Moths in Singapore

The Swallowtail Moth have been a hot topic of conversation, and it seems, we as a nation just cannot get enough of this creature's mysterious and varied appearance. In more than one conversation, I've heard of how the Swallowtail's wings flutter with a mysterious psychedelic and phobia inducing substance that cause convulsions and traumatic memories in Singaporeans. For many of us, no where is safe. We take care to check behind the cubicle doors of our toilets, the windows of our buildings, and avoid the perched creatures on our void decks and playgrounds. The disproportional response was amusedly taken up by the tongue-in-cheek Yahoo!News who labeled it "a moth invasion".

For a whole generation of Singaporeans growing up in an urban setting, we are more accustomed to the smaller relatives of the Swallowtail Moth; those forgettable creatures that trap themselves behind the covers of the ceiling light, and only make their existence known through the tiny shadowy flickers above our heads. Often, these little moths are only revisited during spring cleaning, where we chance upon their shrivelled carcasses after being trapped for too long. Their lack of presence meant that most of us did not bother about where they came from, why they came, or the purpose of their visit. But the Swallowtail is different. It's sheer size demands to be noticed and the large number of them ensures their visibility. With the Swallowtail, we treat it with great suspicion, hoping to use our data and theories to investigate the visitor's intentions in our urban island. However, none of these studies question the nature of our emotionally charged response, where the query is simply assumed to be motivated by the understanding of a new 'pest'.

It would seem to me that the culprit for this widespread hysteria lies not in the recent climate changes or dry season. Instead, to really understand our fears, we need to look, not to Science, but to History, where our forefathers' lack of foresight led to the lack of proper public education in eye health. This resulted in Singapore becoming the country with some of the highest levels of myopia in the world. And the strange correlation between myopia and a fear of moths lies in re-telling of repressed memories where a moth repeated flew towards one's face as they were attracted by the reflection of light on their glasses. With Historical hindsight, it seemed inevitable that with each encounter with the Swallowtail, we regress more and more into our most tiny and fragile selves, where we once again believe that moths has transgress and trampled on our personal security.

Over dinner, I spoke to my grandmother about these moths between pieces of Hokkien sprinkled with bits of Mandarin and English. It was a difficult conversation because I lacked the vocabulary for the word moth in Hokkien and the Hokkien adjectives to describe it. It was only when I showed her a picture of the moth on my smartphone that she finally understood what I meant. Squinting through her glasses, she gave me a stern expression and asked if I've killed any of these moths.

I replied that I was a little too afraid of their large wings to even get close to them, much less acquire the courage to kill one of them. With that, she laughed a hearty laugh from her gut, the kind that only old people can muster. "There is nothing to fear", she said, "for these moths on a journey". It is often at these moments when my interest would pique, as I can sense that a story from another era was about to be told to me. With unbridled enthusiasm, I waited for more.

In story telling mode, my grandmother folded her glasses and placed them at the side of the table, slowly, she said, "Singapore is a big country. We have many things. Many roads, many tunnels, and many of our hills were flattened".

"Have you ever wondered how they managed to do that? Have you ever wondered how many people it takes to do that?" She asked. With my weighty college degrees, I could make an educated guess at how it was done, but I've learnt from experience that some stories are better told when the audience assumes feigned innocence. And with that, I shook my head fervently.

"In my time, people have many children and very few of them have a good education. So many have no jobs, no money, and no food. And so they go to work the 'rough jobs', those that require brute strength..." I realised, at this moment, that I had a mnemonic equivalent, and was quickly brought back to a memory of an excursion where I visited the building of an underground tunnel. It was damp and dark, and I remembered wanting to leave the place as soon as possible... I shrugged off that memory and listened on.

"...very often, the foremen are no good. They will beat the workers and the workers will work many hours a day. Sometimes, I think, this made them careless. In the past, we always hear of tunnel collapses, and so many got buried underground. Today, we are starting to dig out our graveyards, and there are so many more train lines to be made." She paused. "I think these moths came to us to lead the way for those buried to go to where they need to go, and make way for the living. That is why we must never kill any of them. We must let them find their way, and only then they will be at peace".

My grandmother smiled, which was the signal that it was the end of the story. As we go back to picking at our food, I spotted a tiny shadowy flicker pass my window.