The humble mosquito. What a remarkable creature. I once made a deal with them on an infested coach journey in Thailand that if they left me alone I would them. It wasn’t until three years later when I was in Spain that I broke the terms they had stuck to. Ten years later and the war has become one of attrition, both sides too caught up in their base instinct for survival.
I find them fascinating creatures. They have brains and they can sense, smell and see. They are attracted to the carbon dioxide we emit as well as the heat of our bodies. I discovered a long time ago that having a cold shower stops them coming so much. Them coming being hunting of course. We are hunted. They may be small but they hunt us. I wonder if they hunt other animals. I assume so, they can’t just be after us even though we do have such easily accessible and soft skin. Yet they keep coming even after we have killed them and I imagine other animals would be far worse at swatting them. They may have brains but they must be small. Saying that they’re sneaky and they can get places you can’t imagine possible. Tonight like the last few nights, despite closing everything there always seems to be more. I wonder if they come in during the day and just wait.
When I lived in Athens I had a net around my bed. I couldn’t have survived without it and wondered how my flatmates who didn’t could sleep while also having their window open because of the heat. My wall was splattered with dead mosquitoes. It was my trophy wall I like to believe was a warning to others. It didn’t seem to work. That old familiar buzzing in the ear. Yet there’s never anything there when you turn around or turn on the light. Was I imagining it? Am I going mad? Yet we eventually see them and those ancient instincts rise to the surface as our eyes lock on the target and the battle begins. The traditional hand clap or if patient enough a wall slap.
When I lived in Lesvos the ceiling to my room was so high they worked out they could just hide up there and they would be safe. Eventually my old school changing room training kicked in and I realised I could whip the ceiling with my towel. When in Nepal I would pull my sheet up to my head and when I could hear them close would slap the side of my head to get them. While this was ridiculous for the obvious reasons it wasn’t until one day I forced one deep into my ear by the force of the air. The beating of it’s tiny wings like a marching band on my ear drum. The only solution being to pour water in and drown it. The next day in the lake it finally washed free.
The real moment of truth comes when they land on you. Do you quickly go for the kill or do you play the long game. The mosquito lands on your arm, it’s still looking around unsure whether it is safe to proceed. Rubbing it’s back legs together in delight as it eyes up it’s meal. So you wait. It tentatively tests the surface, look close enough and you can see it jabbing around with it’s microscopic needle for the perfect spot. You watch and you wait. Even once it has found where it will eat and has made it’s incision you still wait. Let it get those first mouthfuls of your blood. Let it relax. But still wait. Only once it has had it’s second taste, only once it has become docile and drunk on you do you reclaim what is yours with ease.
Yet I respect them. They keep coming. They’re like the ultimate predator, or they would be if you viewed them all in their entirety as one sentient being. Because they seem that way sometimes. It seems sometimes like all those years ago I broke a deal with that one sentient being and am destined to spend eternity paying off the reparations for my treachery. Well so be it. Let the war go on. We have nothing left to us now anyway but our base instincts. Why not let them play out.
Observations and Misunderstandings 