Memories are sometimes so intriguing. Consider the time when I was in the forest of Kyushu, near my mother’s parents’ house, and suddenly encountered a huge swarm of butterflies. The species was Common Bluebottle (Graphium sarpedon). Common Bluebottle, as the name suggests, is not a rare butterfly. Numerous times, I have seen them in isolation, or in a group of few. However, never before had I seen literally tens of them flying around a tree in full bloom. The flowers were white and small. The Common Bluebottles were scattered over the sky. It was such a breathtaking sight.
I was about 6 or 7, and lots of water has flown under the bridge since then. It is such an enigma why and how such memories stay, and from time to time surge out of my unconscious. It did surge this morning, and that is why I am writing about this particular piece of childhood memory in this journal.
It is also interesting how with the procession of time the memory has kind of “purified” itself, assuming an almost mythical nature within my mind. I know these butterflies to have perished long ago, in that summer of my throbbing encounter. Their phantoms however continue to thrive in my mind, synaptically reinforced every time I remember that chance meeting. My long-standing relationship with the airborne ghosts is thus revived again.