But I had constructed a mental wall against this unsettledness. My fascination eith nature, in whatever contry I moved to, provided me with an endless source of distraction and amazement. I'd been collecting seashells and fossils, hiking and bird-watching since I could remember. And when I hed arrived on this little island in the Pasific Ocean, I discovered a startling variety of butterflies, and I began to collect them.

I had several glass-topped trays of glorious specimens, carefully labelled and mounted. They came in all sizes and hues, from deepest blues to brilliant yellows, scarlets and shimmering emerald greens. Catching butterflies wasn't easy, so I was proud of my collection.

But there was one that I had yet to capture - the magnificent great orange tip. The previous Christmas I had received from my godfather a marvellous book on sub-tropical butterflies. It included a fully illustrated page with scientific information on this orange-tipped white butterfly that, with its seven to ten-centimetre wingspan, was Okinawa's largest white butterfly. I was entranced - and determined to have one.

The problem was a lofty habitat: I could only watch these lovely insects floating gracefully on the sea breeze, high above the canopy of trees that shrouded the centre of the island. No matter how high I climb, encumbered by my net and collection jars, these creatures were always just beyond my reach - like white and orange confetti settled on the treetops.

As the bags and boxes were packed that summer for our departure, the household was steadily converted into luggage. Yet I kept my butterfly net clear of the packers' hands and spent most of my times outdoors, ranging through the bamboo.

With school out for the summer and only a couple of days before we were to leave, I began to give up hope of finding my great orange tip. My mother told me one morning that my collection panels and books had to be packed up by afternoon. Meanwhile I was at leave to wander the bush and the hedgerows, keeping a wary eye out for my elusive beauty.

In the dense heat, the cicadas buzzed and green lizards danced on the footpaths in the burning sun. The seas of sugarcane rippled gently in the air, and butterflies of all sorts floated ar dodged briskly above the wildflowers on the hillsides. But as usual, the great orange tips remained high above the treetops that day. I traipsed home disconsolately after my fruitless, final search.

But then, as I rounded the corner of our cul-de-sac, alongside the vibrant hibiscus hedge, I caught a flash of brilliant white out of the corner of my eye. I looked up and there it was, about a metre away, settled on one of the the big scarlet flowers. As it fed on the nectar, its wings moved tremulously and I froze in my tracks, transfixed.After a long moment,I began to raise my net, little by little, my heart pounding, the sweat trickling down my brow.

Suddenly the big beauty was aloft, moving to another flower. I swung. And there at last the coveted prize, beating furiously in the fine mesh of my trap. I could scarely believe my eyes or my luck.

Gently I reached in and grabbed the butterfly by the thorax, with every intention of nudging it into the killing jar, where the deadly formaldehyde would quickly do its work. But my hand froze as I reached for the jar and I simply gazed, astonished, at the groilat my other hand. There was the brilliant, iridescent bloom of orange on the tips of its glowing white wings, and I could feel the creature's fear between my fingers. Its little legs scrambled frantically inmy palm.

And then on my impulse, I tossed my long-sought prize into the clear, bright air and watched it float away like a perfect living origami. High above the nearly trees it sailed, then disappeared from sight.

Two days later, I, too, was soaring over the little green island, headedfor a home I didn't know. My butterfly was down there somewhere, hovering above the trees, distant and only freetingly attainable.


******Well this is one of the essays I'm keeping for a very, very long time for it's some sort of giving me motivations. Apparently, it's not of my handwritings. It's an adaption from the Reader's Digest I received from my great English teacher, Tuan Syed, who's also my present class teacher. Well he's another guy who says I'm already ocayh on my writing, but, owh well who knows better than myself? I know I could do better~ Only if I know the way to. Ehem. Back to the point, this kind human being said, "if you really love something, then let it go". I was like huh??? "And if someday it comes back to you, then it's yours". But I still don't get to know how true it really is. So I'll just have to wait. Until my 'butterfly' comes back to me. "And if it doesn't," ahaha, he also said,"it's because love's like that~"******