Rantglass - because that's how things are.



It is now December; I do not know what to make of it.

I cannot remember the last time I was at the zoo. I think I was a mere four or five-year-old, inadvertently receiving a scar that I still bear on my thigh when I was cramped at the backseat of the bus, with the other students from the kindergarten. Back then, the only thing of necessity was the colourful sweets (and often, with an egg for breakfast) we would receive while in the bus.

After having a hard time keeping up with the teachers (or rather, the other way round), we would then adjourn to the only fast food restaurant there for lunch. Now that I think about it, it struck me as a tad bit ironic. After all, the sole purpose of going to the zoo was to ogle at the animals, not subsequently eat chickens fried to golden crisps and having the tagline “finger lickin’ good” repeated to the point of annoyance.

With the whole hullaballoo concerning the National Zoo at the moment, the papers also ran a feature on wildlife protection – and with dire consequences, I am afraid. I now have the picture of a beautiful tiger hacked into two solid pieces on the ground, head away from tail, stuck in my head. The bear paws, separated from its rightful owners. Then there were the elephants, left with a gaping hole still bleeding after having its tusks cut off.

In any case, it was horrid.

Imagine I, as a casual reader, stumbling upon articles and pictures like these – and its effect on me has been somewhat eye-opening, to say the least.

What about those poachers, who apparently earn a living out of it? I am surprised that they feel no remorse nor repentence for such degrading actions. The idea of getting profits out of another’s pain simply irks me.

Imagine, if you will – a walk down the street one day, and coming across some human arms being paraded on the table. For sale.

Then again, I am not a vegetarian. I cannot quite point out why this bothers me so.

If this were a fantasy realm, I would still be a ranger, aiming to dance the dance of death and slit the poachers’ throats with my scimitar.

Details of this entry.Saturday, December 04, 2004, filed under Blogger Archives.
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