Last week a moth flew into my apartment. I first noticed it as I was hanging out my washing, it was sitting on the balcony while I was minding my own business and suddenly it flew inside. I didn’t think much of it at the time because I was sure it would fly back out except it never did, so then when I was finished with the washing I was left to choose between leaving the door open and risking more bugs flying in or closing the door and living with a moth. What ultimately tipped the balance was the weather, as it was getting cold outside so I went inside and shut the door, effectively sealing our fates. And so, we’ve been living together for the past week.

It’s a pretty big moth, definitely larger than an average sized one, which led me to wonder if by any chance I had a royal moth in my home, but soon it became terrifying, largely because it was so unpredictable. For hours I could go without seeing the moth but then suddenly, as I would cook or open my sock wardrobe, bang, there it would be, flying directly at my face, and it was shocking, like being getting attacked, and in those moments I realised I hated big, black furry flying bugs.

I tried everything I could to get it to leave. I would open the balcony door for hours at a time, but once it flew on handle of the door but not actually outside and then I tried to shoo it out except it flew back inside the living room. It was as if it were repelled by the air outside. And then I thought of leaving it a food trail to lure it outside but upon Googling, I found out that moths don’t actually eat that much so abandoned the idea. After this, frustration got the better of me and I decided that the only option left was to kill it so the next time I saw it I would end its life. I spent many nights carrying a thong in my hand and a tissue in the other, waiting for the moth to land on my desk or somewhere I could reach but for whatever reason, it knew when I had murderous intent and began hiding itself from me in unreachable places – the ceiling, behind the fridge, the back of the pantry. It was an awful, humiliating dance. And for each passing day I began to hate the moth more and more.

This morning though, I saw that the moth was finally dead. It was under my desk, lying next to my laptop charger, without a trace of movement. I kicked the charger a bit, seeing if it would wake up, but it didn’t. I have no idea what killed it, maybe it ran out of energy, or it was killed by a predator bug (I sure hope not) or maybe it had enough itself and flew into one too many walls. I was a little sad seeing it dead, despite hoping for this outcome previously, because in that moment it looked so pathetic, so un-royal-like and it occurred to me that the moth must have starved to death. And then I began to feel sorry for the moth, thinking how awful it would be to die in a foreign apartment, when it probably desperately wanted to get out.

I sat up, grabbed a tissue then gently pinched the moth from the floor and looked at it for a while. Seeing it up close, I realised it was beautiful, it had silver tinges around its wings and wavy patterns on its body. I took it outside and placed the moth on the balcony where I first found it, hoping it would wake up and fly away (but please not into my apartment). But it never did. I looked up at the sky. It was a day similar to when I had first met the moth – chilly and overcast. I wondered if, in a way, things had come full circle. When I looked down, the moth was gone.

May you rest in peace.