Ants and my sense of wonder

When I was a little girl, I would spend minutes on end watching hard-working ants in their element. More specifically, I’d watch fire ants go in and out of their expertly-designed colonies and nests in my family’s or neighbors’ backyard. I was merely in awe of how ants walked back and forth, what seemed like aimlessly, to and from a hole somewhere in soil. But what I was more fascinated by was how even after chasing them, I’d still lose track of where they went, where they were going to or coming from. Their hideout must’ve been an infinite tunnel to the bottom of the earth, I thought.

One hundred years later, here I am, still wondering where in the walls these little creatures are coming from.

This is not meant to be a deep blog post but a thought sparked by a memory — and my current desire to eliminate ants from visiting my home  (which may sound cruel, perhaps, but most necessary). I’ve been trying to track them for months, eventually surrendering to my “ADD” mind, every time.

But while taking a shower the other day, I spotted some black ants coming out of what seemed like an almost invisible, impossibly tiny hole in the bathroom wall. I stopped and watched for a few seconds, trying to wrap my head around how on earth they fit through there, and where on earth their hideout was, and why they picked my place of all — which I keep particularly clean.

It immediately took me back to me sitting on the floor in my family’s frontward when I was little, watching ants do their job. I was so curious about them then, and I still am, even though we have Google now and a bunch of other ways to find out the why’s when I want to put that thought to rest. Still, the grown inquisitive part of my brain can’t help but wonder how a relationship like this can last a lifetime: ants and I. They’re an off-putting sight and thought, but I still find working ants fascinating.

This fascination lead to some (unanswered) questions, though:

Do we keep our sense of wonder even after we know the answers?
Are some things meant to haunt us forever?
Is there a hidden meaning in the adult moments that connect us to our childhood?

I might have not found the right words to write what I wanted to mean by this today, but I’ll note that it is more about life than it is about ants.

Thoughts?