I always thought I loved autumn.
If asked to provide evidence, I’d be at a loss. When questioned if I’m certain, all I can say is that I feel it. I can’t objectively show it, but I definitely know it. The sensation of having opened that lid and the conviction that it marks the end of everything, are undeniably within me.
“To gain something, one must surely lose something,” it’s been said, echoing our continuous refrain. “The very notion of obtaining everything is paradoxical.”
Crows caw overhead.
Dusk. A moratorium on the path to silence.
“Why not claim ignorance as an excuse? Or perhaps plead, with tears, that it was an unavoidable decision for the sake of everyone?”
Another crow arrives, spewing venomous words.
“You were warned. The true threat lies within, not outside. It’s not the enemy, but oneself.”
These crows always pretend to know better, causing a ruckus. I get it. It’s all my fault. But what good does blaming me now do?
“Did you feel you had no choice but to touch the unknowable, the unforeseeable?”
Harnessing atoms without spewing poisonous radiation like the sun. Or converting the boundless heat deep within the Earth into energy.
Replacing human intellect with machinery. And processing an infinite information space in a singular moment.
Manufacturing devices on a molecular scale and biochemically manipulating bacteria at will.
Energy, knowledge, control. Who would have thought that by gaining everything, we’d lose everything?
“To get rid of rats gnawing at a pillar, you might remove a few planks from the ship’s bottom. But eventually, the ship will sink.”
“It’s fine as long as you’re swimming energetically in the tank, but if you thrash too much, the tank might topple.”
“No human grip can trap an odor, no matter how tightly one might try.”
Three crows cackle crudely.
I look up, feeling a flicker of irritation, only to find the sky and the bare trees shrouded in the blackness of the crows. The sparse openings remind me of the curtains of night.
There was one purely white bird, a species unfamiliar to me.
“Just over two months left. Let’s spend this season meaningfully together, as there will be no next spring.”
I always thought I loved autumn. But how should I feel spending the last one? Especially when I, with these very hands, likely ushered in the end?
Against overwhelming energy, can’t people see the Earth is like a water balloon? If punctured, it deflates. It’s easy to make a hole, but plugging it or restoring the water is impossible.
Faced with advanced intelligence, can’t one see that another intellect is powerless? In front of a computer that can predict infinite chess moves, what moves can we make to ensure we don’t lose? Even if we don’t initiate the game, someone’s curiosity might, dragging us into a win-lose scenario.
Amidst invisible micro-robots and unprecedented bacteria, what can halt our decline? The crows, the white bird, and I can control our bodies. However, nanoscale structures, though part of us, remain untouchable, unseen.
Which among these will first plunge us into despair remains unknown to me. Yet that white bird seems to know.
Two months till winter. What reality awaits? Or perhaps events beyond my imagination? The urge to know no longer stirs within. At last, it seems my curiosity has met its autumn.
Knowing now changes nothing. Lately, I keep recalling something a lab-mate said during our student days.
“If you could send one message to the past, what would it be?”
Sending vague warnings back won’t help. Even if we identified the exact cause and convinced people it’s a letter from the future, would this situation be averted? If one issue is sidestepped, would all other potential problems be acknowledged?
“I want you to think seriously.”
After all, that’s the only sentence I can come up with.
Even if unavoidable, I wished everyone knew.
On this Earth, many live expecting another spring. They spend days grappling with modest lives, potential happiness, future worries, and daily struggles.
Both then and now, tales of the world’s end seem mere quarrels among activists, scientists, and politicians, or unrealistic delusions and fiction bred from fear. Without choices or opportunities to decide, they’re heading towards an endless winter, oblivious.
This distorted reality continually constricts my heart.
The end.
