Carving Your Love Into Trees: It’s Not Romantic, It’s Arboreal Assault

Carving Your Love Into Trees: It’s Not Romantic, It’s Arboreal Assault

Let’s get one thing straight—carving your initials into a tree isn’t some timeless, romantic gesture. It’s vandalism wrapped in a delusional fantasy of eternal love. And yet, every time I go camping in Malaysia’s beautiful forests, I’m greeted by the same sad sight: trees mutilated by pocketknife-wielding “romantics” who think their love story deserves to be immortalized in bark. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.

What is it about Malaysian campers that makes them think nature is their personal scrapbook? You wouldn’t walk into a heritage building and carve your name into the walls (I hope), so why do it to a living, breathing organism that was here long before your cringey “Azroy + Tipah 4EVA” nonsense? Trees aren’t stationary props for your performative affection—they’re ecosystems. That scar you just carved? It’s an open wound, an invitation for pests, disease, and decay. But sure, your love is so special that it justifies arboreal assault.

And let’s talk about the mindset behind this. There’s a stunning level of entitlement at play—the belief that public (or worse, protected) spaces exist to serve your ego. You’re not leaving behind a “legacy”; you’re leaving behind evidence that you lack basic respect for nature. Future hikers don’t look at your carving and go, “Wow, what a beautiful love story.” They think, “Wow, what a selfish idiot.”

If you truly love nature, prove it by leaving no trace—not by turning it into your personal graffiti wall. Your relationship might not last, but that tree’s scars will. Stop romanticizing destruction. Keep your knife—and your declarations of undying love—to yourself.