little murders

One reason why I know that I'll never be a Buddhist, despite my profound interest in Buddhism, is that I just love killing insects that annoy me. Let me confess to this here and now: I am a mass murderer, and if insects had any sense, they'd stay the hell away from my domicile, my office's work station, and my personal space.

In my old place in Hayang-eup, I was assaulted by fruit flies, gnats, and the occasional mosquito. Here in Seoul, there have been no fruit flies at all, but there have been plenty of little flies that are, in size, somewhere between a bluebottle and a gnat. They fly silently; their wings are covered, moth-like, in a sort of scaly powder, and they're extremely slow-witted, which means I don't need much cleverness or agility to kill them. They land on the wall; I smack them or blast them with Windex; end of story. My yeogwan gets an occasional mosquito, but those bugs haven't been much of a problem. The gnat-flies, however, are numerous, and even though they're easy to kill, their sheer numbers are enough to vex me.

So I kill. And kill. And kill again. Without pity. Without remorse. My sleep is completely untroubled by what I do. And that's how I know I'll never be a true Buddhist.


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