It's strange how the smallest things can create such an affect, such a change of perspective in our lives.
Over the past two years I have been reminded on more than one occasion of our own mortality. There have been severely different triggers to this reminder. The burning of bridges is a strange way to realise that we might never see a person again, it also shares a significant likeness to death. Death has presented itself to me in the form of accidents from which I've been lucky to survive. And lastly, most obviously, death has been portrayed by death itself. My Nan passed away on the 11th of July this year.
All these moments prompt me to consider my own mortality and how I spend my time. I am aware that I rarely spend it wisely. I always know that I have something to be doing and that my list of things to do is ever-increasing.
Perhaps the strangest thing to inspire me to do more with my life is my goldfish, Ginger. My fiancee and I bought a pair of goldfish early last year. Cleo and Ginger. Original, we know.
The pair have suffered a rather arduous life, living with my fiancee and I; we've moved house four times and our busy schedule (and perhaps in part, laziness) has meant that their tank hasn't always been pristine.
The first sign of mortality Ginger gave me was when I found him (Yes, I'm assuming my goldfish is a boy), not long after we got them, floating upside down at the bottom of the tank, a stone lodged tightly in its mouth. The stupid thing had choked to death, I thought.
Upon closer inspection, I noticed the fish had a gut full of black stones, the same as was in it's mouth. Becky (my fiancee) and I mourned its death and prepared to fish it out for the flush. Never have I been so shaken up as when this dead fish, now in a stein, spat the stone out and jolted back to life. For the remainder of the day Ginger swam upside down. Becky and I were to visit her parents that night for the weekend. We assumed that although Ginger had narrowly avoided death, that it would die, if not because it was upside down but because it had a tummy full of stones that meant it kept sinking to the bottom. To ensure that Cleo didn't follow suit, we removed the stones from their tank.
On returning home at the end of the weekend, we found, much to our surprise, Ginger swimming happily around, the right way up. No sign of stones.
It surprised me that this little fish had dodged the bullet so narrowly and yet was back on top form, performing ballet around its tank with Cleo.
Earlier on this year, Becky and I packed our bags and went on a tremulous plane journey to the blistering heats of Sharm el Sheikh in the middle of June. It was only on our fifth day that it occurred to me suddenly that our fish were most certainly dead, because we hadn't arranged a way to feed them in our absence, not only this but it'd be another five days before we returned. Guiltily we resigned ourselves to the fact that we had killed Ginger and Cleo. Upon our return the fish swam happily (I assume they probably weren't happy, but I like to pretend) around a rather dirty tank. Through guilt I cleaned the tank immediately and fed them copiously.
On a rare occasion, Becky was cleaning out their tank (I say rare, because although they were originally her fish, I had been charged with feeding them and cleaning them), Ginger somehow managed to escape whilst being transported from the dirty water into the new clean water. This escape was ill-conceived, as the sink that it dove precariously into wasn't full of water. Panicking, Becky managed to recover the floundering fish and return it to the water, however she was terrified she might have shocked it to death. The fish, however, continued through its hardships.
It are these moments that have signified a passage through adversity and a struggle to overcome difficulty. More than that, Ginger has managed for all this time to escape death, even when floating dismally before death's door. Ginger has reminded me that no matter how small you are, nor how insignificant people might think you are, you have the ability to have an affect on the larger picture. You have the capacity to make someone laugh, or think, or take action.
Goldfish are such a simple creature, and therefore such a simple pleasure. They don't play with you, like a cat or a dog, they don't cuddle with you, you can't stroke them. They are there to look after and watch. And I guess if you watch carefully, you will begin to notice some elements of yourself in them. You may be insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but that doesn't mean your actions aren't unnoticed or have a lesser affect.
Yesterday, I cleaned out Cleo and Ginger's tank, I later returned to find Ginger floating on its side at the surface of the water. Nobody escapes death. But it's a question of what affect you leave on the world before you die. I used to look down on Goldfish as a pet, but as silly as t sounds, after Ginger, I can't say I'd ever look at anything in the same way.
R.I.P. Ginger, 19/11/11
