Of Supreme Importance

With the multitude of grand documentaries on people's lives and ancient wars, the world seems to be eagerly retelling their marvellous stories to me. Even when I am not there to watch or read, the televisions, movies, books, etc. are narrating something exciting to somebody.

I must have achieved very little with my life compared with the many who achieved so much.

I have not travelled to a war torn country nor saved an endangered animal. Neither had I been attacked by one. Nor even rescued a single stray dog. I am not a victim of violence who triumphed against life's odds nor a vet. I am not a noble historian of Mongolia nor an authority on modern weapon. I have never seen anybody killed nor a plausible sasquatch footprint.

I think it's quite clear. My life is not remarkable. Unrepentant, I am even grateful for not experiencing the events that would make my life somewhat remarkable. I do not enjoy tribulations and hardship.

Moreover, I have newly established an aversive principle towards travelling and vacations. I recognised that my memories from vacations are not proportional to the small fraction of my life that I have on vacations. This should not be the case. The bulk of my life should be the most enjoyable, and the best moments should not be most defined by the fragments of time I steal away from my mundane routines. Thus, I need not travel to make the most out of my time. I will derive a way to make the everyday the best of my time.

Surely, the fallacies in this perspective are garish. Novel experiences will make life move interestingly, otherwise, sleep should be the most interesting parts of life. Then again, lately, I have been having quite interesting dreams...

It is relatively meaningless that I feel like maintaining my position, for now.

So, evaluate how I've spent my day so far: 4 hours on watching television and eating intermittently, 2 hours on reading, 5 hours on writing and 2 hours on watching the skies and observing how the clouds move on a rainy day in July and random birds fly. Do you know why birds sometimes fly in spirals in the sky?

I have a new understanding on why I write mostly fiction. I enjoy writing fiction.

People will change. But before that, people are already different.

Is it of supreme importance that we must make ourselves happy?

==

Last night, I saw two gorillas in my dream. They were initially grazing on a forest floor, amidst simple ferns, until one of them turned to look at me.

Suddenly, I remembered from somewhere that in this case, I should avert my gaze to show the gorilla that I am not antagonising to him and that I should be submissive. But I didn't want to submit to the gorilla. I was aware that the gorilla was strong and mighty enough to kill me on a whim. But I could not reason with this. I didn't even want to appear submissive to the gorilla.

Our eyes were met.

The ape had great brown eyes and stared into mine. It was neither friendly nor aggressive. I presumed this since I am very ignorant of interpreting gorilla's expressions.

It did not move.

I was more inclined to decide that the gorilla is female, but I do not know anything. This was my dream, perhaps, I could decide everything.

I realised that I only had the gorilla's face left in the image. The rest of the gorilla had dissolved completely into a darkness while I was preoccupied with holding its gaze. This had happened quickly, as things does sometimes in dreams. The other gorilla had long gone.

When my attention returned to the face, other than the features, the rest of the face started to fade to black as well. What was left were the gorilla's round brown eyes and the hollows around them, the nose and nostrils, the curves around the mouth... they began to grow somewhat bright. They were like the bright spots of blindness after the flash from a camera shocked your eyes...

It composed an eerie impression.

The glowing shapes drifted slowly apart from each other. The distance between both eyes spread like they were pushed apart by some dark matter... something about the negative space reminded me of a ghost or the cloak of death. Could this be an omen?

I must abandon the image in my mind.

I do not dare to speak or write much about ghosts or death. For I am afraid that when I do meet death, my descriptions may be unsatisfactory, and I would deeply regret my portrayal without ever having the opportunity to rewrite what was written.

==

Dian Fossey (1932-1985) was an American scientist who extensively studied and observed the gorillas in the mountain forests of Rwanda.

She was an advocate of the conservation of mountain gorillas and was against poachers and zoos. Her long term research on gorillas ended when she was murdered. Details of her murder are shrouded with much controversy. She was buried next to a male gorilla who was killed trying to protect his family from poachers. He was one of her favourite gorillas.

(Sneak)