Fragile beings

The smell of my room is the smell of newborn puppies. Since Sunday morning, there have been new pups in the house sprawled over now-mother Sky.

Since giving birth, Sky became extra responsible, taking on a new role that imposed itself on her. Though she still cuddles with me, a minute after she heads back to the box where three fragile beings rest, and rightfully gives all her warmth to them like she knew she would even before they came out.

How can a dog whelp and nurse puppies with no firsthand knowledge? It’s the work of instincts that I have observed in Sky. Now, I wonder and marvel the same.

Tantamount to the work of human beings, sometimes we grow through cracks. We didn’t know how to, only the idea that we have to break through it.

Our daily routine involves the same thing, such as deciding whether to leave for work earlier or stay a little longer to catch up with our dogs. As shallow and obscure as it seems, the process itself requires weighing of preferences that are not as clear-cut as either girl or boy but that of gender identity that is fluid.

The same thing makes us fragile little beings, a sand grain in a world that’s also grain in a black expanse. Or the puppies dependent on a bitch’s warmth and milk. But we become more instinctive as we age, and that makes us more likely to cope well (badly sometimes).

We are instinctive (little) beings, after all. Even on the cloudiest days, on nights when the moon shows no trace, we only need a spark to lighten our rooms. It’s a matter of braving our fragility to survive our agonies. Easy to say, I know. But we all have felt the same thing some other time. That’s enough for a head start.

Drafted September 29.