates how empathy has shaped our physical features; our faces have softened, and eyes have become whiter to read each other’s gaze. He adds, “By contrast, humans are world-champion collaborators, helping each other far more than any other species’’, he calls it our secret weapon. 

‘’Homo Sapiens is the only species on Earth capable of cooperating flexibly in larger numbers,’’ writes Yuval Noah Harari in his book Homo Deus; he does acknowledge the exceptional cooperative abilities of bees, termites and chimps, yet he suggests we reinvent our social systems more rapidly and interact with a wider number of strangers with adaptability.  

I’m cautious about putting humankind on a pedestal; we have our limitations. But as I read headlines about the Kashmir conflict, watched the trailer for David Attenborough’s new movie, and spoke to my family nearly 4,000 miles away, I have to admit that in the human world, information travels fast.

Numerous wars have been waged in our history by borrowing and misinterpreting biology. For instance, Charles Darwin’s central concept, “survival of the fittest”, was twisted to serve Nazi propaganda. But in the biology of our being, there are also transmutations for peacemaking. 

Perhaps our ability to collaborate is exceptional—but I wonder: what are we collaborating for? What if, once again, nature wants to evolve through us, testing the flesh and its capacity for empathy? 

I want to identify with nature before I identify as human, or as Indian, or as an immigrant in Italy. Wars breach both personal and planetary boundaries.

There are days when I question: do I belong here? But strangers are often kind, and with a smile, I am reassured—this is my home, at least for now.

When I pass by the trees, I don’t recognise them by name as I would mango, neem, or banyan—natives of my own country. I have been ignorant, too, and I must learn their names. They have welcomed me and become a source of comfort. The air, the water, and the food of this land sustain my body. I am not only part of the economy here—but also the ecosystem.

The sun is nearly setting. I gently catch the cottonweed in my palm, almost like a prayer, and blow. It lifts and flies off in a rush; perhaps soon it will root, and soon, it shall grow beyond the ideas of borders, territories, and politics. 

Even when the air is thick, there is a lesson of peace in these floating seeds.

Words by Priyanka Singh Parihar,

Founder and Editor-in-Chief