Befriending Binturongs

Seeing the ordinary and the extraordinary as equally limitless.

From Portugal this summer. A man plays a horn, a bicycle, an Intex inflatable raft, a hose, and a keyboard. The result sounded like an accordion.

I can’t stop thinking about a list. It’s a bucket list crafted by a young boy, posted to social media by his dad. A friend sent it to me weeks ago.[1]

Slipped between lofty goals like “discover a new species,” “become a billionaire,” and “prove the existence of goblins” are simple life milestones such as “get married” and “own a cool jeep”. Several things seem doable in one day: “have a YouTube channel,” “eat an octopus,” and “beat someone up.”

And then there is my personal favorite goal. Number 6. “Befriend a binturong.”

For those unfamiliar with niche South Asian animals, a binturong is a small black bearcat. It’s a vulnerable species, and they must be friendly because they are sometimes kept as pets.

The friendliest binturong I could find on Google Images

I’ve never thought about befriending a binturong before. Honestly, I didn’t even know what it was. But I love that this boy was thinking of a species that exists across the world as something that could one day become his friend.

This list, to me, represents enthusiasm for living in its most authentic form — placing the lofty, legacy-making goals right alongside the smaller daily things that really are equally as spectacular. Eating an octopus plucked from the sea is as amazing as publishing a book. Legally changing your identity is as far out as meeting an alien. Some things we have lassoed into the status quo to make them seem typical, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they are any less extraordinary.

When I think about the boy who made this list, I think about the way he sees the world. The vast possibility he must perceive in his surroundings to come up with such an original list as this one. And then I think about the way I see the world, the list I would come up with if I put pen to paper today, and I feel a little sad about how much more realistic it would probably look, how many more caveats and questions would go into every idea, how much more limited it would be.

Recently, I’ve become sensitive towards comments comparing generations to one another, usually shared with the belief that life was better in the “before”. I hear it in all contexts — in older generations speaking about my generation, in my generation speaking about younger generations. Not only is this belief probably wrong, but it’s also psychologically a bummer to talk this way. Why do I want to go through life wishing I was born ten, twenty, thirty years earlier? What’s the fun in that?

I want to see the world in the way this boy does. I want to wade through rivers and wonder if I’ll stub my toe on a new species not yet seen. I want to see flickering lights in the night sky and question if this could be an alien I could one day meet. And I want to come across a binturong (or any breathing thing) and hope that if I am charming enough and kind enough, maybe one day, we can become friends.

---

[1] If you haven’t realized by now, everyone on this blog will always be referred to anonymously and called a friend.