I questioned whether I should put this post on my website. I have quite mixed feelings about it still.

A few days ago, I think Thursday, one of my guinea pigs died. I didn’t realise it until the next day when I saw him laying in the same spot he was “sleeping” in the day before. Tough, to say the least. At first I was just confused why he was laying halfway under his igloo. So I picked it up, and he was just laying there, and I was confused. What in the world was he doing? Then my other guinea pig stepped on him, and he didn’t move. He didn’t jump up and run away like guinea pigs do when they touch each other. I touched him to see if he’d respond to me, and he was cold. My hand recoiled, and I stood up. The next 10 minutes were a blur. I remember standing there over the cage, staring at his corpse. I remember realising what that odd smell in the room was. I remember looking into his eye, seeing that dead stare guinea pigs usually have look even more lifeless. But I think I may have just stood there in silence for a while, listening to the wind howl as a snowstorm was in the making. I was supposed to be dropping by my parents’ house. I was just stopping to top off their food and water. But I came across this. My other guinea pigs didn’t seem to notice, or care. I remember being glad that at least this wouldn’t distress them. I was distressed; way more than I expected to be. They were rodents. I wasn’t hyper attached to them. I was sure I wasn’t attached to them. At first, I thought, “That’s too bad”. But then I was upset, wondering why this had to happen. Why today? Why right now? And then I was crying. Crying. Over a guinea pig? I didn’t care. I shouldn’t have cared.

I didn’t realise how much I cared. I grabbed a small box and put some bedding at the bottom. At least, I’d give him a peaceful farewell. I opened up the cage and soon realised the insurmountable obstacle before me: I couldn’t pick him up. I could hardly touch him. Something so simple was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I… spent upwards of an hour just trying to get his body out of the cage and into the box. Almost all of it was just me working up the nerve to do it. I felt pathetic. It shouldn’t have been that difficult, but the most I could do was nudge him. My girlfriend offered to do it for me, because I shouldn’t have had to do it myself. So I eventually conceded defeat and left for my parents’ house. When I got there, I wasn’t really there. I don’t know where I was. Maybe I was holed up, cramming my feelings inside. I told my mom and sister that I wasn’t ready to talk about whatever happened. I wanted to, I really did, but those words just couldn’t escape me. My mom gave me food and brewed me tea, for which I was very grateful. But I felt paralysed in a way. I couldn’t do anything, think about anything, or watch anything because Baozi’s body was still sitting in that cage. Just sitting there.

My girlfriend was finally on her way to my house, so I told my family that I was leaving in so many words, still sad that I couldn’t bring myself to tell them what had happened. I texted my girlfriend when I thought “that’s too bad”, but by the time that it truly upset me, I couldn’t talk about it. I showed my roommate what happened when I got back home, and I’m grateful for the momentary comfort he offered me. When my girlfriend arrived, I showed her where Baozi was and the box I was planning on putting him in. She picked him up and put him in the box so effortlessly that it was almost comical. To think I struggled so much to do just that. I took one last good look at him, closed the box, and placed it inside of a bag. We walked him to the dumpster in our complex and placed him inside. That was it. That was my closure. Honestly, it felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of me. So after she left, I sat down to draw this tribute of Baozi.

This was me burying the hatchet in some sort of way. The last step in putting the grief behind me. I guess I wanted to remember him like this: the adorable guinea pig everyone cherished. I almost didn’t post it anywhere because I didn’t draw it for anyone else. It was just for me. At the same time, I think I keep a bit too much to myself, and all the people who knew Baozi should hear it now and not months down the line. I’m glad I did so. There was a lot of support from many people, but I was so starkly surprised by the fact that people referred to Baozi using the characters for his name: 包子. I hadn’t written it anywhere that could be copied and pasted. In fact, I didn’t even write “Baozi” anywhere. Friends of mine went through effort just to write his name properly. That moved me.

So what am I writing this for? I had my reservations in the beginning for the same reason I didn’t plan on sharing the drawing in the first place: I made it just for myself. The same goes for this post. Should I even publish this? It’s basically a diary post for me. I don’t want to forget what happened. Still, I have to wonder if I’m keeping too much to myself. I don’t enjoy sharing this much about myself, but maybe I should every once in a while.

To be fair, people don’t read these. I should stop tweaking.