Made in Japan, Outsourced Globally

I stepped outside after sunset for the first time today. I was pleasantly surprised by the nostalgic Mountain Dew-bright flickering of fireflies.

My fondest memories of fireflies goes back to when my brother and I were little and used to live in Illinois. At first sight of the butt-lighters, we would grab an empty jar of mayo, puncture multiple clumsy holes, and chase after the slow-moving helicopters with our bare hands. It all seemed innocent at the time, but of course, for the poor insects, we were no more than intruders of their sacred mating rituals. They are on the mission of their lifetime - to burn their lives for the survival of their DNA. Of course, we let them go after a good hour or so of gloating on our pillage and shaking them senseless in the jar.

I couldn't help but extend my hand towards the blinkering light today to touch the memory again. The insect lightly landed on my palm, flickered once, and rolled down to its demise. I decided to just observe the lights from afar.

All around me, I heard the obnoxious crying of the cicadas. Cicadas live 7 years of their lives underground, suckling on the tree saps from the roots. After their precious 7 years, looking like ugly, brown moles, they emerge from their hiding, shed their skin, and blossom as a full-grown adult with magnificent wings. For the next 2 weeks, they cry their hearts out, proclaiming summer to us. And then drop dead. 7 years and 2 weeks.

There was a faint light that suspended in the pine tree nearby. As I came closer, I saw that a firefly was caught in a spider web. There is something chillingly morbid about what the creators had intended for mortals. How many of us will actually accomplish what we set out to do in our lives? Or will we fall prey to fatal obstruction?

Nature is a realist and a great teacher.