The Butterfly Effect of an Ant

Dedicated to: “Meena Kolnad”, "A few good pages" and to the community we have become. 

I definitely did not expect that an ant I saw in Tunisia on a retreat a little over a month ago would end up being the subject of discussion in the "short story" club that I’ve been attending religiously every Thursday.

My dad used to read me short stories and poems when I was a child. That’s how my love for literature began, and I started writing poems at a young age. I wrote a few short stories in school, but poetry always felt more natural to me, so I kept returning to it, experimenting with different forms over the years. I first experienced publishing in newspapers, then on websites, and eventually a few books.

In recent years, my relationship with writing began to shift. As my reading turned more toward psychology and spirituality, I found myself journaling more often, writing for no audience, with no intention of publishing. It became a mindfulness practice and a way to understand myself better. I also started writing poems in English, though most of my published work remains in Arabic.

Language has become a dilemma for me. When I write in a second language, I sometimes feel as if I’m betraying my roots. Still, one thing I’ve felt strongly about in recent years is wanting to take writing less seriously, to give myself space to experiment and enjoy the process rather than focus on the outcome.

In the last two years, with the genocide in Gaza, I began to feel that I no longer had anything new to say in poetry. I had written about Palestine for years, but this time the grief felt too vast for words. The loss of purpose was immense.

When I started attending “a few good pages,” a weekly short story club founded and led by Meena, my love for short fiction was reignited. Each meeting felt like both a literary exploration and a shared reflection. 

What Meena has created is not just a book club; it is so much more. The sense of connection we feel, the excitement to discuss, the loyalty that keeps us coming every week, and how naturally the conversations flow despite our different cultures and backgrounds. She has created such a beautiful world for us to seek refuge in. 

Attending session after session and reading story after story, I began to look at the world from a “story” perspective rather than a “poetic” one.

During the retreat in Tunisia, surrounded by nature, I spent my days journaling, reflecting, and trying to write a poem or two. It was my first retreat ever, and it made me think deeply about identity, belonging, individuality, and community, and the mix of joy and anxiety that comes with being in a new place among people you’ve just met.

We practiced yoga and a movement meditation called 5Rhythms. During one of the dances, I noticed an ant on the floor. I moved around her, watching her tiny steps and wondering where she was heading. Then I got distracted, and when I looked back, she was gone. That small moment stayed with me and later ignited the idea for a short story.

Two weeks after returning home, I began writing it. I did some research to make the details realistic and described the ant’s emotions in a way that might make readers empathize with her. I wanted to humanize her while still keeping the story scientifically grounded, so I focused on how ants perceive the world through scent, touch, and instinct rather than sight. My main point, though, was to show that no matter how intricate or vast an ant’s world may be, it could be crushed in an instant. I was struck by how that mirrors the human condition, how immense our own lives feel, yet how fragile and fleeting they are when seen from a wider perspective. I knew from the start that the ending would be tragic, but I wasn’t sure how to portray the twist.

At first, I thought the incident that separated the ant from her colony would be something large and irreversible, something that hinted at displacement. Later, I changed it to something simple, almost insignificant, because I wanted to focus on her loneliness rather than the cause of it. But perhaps, somewhere underneath, that first version never really left me.

I loved the process. I wasn’t thinking about myself much, only knew that in the story for a moment, I was Salma, the dancer, who in reality noticed the ant but in the story unintentionally steps on it. And even though the story explored the meaning of “home,” I didn’t overthink it. I simply let it flow. I humanized the ant for relatability and focused on shaping an ending that would linger. Only later did I realize that I had written more about myself than I knew, and that readers would find layers of meaning I hadn’t consciously planned.

Going to “a few good pages” gave me ideas on how to continue the story. A few days later, I attended a writing workshop led by Louis Garratt from Sahab Collective Writing Academy, where we discussed what makes a strong short story. That inspired me further to complete it.

When I finished, I sent Meena a message asking for her opinion. She was preparing for the 50th meeting of “a few good pages” and suggested sharing my story anonymously with the group so I could hear genuine feedback. I was thrilled.

During our discussions, I was completely absorbed. It was such a joy listening to everyone’s interpretations. The first meeting took a philosophical turn, exploring themes of individuality, community, loneliness, and life’s natural power dynamics. One person saw it as a reflection on the insignificance of beings within the vastness of existence. Another saw it as a reminder of the cycle of life, how one form ends and another begins.

After one of Meena’s comments, I realized that Hana, the ant, reminded me of how I felt for years when I traveled to live abroad alone. Maybe, subconsciously, I had written myself into her story.

Both my story and another one by Aswin Noel were read in the two meetings. His piece familiar, funny, and written from the perspective of a child. It also used scent as a central element. Someone noted how the title of my story, The Scent of Home, works for his story too. It was fascinating how two entirely different stories, written independently, shared a similar thread, and how readers found both deeply relatable in their own ways.

Someone also observed that as the ant faced new challenges, she began to cope better, growing stronger, adapting, and eventually finding companionship. That reflection reminded me of Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi’s Flow and how meaning often emerges when we navigate difficulty with awareness and movement.

It was also interesting how differently people experienced the ending. Some found it sad, others soothing, and a few said it felt like both. 

In both sessions, when the discussion ended and Meena revealed I was the author, I felt a mix of excitement, warmth, and gratitude. There was laughter, curiosity, and questions. It was all so surreal, insightful, and fun.

I realized that since the story explored belonging, it felt deeply healing to be among a community that not only includes us, the readers, but also the writers, from old ages to new, whose words we bring back to life each week.

Afterward, I was filled with joy, reflecting on everyone’s thoughts and interpretations. Then I suddenly saw it. I was not only Salma, the human character, I was definitely also Hana, the ant. Her longing for belonging is something I have carried all my life.

I began to see that, subconciously, the story was about Palestinians, displaced and uprooted, always longing to return, always craving safety and the feeling of “home.” The ant’s confusion, her instinct to keep moving, her search for familiar ground, and the sad reality of continuing to struggle even when she believes she has reached safety, all of it felt too familiar.

That realization felt like an additional plot twist.
And perhaps the real butterfly effect was how a small moment, simply noticing an ant, led to writing this story, sharing it with a community, hearing their reflections, and realizing how connected everything truly is. One small encounter can create endless layers of meaning.