I once read a story about how moths were actually pretty, colorful butterflies prior to the Industrial Revolution, during which the manifestation of pollution and soot in the atmosphere caused it to settle on their bodies and get inhaled by them, eventually causing the successive generations of these butterflies to gradually turn grey and dull. Albeit skeptical about the story, I’d like to believe that they’re actually beautiful creatures on the inside. I wish the same could be said for humans. Maybe even the most monstrous person you hear of might be a butterfly on the inside, just the years of piled ‘soot’ by the society he grew up in that caused pollution in his mind.
I wish I could un-hear all those stories of child rape and torture and re-hear all the stories of liberation and love. The news is not good news anymore and while it hardens you, it also conditions you to the constant barrage of bad news; so much so that nothing shocks us anymore. We’ve gone numb to war stories and human rights violations we hear of in distant oppressive regimes; statistics just make us sigh and turn the page. You’d think this is the limit to atrocities each time you hear a case more vicious than the last, but each time you’re proven wrong. There is no end to how ugly human nature can become, to cruelty or evil or how low we can stoop. But in the end, I’d like to believe we’re all just misunderstood moths searching for a flame.