I’ve been writing a bit lately! This started out in a class where we had to write weekly “Intellectual Journal Entries”. Since that class, I’ve written more entries, using the space of writing to reflect and process the harms and beauty I see around me. I do not by any means think I’m a fantastic writer, but I hope you like some of it!
Entry April 22nd, 2026— I saw a ghost
I think I saw a ghost last night. It’s always hard to tell when you’re half awake, and they fade so quickly. Was it really a spectre or was it just the coat and bags hanging from my closet? Was it just my half-asleep mind still dreaming? Or was it a manifestation of my anxiety about haunting, the destruction brought by humankind, my worries about my future, and the constantly unfolding horrors of capitalism and colonialism? She did seem real, whatever I saw. Even though I saw through her, and after rubbing my eyes, she was gone. I remember thinking that she looked like me. She was tall like me, had long brown hair like mine, and was wearing a red shirt like one I own. I saw her, I felt chilled by her presence, but I don’t know what she wanted. As I quickly fell back asleep, I tried to acknowledge her, but I didn’t verbally utter a word towards that part of my room. If she were there, did she understand my acknowledgment and curiosity towards her? Or did she feel startled by my waking and ignored by me as I went back to sleep? I’ve never sensed her before. Have I been blind to her presence this whole time? Or is this her first visit? That’s what bothers me the most. If I don’t know why she’s there and I’ve never encountered her before, how am I supposed to know whether she was real or not? How am I supposed to know what her presence means? All I hope now is that she visits me again.
Entry April 19th, 2026— Contemplating Hummingbirds
What a joy it is, seeing you. In every setting I see you, your presence fills me with happiness. Your wings beat so quickly they become a blur, and they move so quickly that as fast as I can blink, you vanish. I find it so impressive that you can hover so easily while drinking the sweet nectar of a flower. It feels so special to watch you land, wings tucked in to your sides, on a branch or the ground. I hope it’s okay that I’ve seen your nest, tucked in a branch, high up in a tree. I love listening to your cheeps as you fly around that nest, making sure it is well-hidden and well-built. I love hearing the sound of your fluttering wings hit the pine needles around your nest as you land in it. I hope your babies are well, that you’re finding enough to eat. I hope you stay safe. Did you know humans are looking for you? Did you know that they’re hoping to lure you and your kin in with traps of sugar water? Did you know that they’re hoping to put your small body to sleep in order to study you? Did you know that if you’re one of the unlucky ones, they won’t release you back to your babies when they’re done studying you? They call the experiments “terminal” to distance themselves from their responsibility in killing you. They’re concerned that some of your kin, whom they’ve captured, died before they could run experiments on them. They don’t know why these individuals, whom they kidnapped from their homes and families, who they forcibly took away from all comfort and familiarity, who they fed unnatural food to and housed in cages, died before they were meant to be killed. They think maybe these birds “didn’t like the food” they were given. Or perhaps the traps they set only attracted “the sickly or elderly” hummingbirds—individuals who, in their mind, would’ve died without the intervention of the scientists anyway. I wonder if you knew any of the hummingbirds who were kidnapped. I wonder if you see the impacts of their death on their families or Mother Earth. Ever since I heard of the threat against you, my experiences seeing you are colored with anxiety and fear for your safety. Seeing you alive and well feels so much more precious now. I condemn those who seek answers they do not have a right to know. Those who exploit the living just to discover something new to them. I care about you, and I love you. I keep you in my mind, my heart, and my thoughts.
Entry March 22nd, 2026— Grief for a deer
I cried for a really long time after seeing your body, stiff and still, on the side of the freeway. I always feel horrible seeing the bodies of our nonhuman kin crumpled and lifeless, lives cut short by speeding cars, needlessly slaughtered because we’re going too fast to stop in time or avoid them. Thousands of unnecessary deaths every day because we humans want to get to places fast and efficiently. But I can’t grasp the magnitude of this level of death in this moment. In this moment, I’m mourning one death. This death. Your death. I can’t stop feeling the panic and pain you must have felt, trying to run across the busy road and not making it. Being hit by a car you might not have thought was going that fast. I wonder if you knew the danger of crossing, if you underestimated their speed, or didn’t see the car that hit you. I wonder if your death was fast. Or was it torturous and slow. You took your last breaths next to the concrete barrier, blocking your way to the field on the other side. Did you try to get over this barrier? Did it block your way to safety? It’s this barrier that felt the most terrible about your death. My mind reels thinking that you weren’t able to get to safety because of this human-made structure. The roads are already so cruel in isolating sections of habitat, and to have a physical barrier to block them off further is horrific. I wonder about your kin. Did they also cross this road? Did they witness your violent death? Do they know what happened to you? Does the same fate await them? Where were you trying to go? Did you have children? Had you eaten enough that day? All of this I wonder as I speed past your body, probably going the same speed as the person who hit you. I don’t know what to do to prevent deaths like yours besides advocating for more animal bridges and paying more attention to my speed and the impact of driving. But I do know that I won’t stop grieving you. I won’t forget you. Although I didn’t know you when you still had life in your body, I’ll try to remember you with dignity. I’ll remember you and wonder about you as more than just a body. And I’m sorry that you left this world in such a violent way. I hope you’re at peace now and that your body is given back to Earth soon. I hope your kin stay safe and remember you in life. I hope they get closure, too, and learn to avoid the roads. All of this goes to say, I love you. And I’m sorry.
Entry March 29th, 2026— Death is all around us
I’m learning to be attentive. To pay attention to the systems around us that harm. To understand how I interact with these systems and am compliant with their violence. On our trip to Utah, my attention was given to the thousands of insects that died on impact with our car’s windshield and the dozens of nonhuman animals that died by being hit by cars. I felt sick thinking about the thousands of bugs we were killing on our journey. Bugs that didn’t need to die but did because we were driving so fast. I felt immense grief every time we passed another dead body on the side of the road. The speed and force of cars wipe out the individuality of each death. Bugs become unrecognizable after being hit by our car. It’s horrific how their bodies— once filled with blood, organs, breath, life, and memories— become simply streaks on the windshield. Animals, if not moved off the road soon enough, become more and more mangled by passing cars until they’re flattened to the road, a stain to represent their life, connections, impact, and pain. I think about how desensitized we’ve become to this death. This death fills every day with loss as millions of individuals lose their lives on the road. And yet many people see the remains of insects on their cars as inconvenient at most and easily forget the bodies of dead animals on the road. I don’t want to be desensitized. Yes, the number of bugs that die is overwhelming. I can’t reflect on each of their deaths— especially when I don’t witness them die— and I can’t imagine what they might have looked like when they were living. But I can still be attentive to the impact I’m creating. Every bug I hit increases the guilt I feel for my impact of driving. I allow myself to feel the jolt of grief when I witness an individual’s death or focus on the bigger picture magnitude of our impact as we drive, the windshield covered in bugs. And I am resolved not to forget the individual animals I see, either. I remember the opossum, the raccoon, the two deer, and the unrecognizable three rabbits. I couldn’t stop their deaths from happening. But I can remember them, grieve them, and wonder about them. As for the insects, I don’t know. I’m making sure I feel the guilt of causing their deaths with our driving. But I can’t commit to preventing more from happening, as I regularly am in vehicles going far too fast to prevent their deaths. This is a guilt I have to learn to live with.
Entry March 6th, 2026
I’m wondering about the potential utility of imagination when learning about how the forest connects and how fish feel. I wonder if it would be anthropomorphism to try to imagine how a fish might feel being crushed in a net under the numberless bodies of their kin. Or to imagine how well the trees I pass know each other. This week really helped validate the feelings I’ve had for ages—that creatures (trees, animals, fish) do have individuality, sentience, intelligence, and feelings beyond our experience and understanding. To think about the fact that fish and lobsters feel and hear entirely (or almost entirely, or at least to our knowledge) differently than we experience the world— or even THEIR world when we dive into the depths of the ocean— is mind-blowing. It has felt very fulfilling just to go about my day, wondering and imagining those perspectives. After much contemplation, I think the reason we should decenter humans is to hear the world around us more clearly. In decentering humans, I have been able to learn and accept the incredible things that octopi can do (beyond my previous understanding of them), that plants are not stagnant creatures, that bees see things beyond our experience of seeing, and that lobsters feel complex feelings we couldn’t comprehend. Decentering humans, in other words, has opened my ears and eyes to how other creatures might experience existence. It feels so unique, each of these life experiences. And yet, I know we’re still deeply connected and similar, and I know I can and will learn a lot from the beings around me as I continue to exist and listen. I wonder how I can do so without being abstractive, exploitative, or betraying their trust. Is there something I can offer the world around me outside my species? Is there a way to be a respectful observer? Are there signs I should look for to know when my observation is not welcome? I’m excited for where these questions will take me.
Entry February 27th, 2026
My thoughts always feel so scattered before I start a journal entry, but I hope they come out clearly. I’m thinking about Alexis Grubb’s statements about feeling jealous of the fins of marine mammals. As I’ve been more attentive to the trees and relations between individuals in the wild, I, too, feel jealousy of the features and connections of those individuals outside my own species. I wonder if the trees of different species scattered across campus are connecting, if they know each other well or are strangers, if they have nonproductive (to their survival) conversations, if they like each other, if they know I’m nearby. And I feel jealous of them. Are there ways I can be more connected to my kin living besides me? Are the neighbors on either side of my room a comparative relationship to the trees I see on either side of the ride? Do animals communicate with the trees? When thinking about our relationships between humans and within nature, I felt a deep sense of sadness today as I ran errands across Seattle. There are parts of Seattle where it was all cement, and I didn’t see a living soul outside of businesses and cars. In general, we don’t smile or interact with the humans we do see in public (at least most of the time, and especially in Seattle). We don’t touch grass, dirt, trees, or running streams. And I find myself feeling jealous for the individuals I do see living that way: squirrels, crows, pigeons, finches, rabbits, rats. This week really increased my desire to connect with the people around me, and I feel stuck in a system that prevents me from doing so (of course, I have some agency to connect more with humans, and I am trying to do that). So I feel jealous of the creatures around me who seemingly connect so effortlessly. But all of that said, it might be helpful to reframe it as an openness to learning from the individuals around me who are still connecting with one another despite living within the systems humans have made. After all, I’m living in those same systems too.
Entry February 13th, 2026
This week, I want to just ramble a bit. I don’t have a specific direction I want to go. But I do want to talk about pit bulls following the story of perception in our readings this week. Pit bulls are because while we glorify dogs (I can’t remember which reading said that while we glorify dogs, we still treat them poorly. But on the surface, we love dogs), society views pit bulls negatively, seeing them as dangerous and violent. I, for one, love pit bulls. I think it’s deplorable that some humans put them through such violent experiences, and then the rest of humans hate them for an upbringing outside their control. As a kid, when I readjusted my opinions shaped by my mom (she grew up with a cop dad and doesn’t trust pit bulls) to view them in a positive light, I tried to smile at pit bulls and their owners whenever I crossed them. I found it interesting, then, that in this week’s reading, the whiteness of the owner of a pit bull was assumed to reduce the perceived threat others perceived from the pit bull. It made me reflect on my perceptions of pit bulls, associated with the humans (or lack thereof) who accompany them, and with their race. It’s an interesting thought because associating an individual’s level of “threat” (or, more graciously, their personality) with the race of a human companion, while trying to see animals as individuals and as equal to humans, seems so odd. In the context of racism and speciesism, though, it makes perfect sense. Of course, someone who holds prejudices for people of different races and thinks that a dog’s personality is tied to their caretaker’s would assume the personality of a dog based on the race of their caretaker. I just don’t understand how people could think like that. These thoughts are just a continuation of contemplation about what intersectionality means in the context of our nonhuman kin. It does make me want to give off more good vibes to all the pit bulls I see, though.
Entry February 6th, 2026
Thursday’s theme for this week was on disability, which is what I want to focus on in this entry. I had no prior education on disability going into the readings, so I made a lot of really cool connections as I was reading. They also helped break down many assumptions and preconceptions I held about disability in the animal kingdom. Prior to this class, I really bought into the idea of mercy killings. That is, if we witness an animal suffering, there’s a level of justification to “put them out of their misery”. But now I think this idea lies in speciesism and ableism. The idea that nonhuman animals can’t recover from pain, live with disabilities, or care for one another continues to be proven wrong time and time again. These ideas really helped shape my perspective on my various encounters with animals. I once encountered a pigeon without a foot at the International District 1line stop. They were looking for food along with their companions. After reading the material for Thursday, my feelings about this encounter have shifted. At the time, I felt a lot of grief for this pigeon because they had to move differently from their peers. But now I recognize that moving differently is just operating in an environment to the best of their ability. We all have to move through our environments according to our abilities. Clearly, the bird’s foot was healed and most likely wasn’t in pain. Why should I assume their life is any more miserable than their companions’? I later learned that pigeons’ feet can get tangled in string in the city, which can cut off their circulation, leading to the loss of their feet. I also now view this knowledge differently after Thursday’s materials. Pigeons losing their limbs due to unnatural strings in their living environments is another example of how we as humans created environments that inevitably lead to disabling our nonhuman kin (another common example of this is the disabilities within farming industries, where chickens are bred to have huge breasts, influencing their ability to walk or live for very long). Overall, the readings really helped me become aware of our impacts on another level. They also helped me revisit some of my core ideas and gave me more tools to help me appreciate and see the world around me. I’m excited for where this knowledge and these tools can take me.
Entry January 30th, 2026
This week’s class theme was love, and an underlying theme was conservation. We love our fellow animals, and so we work to conserve them as we drive them to extinction. I’ve always heard the term ‘conservation’ and have largely embraced it without digging into what it can actually look like. Who wouldn’t care about saving those who share this world with us? I think preserving ecosystems is so important in conservation because it provides places for animals to live and helps prevent extinction. But this week reminded me that a big part of conservation has become forced breeding to continue or increase the numbers of any given species. From reading, talking, and observing animals over the past 4 weeks, it was a shocking reminder that people who claim they care about animals and are leading conservation efforts are using forced breeding as a conservation tactic. I find it fundamentally unethical, and thinking about it has complicated my view of conservation. I don’t know how to fully process this reality, especially because breeding has been such a normalized part of my life—farming, dog breeding, conservation of endangered animals, etc.—but now I feel overwhelmed by the thought. If we as humans want to break down the mentality of human exceptionalism, view our kin as equals with autonomy and individual value, how can we justify exerting power over these same individuals and, against their will and consent, use their reproductive agency to perpetuate their species? It just feels so wrong. What makes it worse is putting myself in their position as to what they might be feeling. Of course, I do so with the understanding that I will never truly know their feelings, perspectives, or thoughts. But still. The confusion, fear, vulnerability, exploitation, and betrayal they might be feeling in these situations are horrific for me to imagine. I understand that breeding is yet an example of a system deeply interwoven into our lives that has existed for centuries. While I know I have little chance of altering the course of this system, how can I apply my understanding of it to my life and actions? How can I cope with the knowledge that it exists?
Entry January 23rd, 2026
This week drained me. Of course it did, with a focus on grief and watching/learning about difficult topics and immense loss, it’s understandable to feel depleted. It’s also, in part, I feel, to the idea of unknowing. I might be interpreting it wrong, but unknowingly, for me this week meant not knowing what to do about the things we were learning, nor how to deal with the guilt of feeling culpable in the issues we were learning about. Something small that’s helped is just focusing care on small things. For example, after watching Albatross, I started an ecobrick, which is just putting all the flimsy/small plastic pieces I accumulate into an empty plastic container. The plastic inside breaks down more quickly, and keeping it contained prevents it from reaching the ocean. It takes time and extra intention to do this rather than just tossing single-use plastic items, and it helps me be more conscious of how much plastic I’m consuming. It might not be doing much, but it’s helping channel grief into action, and it’s just a start. Grief + depletion + care has also been shaping how I interact with humans and nonhumans during my days. I’ve been wishing everyone I pass the best, even if we don’t make eye contact (which makes up most encounters), and I’ve been more curious about the crows, and I’ve been making sure to bring birdseed with me in case I encounter one on my walks to class. Back to unknowing, I don’t know how these actions are impacting beings around me, but I do know that grief is depleting, and while I’m trying to focus on the value of feeling it, I’m also trying to focus on what changes in my life help process that grief into something that benefits those I encounter. It doesn’t all make sense right now, but I’m optimistic for where it’s headed.
Entry January 15th, 2026
This week, I thought a lot about place. My place as a human in a multispecies urban area, my place as a white person on stolen land, my place as a citizen in an arena/political environment where noncitizens are being harmed, and my place in a violent system of capitalism and colonialism. There are a lot of ideas in the book The Sound of Feathers by Kathryn Gillespie, current events, and my other classes that have inspired and shaped my thoughts about the place. The more I learn and think about it, the more I feel lost about how to exist in the place I am. Maybe that’s too abstract. But learning about the different ways humans impact nonhuman animals all week— with road collisions, exterminations, research, the meat and dairy industry, climate change, etc.— it’s overwhelming. And I’ve been struggling to find a balance between learning, attentiveness, action, self-grace, and feeling. I’m distraught by the things I’m learning, I find comfort in the parts of nature I’m noticing, I feel like I’m not taking any action, I’m trying to show self-grace as a way to prevent myself from shutting down and not taking action because of the overwhelm, and I am also trying to prevent myself from going numb to the horrors I’m learning. Thinking about places encompasses all of this because it prompts me to reflect on my privilege, thought process, actions and inactions, and role within society. I don’t have answers, and I feel like I’m stuck in inaction. But I feel hopeful about future relationships with nonhuman kinds that I know will develop as I apply what I’m learning. I feel motivated to revisit the lifestyle I’m living to see whether it is helping or harming the world around me, and I’m challenging my thinking every day, using what I’ve been learning, to continue my growth as a person. Many of these thoughts are unfinished, and I don’t know how to finish them. But it’s an ongoing process that I intend on following for as long as it needs to go. I’ll end with a story about my encounter with a ladybug this week. They were crawling around on a bench next to me. I did what I always do and offered them a leaf to climb on so I could move them somewhere out of what I saw as harm’s way. But they weren’t having it. I reminded myself that they’re an autonomous being— with wings, I might add— and can choose where to go. I don’t need to force my ideas of where they should be upon them. I intend to continue thinking about place and how I can operate within the place I am for good.
Entry January 7th, 2026
I’ve been thinking a lot about birds lately. I passed a finch on my way to an errand today. Whenever I pass birds along sidewalks, I try not to startle them and give them plenty of space. I wasn’t able to give this one space today, but they didn’t fly away as I passed; they didn’t seem fearful at all. I’ve noticed different species of birds hang out together, looking for seeds or bugs in the grass, without interacting or competing. Although humans and birds aren’t necessarily competing for the same resources, as different species of birds do, I wonder if our cohabitation would be seen by an outsider the same way I see Seagulls, Crows, Pigeons, and Finches sharing the same space. It’s clear to me, as I admire birds when I’m walking around and pondering these ideas, that I don’t fully understand where I fit into the larger world of organisms. I don’t know if the Finch this morning didn’t fly away because they saw me as just another species sharing the space, they haven’t experienced bad moments with humans before, so they have no reason to fear me, or they were hoping I would drop something edible. I do know that I care a lot about the needs of the birds I pass, to the extent that I want to respect their space, I hope the best for them, and I do drop crow or pigeon food when I have it. I’m looking forward to every day, gaining new ideas about how I can view the world around me and my relationship with and role within it. I look forward to new ways to break down the idea of human exceptionalism that I have been brought up with, and give me tools to better connect with the natural world, as my home and family.