Since the day I was born, I believed myself a butterfly, beautiful and free. I believed in happily ever “afteries”. Even though I knew that I was caterpillar, very young and as yet without wings, I knew that I am a secret waiting to be revealed, a life waiting to begin.
Someday the wind will carry me like an exotic scent on a cool night’s breeze. Someday my wings will be spun of the sun’s golden threads and the harmonious colours of the rainbow. I had no doubt that that day would come. I’ve been told that this is the way of our species and so I had little thought for my green and ugly body.
In fact, I only thought of it at dusk, this wondrous time of the day when I would give in completely to my desires, and I would slowly creep up my favourite jasmine tree. It was always a difficult and labourious climb for such an ugly and heavy body, the best part of which was rubbing against the delicate flowers, as they invariably left some of their delicious scent on me. When I reached the highest point I could without risking tipping over, I would stand still and watch the sky that will someday be my domain. I would watch until dusk turned into darkness and erased the sky.
It would be sometime yet before I could be free of the ennui of gravity, and getting too close to the sky was a perilous adventure for a creature like me. An adventure that I learnt to amplify while it lasted because it was also one that I learnt I must limit. I knew I posed too great a temptation for the birds, for whom I was merely a tasty treat. And yet how could I stay away from my dream? For it was the sky, and my library, that made my wait bearable.
My library, my most precious possession, was my attainable domain. I escaped into my library whenever I could and I devoured the leafy pages of all the books around me; literature, poetry, paintings. Beautiful images filled my whole being, beautiful images were me. I could never get enough; I just kept getting bigger, fatter and hungrier.
These escapades were the few drops of perfume in the drenching sweat of daily drudgery; the reality that took up the greater part of my days and nights, and which consisted of finding ingenious ways to escape certain death. I changed colours, losing my identity to blend in with my surroundings. I stood still for hours on end, until my whole body ached. I tolerated the sun burning down on my delicate skin, for it was not as scorching as the burning desire within urging me to survive, for one day I will shed the monotonous life that comes with this body.
When finally this day arrived, I woke up much earlier than usual. I wanted to savour my last day. I wanted to remember what it means to be a caterpillar, to breathe it, to languish in the agony of it, so that when I finally spread my wings and soared, I would know the price I had paid. I wanted to bear the scars; I wanted to earn the euphoria of being born from the womb of pain.
There was just this last chapter I wanted to finish of a book I had been reading for a long time now. I could neither put it down nor did I want it to be over. I felt as though I did not read the words, rather that they read me. I decided that best thing to do was to eat the pages, one by one, until these words became part of me, fueling me for the times to come. I was so consumed that I did not notice the sky darkening around me. A chill wrinkled my already wrinkled spine, as the fastest and sharpest beak I ever saw swooped down on me. In an instant I felt the sticky warmth of my blood moving slowly, thickly, towards my mouth, until finally I tasted the bitter uselessness of my being.
This was not supposed to happen now. I cried so agonizingly, the skies cried at my sorrow. The bird was so burdened by the downpour of rain that he forgot about me. He simply forgot about me. I had spent all of eternity in his beak and he just forgot about me. It was then that I saw it, the most fantastic rainbow ever, each color so vivid, so clear, so defined.
Until that moment I had been dangling helplessly, surrendering to what I believed was my fate. But there they were, my wings, gliding gracefully over the whole world, who will wear them if not I? With an enormous effort, I twisted and turned my body like a contortionist. Nothing I had borne before compared to what I was feeling now; nothing. I must have caught the bird by surprise because he did not squeeze me tighter, believing me too weak to escape. But I did; I escaped. I crashed into the ground. Broken and crushed, I had yet another scar to add to my repertoire.
I dragged myself slowly, agonizingly over the glistening grass, searching for an asylum. I am going to die anyway, I thought. I did not finish the last chapter of my book. I have suffered and dreamt for nothing.
For the first time I truly saw my image reflected in a rain drop on a blade of grass. That was quite a shock for me. The image that stared back at me bore no resemblance whatsoever to the image of me in my mind. I saw clearly how ugly I was and I was smothered in blood. For the first time I saw my eyes. And, far beyond my eyes, I saw that the sky possess my beautiful rainbow. The last thought that struck me then was that it was never to be mine.
When I came to, or woke up, I am not sure which, I knew that I had a mission. That is the way with caterpillars, that’s the way it's been for generations. It’s just time to build a cocoon, no matter how you are feeling, no matter what went on before, it’s just time.
I kept asking myself why should I build a cocoon when I knew I was dying? But then with each thread excruciatingly excreted and wrapped carefully around my dwindling body, grew a new hope. My threads began to spin of their own accord. The words I once devoured danced around me, filling the atmosphere with their music. I could taste the nectar. I could see the colours of the bougainvillea and drink in the scents of jasmines, roses and gardenias. The more intoxicated I became, the more their scents drove me into a spinning frenzy. I neither ate nor slept until finally I was inside my cocoon and dreaming away the endless days and nights of my metamorphosis.
Perhaps it does not really matter how long we spend in the cocoon, for everyone I asked as a youngster did not seem to remember. I was told that you just know it’s time to come out. And so it was that one day I was overwhelmed by the urge to break free from my caterpillar existence. My old self had become nothing more than flimsy dried up layers of life through which I poked out my head. At first the sun stung my eyes that I had to shut them tight and, instinctively, I shielded my face with my wings.
My wings!! I spread them and I soared. I soared much higher than I believed I could. I spread my wings and danced more gracefully that I believed I would. I drank up the sweetest nectar and inhaled the jasmines and gardenias. Then the birds came after me.
I am a butterfly; beautiful perhaps for others to see. I did not have time to notice the colours of my wings. I found myself caught in the reality that took up the greater part of my days and nights, and which consisted of finding ingenious ways to escape certain death. I changed colors, losing my identity to blend in with my surroundings. I stood still for hours on end, until my whole body ached. The sun torched my delicate skin turning my dreams to blackened ashes within. I merely survived each day only to struggle through the next.
But I desperately wanted to dream again. I missed starring at the sky at dusk, I missed my jasmine tree. I decided to visit it once more and to perch myself as high as I possibly could. Tipping over was no longer a problem although the threat from birds still existed. No labourious climb this time, but I intentionally glided gently through the thickness of the tree, rubbing my wings against the scent of its delicate flowers and immersing myself totally in their magic.
Dusk embraced me warmly once more; it must have missed me, too, for it was particularly stunning that evening. How is it that I have forgotten? All of my senses were stimulated at once. I never knew butterflies cried.
For the first time in my new life, I caught my reflection in a drop that landed on a soft white petal. I was mesmerized by the reflection that stared pitifully back at me. All I could see were sad caterpillar eyes and many, many scars. In the distance, far beyond the hills, I heard children’s laughter, then I found myself trapped by strange, entangling threads.
My legs struggled as aimlessly as my thoughts. My wings shattered into a million broken rainbow dreams.
Fadwa Al Qasem
(Translated from the Arabic by the author).
Someday the wind will carry me like an exotic scent on a cool night’s breeze. Someday my wings will be spun of the sun’s golden threads and the harmonious colours of the rainbow. I had no doubt that that day would come. I’ve been told that this is the way of our species and so I had little thought for my green and ugly body.
In fact, I only thought of it at dusk, this wondrous time of the day when I would give in completely to my desires, and I would slowly creep up my favourite jasmine tree. It was always a difficult and labourious climb for such an ugly and heavy body, the best part of which was rubbing against the delicate flowers, as they invariably left some of their delicious scent on me. When I reached the highest point I could without risking tipping over, I would stand still and watch the sky that will someday be my domain. I would watch until dusk turned into darkness and erased the sky.
It would be sometime yet before I could be free of the ennui of gravity, and getting too close to the sky was a perilous adventure for a creature like me. An adventure that I learnt to amplify while it lasted because it was also one that I learnt I must limit. I knew I posed too great a temptation for the birds, for whom I was merely a tasty treat. And yet how could I stay away from my dream? For it was the sky, and my library, that made my wait bearable.
My library, my most precious possession, was my attainable domain. I escaped into my library whenever I could and I devoured the leafy pages of all the books around me; literature, poetry, paintings. Beautiful images filled my whole being, beautiful images were me. I could never get enough; I just kept getting bigger, fatter and hungrier.
These escapades were the few drops of perfume in the drenching sweat of daily drudgery; the reality that took up the greater part of my days and nights, and which consisted of finding ingenious ways to escape certain death. I changed colours, losing my identity to blend in with my surroundings. I stood still for hours on end, until my whole body ached. I tolerated the sun burning down on my delicate skin, for it was not as scorching as the burning desire within urging me to survive, for one day I will shed the monotonous life that comes with this body.
When finally this day arrived, I woke up much earlier than usual. I wanted to savour my last day. I wanted to remember what it means to be a caterpillar, to breathe it, to languish in the agony of it, so that when I finally spread my wings and soared, I would know the price I had paid. I wanted to bear the scars; I wanted to earn the euphoria of being born from the womb of pain.
There was just this last chapter I wanted to finish of a book I had been reading for a long time now. I could neither put it down nor did I want it to be over. I felt as though I did not read the words, rather that they read me. I decided that best thing to do was to eat the pages, one by one, until these words became part of me, fueling me for the times to come. I was so consumed that I did not notice the sky darkening around me. A chill wrinkled my already wrinkled spine, as the fastest and sharpest beak I ever saw swooped down on me. In an instant I felt the sticky warmth of my blood moving slowly, thickly, towards my mouth, until finally I tasted the bitter uselessness of my being.
This was not supposed to happen now. I cried so agonizingly, the skies cried at my sorrow. The bird was so burdened by the downpour of rain that he forgot about me. He simply forgot about me. I had spent all of eternity in his beak and he just forgot about me. It was then that I saw it, the most fantastic rainbow ever, each color so vivid, so clear, so defined.
Until that moment I had been dangling helplessly, surrendering to what I believed was my fate. But there they were, my wings, gliding gracefully over the whole world, who will wear them if not I? With an enormous effort, I twisted and turned my body like a contortionist. Nothing I had borne before compared to what I was feeling now; nothing. I must have caught the bird by surprise because he did not squeeze me tighter, believing me too weak to escape. But I did; I escaped. I crashed into the ground. Broken and crushed, I had yet another scar to add to my repertoire.
I dragged myself slowly, agonizingly over the glistening grass, searching for an asylum. I am going to die anyway, I thought. I did not finish the last chapter of my book. I have suffered and dreamt for nothing.
For the first time I truly saw my image reflected in a rain drop on a blade of grass. That was quite a shock for me. The image that stared back at me bore no resemblance whatsoever to the image of me in my mind. I saw clearly how ugly I was and I was smothered in blood. For the first time I saw my eyes. And, far beyond my eyes, I saw that the sky possess my beautiful rainbow. The last thought that struck me then was that it was never to be mine.
When I came to, or woke up, I am not sure which, I knew that I had a mission. That is the way with caterpillars, that’s the way it's been for generations. It’s just time to build a cocoon, no matter how you are feeling, no matter what went on before, it’s just time.
I kept asking myself why should I build a cocoon when I knew I was dying? But then with each thread excruciatingly excreted and wrapped carefully around my dwindling body, grew a new hope. My threads began to spin of their own accord. The words I once devoured danced around me, filling the atmosphere with their music. I could taste the nectar. I could see the colours of the bougainvillea and drink in the scents of jasmines, roses and gardenias. The more intoxicated I became, the more their scents drove me into a spinning frenzy. I neither ate nor slept until finally I was inside my cocoon and dreaming away the endless days and nights of my metamorphosis.
Perhaps it does not really matter how long we spend in the cocoon, for everyone I asked as a youngster did not seem to remember. I was told that you just know it’s time to come out. And so it was that one day I was overwhelmed by the urge to break free from my caterpillar existence. My old self had become nothing more than flimsy dried up layers of life through which I poked out my head. At first the sun stung my eyes that I had to shut them tight and, instinctively, I shielded my face with my wings.
My wings!! I spread them and I soared. I soared much higher than I believed I could. I spread my wings and danced more gracefully that I believed I would. I drank up the sweetest nectar and inhaled the jasmines and gardenias. Then the birds came after me.
I am a butterfly; beautiful perhaps for others to see. I did not have time to notice the colours of my wings. I found myself caught in the reality that took up the greater part of my days and nights, and which consisted of finding ingenious ways to escape certain death. I changed colors, losing my identity to blend in with my surroundings. I stood still for hours on end, until my whole body ached. The sun torched my delicate skin turning my dreams to blackened ashes within. I merely survived each day only to struggle through the next.
But I desperately wanted to dream again. I missed starring at the sky at dusk, I missed my jasmine tree. I decided to visit it once more and to perch myself as high as I possibly could. Tipping over was no longer a problem although the threat from birds still existed. No labourious climb this time, but I intentionally glided gently through the thickness of the tree, rubbing my wings against the scent of its delicate flowers and immersing myself totally in their magic.
Dusk embraced me warmly once more; it must have missed me, too, for it was particularly stunning that evening. How is it that I have forgotten? All of my senses were stimulated at once. I never knew butterflies cried.
For the first time in my new life, I caught my reflection in a drop that landed on a soft white petal. I was mesmerized by the reflection that stared pitifully back at me. All I could see were sad caterpillar eyes and many, many scars. In the distance, far beyond the hills, I heard children’s laughter, then I found myself trapped by strange, entangling threads.
My legs struggled as aimlessly as my thoughts. My wings shattered into a million broken rainbow dreams.
Fadwa Al Qasem
(Translated from the Arabic by the author).
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