I remember I used to have this immense love for butterflies as a child. I could never really explain why, but I did.
Something about its powdery light wings, delicate fragile body but still able to propel itself against the wind. Of course, not forgetting the beautiful patterns and details on its wings, so intricate and mesmerizing. It's nature, and it's beautiful.
The most common ones I used to find in the garden or at the park were occasionally the little yellow ones with slightly rounded wings and as a child, naturally I would always attempt to catch butterflies. I caught quite a few, kept them for a few days, even released them in my room to admire, thinking I was some butterfly princess and then finally, set them free. Oh dear, must have been torturous for these little creatures.
But then, there were less flowers around the park and the seeing butterflies were rare around the area.
The best memory I ever had of a butterfly would be during the passing of my YehYeh, my grandfather. At the funeral parlour, his picture was surrounded by pictures of a few butterflies and the room his lifeless body rested in had a few faux butterflies around as well.
Beautiful thing was, the day after he passed away, I woke up, unable to accept the fact that he was really gone and walked into the garden with my sister in the morning. Suddenly, we were greeted with butterflies flying our way, even the exact one on his picture, a monarch. They say butterflies tend to appear when a death occurs. I wouldn't know how to explain it, but it was a beautiful moment. It wasn't just shock, but a sense of relief.