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"Jake," he said, eyes fixated on his dancing fingers across the black and white ivory keys. Even I was amazed by how much progress he had made. Innate talent, which I didn't really have. Soon he would surpass me.
"Jake," he repeated. "Do you know how a caterpillar morphs into a butterfly?" His hands stopped moving. He stood up and gave up the seat. My turn to play.
A non sequitur. Of course I know. I studied a fair bit of biochemistry in my course. But as I saw his eyes growing larger with enthusiasm, I knew he wanted to answer it for himself, so I let him.
"Metamorphosis is really a trickery of nature. The term itself is a misnomer because there is really no transformation occurring. The pupa simply has another set of embryonic cells in its body cavity, remaining dormant throughout the larval stages. Inside the chrysalis, everything disintegrates except those embryonic discs. They consume the nutrients surrounding them to develop into a new structure altogether. New organs, new exoskeleton, which are vastly different from larval stages."
"I detest the butterfly." I interrupted. "It is a parasite inside the pupa, waiting to consume it from within." I stared at the ceiling, my fingers on the sombre, black keys.
"I prefer to see it as being born again. The pupa and the would-be butterfly are the same organism, carrying the same genetic code. They are not separate entities. Think about it, the pupa has chance to be reborn again. To change its appearance. To gain the ability to fly."
I felt as if something inside me was disintegrating. Would it develop into something that can flutter its way up to the blue sky as well?
"Alphonse," I stood up. "It's a pretty picture, but as you said, it's still a trickery." I walked away.
"We'd like to think that we have been deceived. But in fact, nature has always been that way from the start. Humans were the ones who decided that the pupa must somehow have transformed into the butterfly when the butterfly struggle to get out its wings to break free from the chrysalis."
Alphonse's words echoed in the common room. I felt it echoing many times in my mind, too.
"Jake," he said, eyes fixated on his dancing fingers across the black and white ivory keys. Even I was amazed by how much progress he had made. Innate talent, which I didn't really have. Soon he would surpass me.
"Jake," he repeated. "Do you know how a caterpillar morphs into a butterfly?" His hands stopped moving. He stood up and gave up the seat. My turn to play.
A non sequitur. Of course I know. I studied a fair bit of biochemistry in my course. But as I saw his eyes growing larger with enthusiasm, I knew he wanted to answer it for himself, so I let him.
"Metamorphosis is really a trickery of nature. The term itself is a misnomer because there is really no transformation occurring. The pupa simply has another set of embryonic cells in its body cavity, remaining dormant throughout the larval stages. Inside the chrysalis, everything disintegrates except those embryonic discs. They consume the nutrients surrounding them to develop into a new structure altogether. New organs, new exoskeleton, which are vastly different from larval stages."
"I detest the butterfly." I interrupted. "It is a parasite inside the pupa, waiting to consume it from within." I stared at the ceiling, my fingers on the sombre, black keys.
"I prefer to see it as being born again. The pupa and the would-be butterfly are the same organism, carrying the same genetic code. They are not separate entities. Think about it, the pupa has chance to be reborn again. To change its appearance. To gain the ability to fly."
I felt as if something inside me was disintegrating. Would it develop into something that can flutter its way up to the blue sky as well?
"Alphonse," I stood up. "It's a pretty picture, but as you said, it's still a trickery." I walked away.
"We'd like to think that we have been deceived. But in fact, nature has always been that way from the start. Humans were the ones who decided that the pupa must somehow have transformed into the butterfly when the butterfly struggle to get out its wings to break free from the chrysalis."
Alphonse's words echoed in the common room. I felt it echoing many times in my mind, too.
1 comment:
Footnote:
Alphonse's words at the end allude to Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778):
"Nature never deceives us; it is we who deceive ourselves."
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