Bugtappin'"I like to tap on bugs when I'm outside. I'm trying to make it a hobby, at least a few times a week, to let them remember that lost memory of connecting with a human. Y'know, cuz they reincarnated into bugs and all." "What? What are you talking about? Bugs? We reincarnate as bugs? You tap on bugs?? What???" A confused look had spread through my face, as I begin to realize the absurdity I was heading into. Here was this guy -- and I say he was simply 'this guy' because we have only seen each other by being in the same 'Community Activities Club' and for this one time we have been paired together in our biweekly 'trash-collecting initiative' where a swarm of 20-something students rush into nature and start... collecting trash. Anyway. Here was this guy who has shared this completely novel idea to me and has irrevocably let me in on his secret of him actually believing this stuff. Somehow I have gained enough trust from simply walking with him that he feels comfortable kneeling down on dirt and start tapping bugs in front of me, then tell me of his theory that people reincarnate into bugs when they die. And the part that really perplexed me was that he expelled this idea plainly, like it was as simple as the color of the sky. It was this stubborn adherence that made talking to him the same as talking with a spectre. At this point, no one was going to be convinced by the other. He says "You just don't get it, this is a real phenomena, I'm not making this up...", I say "This is preposterous, ridiculous, you need to stop talking about bugs being people oh my god...", and so it goes on and on and on for about a minute until I get to an actual question: "How is any of this proven? What leads you to think that bugs are past humans?" "Well, firstly there are a lot of insects that are attracted to us, meaning there are a lot of insects who want to connect with us, in their own way of course. Mosquitos, ants, flies, cockroaches, they all can be in a house, and technically 'live' with us for our stuff. Like, they want to taste what they tasted in their past life, y'know?" "You do know that those insects can be found well outside the house?" Here's about the time I throw in some hand gestures I do when I get into a debatable mood. "In fact them moving into our houses is only pretty recent in history, and it's only because we are disrupting their habitats. It has nothing to do with reincarnation! This isn't even a lot of insects. What about the bees, the mantises, the... lizards, all those guys?" He stands up and looks me dead in the eye: "Lizards are reptiles." "Okay, but you get my point. There are more bugs in the world that aren't pests than are. They're out here, in forests, and wildlife, and most of them seem to not care that we are here. They care more about some leaf they want to eat or whatever than us. They probably see us as predator animals trying to eat them. So, they definitely aren't yearning to connect with us, because they aren't dead humans reincarnated." He turned away from me and looked down on the bug he tapped, crawling on a blade of grass. I caught a side profile: he looked deeply offended, and sad. It was as if he was told that a parent had died, or his very soul was injured. I'm not great at discerning if he felt like either of these but I'll just hazard a guess that it's both. He let out a dejected whisper, "You don't get it, man. You just haven't been around bugs like I have. You would see they got, like, personalities, dude. They're like people." This did make me realize I shouldn't push on this, because it seemed more of a touchy subject than I thought it was, but I also thought to myself, why do some people always assume a consciousness on anything they see? What bug has consciousness? Bugs don't have consciousness. They don't need it. I did feel the urge to ask just one more question. "Where did you hear about this theory?" "You'd care? You'll just make more fun of me." He's feeling silly about this whole thing now. Suddenly he's defensive from how lame it all sounded. A tinge of regret leapt within me. "I won't. Promise. I just want to know where you heard of this, okay? Please, tell me." After some worrisome seconds, he lets up a response. "I read it online, alright? It's a website." We started to move. "Someone close to me shared it with me, because I had... a close relative pass away a few days before." His deliberations on those words felt too palpable, letting only a tiny flash of what's behind peek through before it's closed forever. "I was really depressed then. Couldn't get out of bed, tie my shoes. Couldn't even make my own food, just ate so much fast food, I probably ruined my body doing that. So I asked my family, and one member showed me that website, said it would 'explain everything'." We walked some more. There hasn't been a hint of tare anywhere in this park, only more leaves. "It really did! After I read it all, I started noticing all these little behaviors that I hadn't before. I began to feel like the bugs weren't annoying or creepy but like friends. They suddenly had a vibe that really felt like they're people that had passed, and they're watching over us, like they hadn't left us... I just think that it is cool that the universe is like that. So I just want to let them know I understand their situation. It's not weird." A couple more minutes later, silent and awkward, we managed to fill our bags with some plastic bottles, even a few juice boxes. Once the day had been over, the bug guy and I had split and never met each other again after that day. Never wanted to, everything I wanted to know started and ended at that one conversation. But his theory never left me. I always was reminded of this moment, whenever I look upon bugs outside, bugs in my house, bug pictures online, forever immortalizing this random man I had met once in college. I never found that website. Those days were when I was younger, and I didn't worry about the things I then went on to worry about. I certainly didn't know I had an incurable, genetic disease that some divine power decided was great for my body. I at least got to live long enough for me to be considered mature by others, and my last days were in a hospital bed, the room bathed in sterile blues and whites, surrounded by friends and family, with that fluorescent light burning bright above me, feeling everything go numb. It wasn't pain, but something worse than pain. It felt I was disintegrating. I closed my eyes, with the unknown dark charging towards me. And then, I awaken to sounds of birds chirping, leaves whistling and the sight of regal trees conquering the horizon. I looked to myself and saw raptorial legs, built with chitin, and felt my tegmina and hindwings flutter, and my mandibles twitch. As I stare at the world through my compound eyes, and the senses reach me through my antennae, everything struck me at once: I am now a bug, and that guy was right all along. If I had died any earlier than now in my life I would have been enraged that I was wrong about this really dumb theory, spouted by a weird guy, being true. All my fledgling life I wanted to be correct, because the worst days of my life were when I felt again like the idiot kid in class and home, who is told time and time again that he is wrong and stupid and he must listen to his superiors, because his brain is fundamentally broken. So I seized any opportunity I could have taken to be the one who was finally correct, finally a person and not a subordinate, where I didn't have to say "Yes, sir" anymore, against unfortunates who didn't deserve me trying to not hurt by belittling others. Then I grew older and suddenly lost the fear. I had been consumed by other fears of adulthood that "feeling stupid" didn't matter to me that much anymore. I was surrounded by fellow adults instead of people who towered over me, who were more important. Paying mortgages, bills, rent, made my head spin with uncertainty, but twistedly gave me a sense of control, of caring for the things I can call my own. I hated every inch of that bureaucratic trial by fire, but from that came a sense of humanity. And now that I am a bug, I don't even have to concern myself about human obligations anymore. Now, all that concerns me is the nearest leaves to chew on, the nest I should return to, and the predators that find the sky and ground around me. And I realize: I don't want to go back again. I don't yearn to know again the touch of another person. The life I have lived is enough of a share of humanity and all its intricacies. My memories are enough, and I can live them again, repeating those words fondly, until I find myself dead once more. |
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2025 fxrdl |
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