As I scrambled to locate my Samsung S9+ (the better of my two phones) and fumbled with the OnePlus I had in the moment, the monitor lizard gained speed and took up in the opposite direction.
Should I have stopped to just observe if it would indeed come up the stairs? Should I have just shot it with the phone and in the entirety of its unforgiving zoom quality anyway?
I’m well into my fifth month here at the Rimbun Dahan artists/writers residency. Today, I am rewarded with the realisation that I have now gained a heightened sense of auditory familiarity of the space — thanks to the carpet of brown leaves that constantly line the pathways, which sandwich my cabin.
The rhythm and volume of each crunch are my CCTV signals that someone or something is nearby. Who is it, and why at this hour? Are the workers coming back for their lunch break? If the crunches are fast and slow, it’s probably one of the dogs running ahead of its human, right? Or is this the sound of the alpha monkey again — here to take another bite out of the fresh nutmeg and dipterocarp seeds that I’ve laid out to dry?
Once I’ve taken the time to observe, listen and identify the sound a falling leaf, I am no longer distracted by the thought of a shrew or a squirrel climbing through the kitchen window.
This morning’s signal was a peculiar combination of a slow crunch interlaced with a left-right-left drag. My first thought was, of course, a snake; I saw one on a hot day just like today.
Should I have just pretended not to be alarmed by the sight of a teenage monitor lizard coming towards my porch? Should I have just continued with work and observed from afar — and from the “safe” height of the bench on the veranda? Should I have waited to see if it would enter the house? Is the arrival of a wild reptile a sign of good luck — it is the first day of the Lunar New Year? At what point should I step in to exert control over a situation? And at what point do I leave things be and to let nature take its course?