Our Symphonies | satosere

15 ;

「 fifteen 」

"But well, not today."

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

If you've ever researched anything about endangered organisms, you'll definitely be knowing about this 100 (actually, 102) years old Pinta Island species named Lonesome George.

I like to believe that the exceptionally sad 'Lonesome' was added to his name since he was an endling to his breed, and even after his death back in 2012, archaeologists and conservationists look up to the creature as a prominent symbol of preserving any endangered species left on this polluted globule of continents and oceans.

How's this knowledge valuable enough to be acquainted with? Because, after George's terribly lonesome death, scientists drew two conclusions as to how do these slow-walkers stay alive for ten whole decades. One of these reasonings isn't that crucial to know, but the other one - well, it forms an interconnection between humans and tortoises.

One of the reasons why tortoises have a longer lifespan than humans is because they have, like, the slowest metabolism rate. And that, makes the cells in their body less prone to getting damaged, or more immune. It's something related to a boring Chemistry topic called free radicals.

In less words and more realness, the tortoise is one wise lazy bean because they decide to sleep half of their day away instead of boiling their blood over petty things like what is Obama's last name. Conclusion: procrastination saves the day.

Every day, but well, not today.

"When the hell would you learn organizing your stuff, Serena?" I heard a furious Lillie yelling from my room, and I rolled my eyes to the ceiling before zipping my suitcase.

"I only look up to you, remember?" I argued back, then kept the wheelie bag on the floor of the living room and stomped over to her, headphones round my neck.

Lillie was sitting in front of a mountain of silver-covered tablets and tonic bottles on the floor mat, my already-choking duffel bag on her lap.

I palmed my face when she stuffed four medics all at once into the poor thing. "God I had just asked for wet tisssues and an Ibuprofen! Why're you putting the entire hospital's supplies in it?"

"That's better than regretting your choices later on," She fastened the duffel's zip, then stood up, dusting her jeans. "I had google-researched about the island and learnt that there are hardly any chemist shops."

"I won't be living there for a month, Lillie," I gave her a look of dry disbelief.

Last week felt like a fresh breath of air, though Miette joining us in the music room every afternoon was a neverending ache in the back for sure, evenings at the central park were fine and a big stress-relief. Especially when someone as sweet as Ash Libretto is teaching you how to play the violin.

Ash and I were the shyest sloths, if it's not understandable already, so we only used to choose the deserted, grassy area by the duck lake for learning. It used to be pleasant, and I often lost track of time while caressing the bow against violin strings.

I knew from streaming various recitals that the instruments with a bow (like cello, viola, and violins), require dutiful rehearsals if one desires to play it with sheer perfection. Ash never informed that to me, and I reasoned that it might be because he didn't want to wear away my confidence. He, himself, had commenced playing music with harmonica and then flute (don't get me started on how darned many instruments he had learnt to play).