Written by: Anonymous
In ecology, a keystone species is defined as a species that has a disproportionately large effect on its natural environment. They define an entire ecosystem – without its keystone species, an ecosystem could be thrown completely off balance. It would be dramatically different, or even cease to exist altogether. These are species like starfish or otters, where if they are taken out of their ecosystem, it is likely to collapse altogether.
They once did an experiment on keystone species along the rocky Pacific coastline. They took out the starfish from the ecosystem – now, the starfish feeds on the mussels, which keeps the mussel population in check and allowing many other species to thrive. When they took the starfish out, the mussel population swelled and the ecosystem is thrown off balance.
That day, when you looked me in the eye and told me you can’t do this anymore, it feels quite similar to the starfish experiment. My world, thrown completely off balance. It leaves a gaping wound that does not seem to heal, and all this time you have been making home in my heart – what am I meant to do with all this space? The loss left me on the edge, swaying dangerously to the bottom.
Like Yellowstone without its grey wolf, it takes everything in me to carry on each and every day. I try to put one foot in front of the other but some nights I find myself not finding the strength to stand. Your words, heavy in my footsteps. I’d never go away. I still made coffee for two this morning. I drank them all myself. When I can’t sleep at night, your broken promises still wrap themselves around me like an armour that has seen battle, and the cracks still sting every single time I hear your name.
I was sitting in ecology class one day and the girl sitting next to me was thinking out loud.
“Is there actually a keystone species, though?”
I turned, intrigued. “How do you mean?”
“I mean, so what if a species disappears? Then the rest of the ecosystem will recover by itself. Surely a keystone species had disappeared before, and then what? The world goes on. They find other means to survive.”
Her words ring in my head as I lay in bed alone – then I think about how despite the gaping hole in my chest, I am still here. You’re no longer here to help me walk on my two feet and despite that, I still crawl. I still press the phone number I know all too well when it’s dark and I’m alone on the floor trying to fight back the voices in my head because you can’t undo what is once good practice. But I don’t press the call button. I don’t. I don’t look back.
Because guess what? The world does go on.
I don’t remember what my world looks like without you. I don’t remember how it feels to walk on my shaky two feet without anything to hold onto. I don’t remember getting excited about something new and not telling you about it. I don’t remember what it feels like to not have you. But I figured that I don’t have to.
After the destruction, comes birth. The loss will hurt, but it will also heal, and it will find a way. Like the rocky Pacific coastline. Like the Sundaland rainforest. This will shatter and crash to the ground, but it will also grow into something. Some days I will still gasp for air, but I will also go to sleep without having to cry. I don’t know what. But it will grow into something. Because we, as living species with natural survival instinct, adjust and we adapt, and we survive. Even after loss – as damaging as they may be.
One day I will walk on my own two feet again, and it will no longer be weighed down by you. One day someone will say your name, and my heart will no longer take it like it’s salt on an open wound.
The world goes on, and so will I.
Inkling. 