teaching, blogging and researching on art and culture, viewing the world through the camera's eyes, continually contemplating on the world of aesthetics and art theory and expressing it in art criticism and discourse…
I wish I was a poet. Or I have at least given the time to develop my poetry. I suppose every person has the ability inside them. We can’t help but have poetry in our lives.
I saw a goat, standing proudly on a mound of earth, like a small hill. It gives the appearance of contemplating the surrounding, amidst the setting sun. I would have taken a photograph, had I a good camera with me. But in a pure, silent moment, I watched the goat watching the sunset.
I ran into children. I have never been more afraid of children than those that I have encountered here. Once I have been struck by a stone by them. I have seen them chase a family on goats once. I have almost intervened, but I feared them. Instead of toys, they carry sticks and stones. They chased the family of goats, hitting them, shouting at them. I used to fear goats too, until I realize they are more afraid of me than I of them. I also learned that they are among the gentlest creatures on earth. Even as they are stuck, they never attacked back. They just ran. The children ended the chase when the smallest boy picked up an enormous rock, much too heavy for his slender body, and shouted with the loudest and purest contempt and hurled the rock towards the goats. It barely flew a feet, but we all froze in shock, even the goats. Then the children left, the mother goat herded her children back into the grassland, and I kept on walking. I didn’t know what just happened. But I shall never forget it.
Why do these children have sticks and stones instead of toys? Where did we go wrong? I have heard them utter the harshest curse words, in the harshest tone that in my worst day I could never speak so cruelly. They spit such words as if it’s the most natural thing on earth. I fear these creatures that are half my size. I know for a fact they could hurt me more than I could ever hurt them. Up to now, I don’t know what to make of that.
I don’t know what to make of my new surroundings. I leave this place in a few weeks. I don’t know where I would go next. Maybe this is the last time I would naturally encounter goats and children in my everyday existence. I still haven’t made sense of all these, then I will go into a new place again. The story of my life in the past decade or so. And my guess is, it would still continue, for another decade or so.
Reading this, I really do wish I had more poetry in me.
This is a goat I once found near the College of Fine Arts. I found it there in the morning and still in the afternoon when I got back. It was such a tiny little thing that was so afraid of me.