The Feeble Icarus
We all know about the mighty Icarus who flew too high and died. But one may argue that at least it did try to taste the Sun, no matter how brief his victory was. But this story is not about the mighty Icarus but about a bug who inadvertently became Icarus in its own tragic way. So, without further ado, here goes the tale of our feeble Icarus, who never even wanted to taste the Sun.
Once upon a time, there lived a bug in a small pond. Being a bug, it was not adaptable to water. However, it still floated through, kicking its tiny bug legs against the strong water currents, always drawing across a tangent to the state of drowning. It was constantly struggling to survive but had made a beautiful peace with this partial drowning, wherein the water continuously bubbled through its respiratory organs, but it didn’t even ask for help. No, that is not entirely correct; it was not even aware that it needed help, and if it was, then it had definitely submerged it into its dark and dreary sub-conscious. Since it did not need any help, it was obvious that no one would lend help of their own accord. Thus, it continued soaring through these different currents of water, happy and content in its own way.
There was a time when it might have thought about swimming tirelessly and reaching the horizon someday, but eventually, the weight of existence dawned it off all its Icarus-like ambitions. So when there was no respite in reality, it escaped to dreams and positioned itself as one of the dreamiest bugs who ever lived. It had nothing to do with the real world, it existed like an alien in an alien land searching for its home in these dreams.
Lost in its own world, the real world hardly mattered until a twig fell right across our bug. It was like any other day, our bug was partially swimming and partially drowning, carrying the weight of its existence, but hazily happy in the world of its own; when a small twig, perhaps from some nearby tree, fell in front of the bug. The abruptness of the event startled our bug, and it took it a moment to notice that the twig did not fall, but a bird, a beautiful angelic bird, had carried it with it. This bird had unintentionally brought this twig to sit upon as it absorbed the beauty of nature around it. The bird developed a habit of visiting the waters every day and with time made friends with our bug. Though our bug was always hesitant towards creatures from real life, it could not help but feel a magnetic pull towards this bird. Eventually, our bug also clasped this twig and unintentionally crawled upon it.
Until now, our bug had always gasped for air as it struggled to survive every second. Every breath it took carried with it a pain of labour which amounted to nothing. For the first time in its life, it breathed the fresh air, and the respite it brought along cannot be expressed in words. The bountiful of beauty which had surrounded it all its life but had remained unnoticed until now brought upon a fresh feeling of such serene tranquillity that the bug could feel its very heart. It was unaware of it being capable of feeling this gush of absolute freedom and profound happiness.
It started appreciating the bird and could feel nothing but gratitude towards it. The realisation that someone saw it for the first time in its life made it feel beautiful, in spite of being a bug. (Now, it is important to note here that our bug was never self-depreciating. In fact, it valued itself so much so that it might even be miscomprehended as narcissism. Being a bug was in no way a matter of shame for it, but in fact, even pride. It was a paradoxical feeling, but that is how our bug was. It could be best described as being Kafkaesque but carrying with it the absurdism of Camus).
Unaware of all these shackles of feeling so intensely, our bug started to develop a habit for this breath of fresh air. It now waited for the bird to come every day and help it out of its watery world to this brief escape of happiness. The bird who unintentionally helped it has nothing to do with what our bug felt. But our bug can’t help but feel enriched by these moments of respite because no matter how much it made peace with the drowning, somewhere there hid a functioning human heart who had not yet lost all hope. And this glimpse of hope was too much. Eventually, it started gasping for more and more air, more than it needed and more than the bird can provide. And unfortunately, for our feeble Icarus, hope became the Sun.
The bird being a bird was carefree and absolutely unaware of what a small gasp of fresh air could mean to this bug. It started feeling trapped by these undesired expectations of being akin to someone’s saviour. Why should it carry such a heavy burden when all it ever wanted was to be free and kind? Slowly and steadily, the bug started realising the futility of its raised expectations, but now chained to the beast of hope, it drained out the happiness from these moments of respite. It is in the nature of birds to fly and swim in the ocean of fresh air while our bug is doomed to go back to the drowning waters.
One day when the bird came again, despite being hesitant but compelled due to its kind heart, it found our bug already jumping through the waters, as if to reach the twig even before the bird had landed. The bird tried really hard to circle around and even whistled for our bug to rest, requesting it to calm down and let it land, post which our bug can make an easy climb. But our bug paid no heed to any such requests. It kept jumping up and up, always targeting to reach the twig and not letting it land either. There was something in our bug that was soaring too high today, perhaps its inner Icarus, perhaps the beastly hope, perhaps both, but it did not utter a word. It kept ignoring the pleas made by the bird and kept jumping and with it sabotaging everything that was built along. Though it did not communicate a single word, anger and guilt were evident in these futile attempts. What did the bug want to do? Did it want to fly? Did it want the bird to go away? Or did it want the bird to help? Did it want to hurt itself? Did it want to hurt the world? Who was it angry at? Itself or the world? Was it guilty for sabotaging the only moments of happiness it has known? Or was it guilty with the burdensome loneliness that foolishly found an escape in a delusion? No one knows, not even our bug.
Icarus ignored Daedalus' instructions not to fly too close to the sun, causing the beeswax in his wings to melt. Icarus fell from the sky, plunged into the sea, and drowned.
Our feeble Icarus also ignored everything and jumped too close to hope, causing its head to crack off. It fell from the false sky, plunged into the sea, and finally drowned.
Perhaps it was not that easy to breathe for our bug prior to the fateful meeting with the bird but at least it was devoid of hope and aspirations, of kindness and happiness, of love and companionship, of the hurtful truth that reality can never be as magnanimous as dream, and of the fact that the only dreams that come true in real life are nightmares.
It was difficult to breathe but perhaps easier to live.
