There was once a plain, brown beetle who found his own reflection terribly dull.
It wasn’t that he was unpleasant to look at—he had a fine, sturdy shell, six strong legs, and wings that carried him high above The Rimba. But when he saw the butterflies with their dazzling patterns and the dragonflies shimmering like jewels, he felt… ordinary.
No one ever stopped to admire a brown beetle.
One day, after hearing the bees praise the beauty of a rajah brooke’s wings and the frogs marvel at the shine of a damselfly, the beetle made a decision.
“I will make myself magnificent,” he thought. “Then everyone will notice me.”
As he wandered the forest, dreaming of grandeur, he met a wily magpie, perched on a low branch, his feathers gleaming like polished onyx.
“Looking for something, little beetle?” the magpie asked, his sharp eyes flickering with interest.
“I wish to be admired,” the beetle confessed. “I want a shell as bright as the butterflies’ wings and as gleaming as the dragonflies’ bodies.”
The magpie’s beak curled into a knowing smile. “Ah, then you’re in luck. I have just the thing—a golden shell, the finest in all The Rimba. It will make you the most radiant creature in the jungle!”
The beetle gasped. A golden shell! That was exactly what he needed.
“But such beauty comes at a price,” the magpie continued smoothly. “You must trade me your most valuable possession—your little home beneath the roots.”
The beetle hesitated for only a moment.
“Take it,” he said. “Nothing is worth more than being admired.”
With a flick of his talons, the magpie draped the golden shell over the beetle’s back. It was heavy, far heavier than his own shell had ever been, but oh, how it shone!
The beetle scuttled to the nearest puddle and gasped.
His reflection glowed.
For the first time, he wasn’t just a plain, brown beetle—he was spectacular.
At first, all went as he had dreamed.
As he strutted through the jungle, other creatures paused to stare.
“Look at that beetle!” whispered a lizard.
“So shiny!” crooned a cricket.
“What a magnificent shell!” marveled a firefly.
The beetle beamed with pride. At last, he had what he wanted—admiration.
But there was one thing he hadn’t expected.
The golden shell was heavy.
He could not fly as easily—each attempt left him panting.
He could not climb as swiftly—his legs ached from dragging his gleaming prize.
He could not dart through narrow tunnels—his once-nimble body was now slow and clumsy.
Still, he reassured himself.
“No matter. Beauty comes with sacrifice.”
And so, the beetle ignored his struggles and carried on, basking in admiration.
Months passed.
The golden shell, once a treasured prize, was becoming a burden.
He no longer played with the other beetles—he couldn’t keep up.
He no longer explored the jungle—his legs grew too tired.
And slowly, the stares began to fade.
“Ah, it’s just that beetle again,” the lizards said, growing bored.
“He doesn’t do much, does he?” the fireflies murmured.
“He just sits there all day long,” a young cricket noted.
The beetle tried not to care.
“They are only jealous,” he told himself. “They wish they looked as marvelous as I do.”
But deep down, doubt began to creep in.
One afternoon, as the sun blazed overhead, the beetle made his way to a clearing.
There, he saw his friends—the beetles, the dragonflies, even the butterflies—darting, swooping, exploring.
They played among the flowers, soaring through the sky, laughing in the dappled sunlight.
The beetle watched, eager to join them.
He spread his wings—but they could not lift him.
He tried to scurry forward—but the shell weighed him down.
The others barely noticed him anymore.
He wasn’t one of them. He was a statue—admired for a moment, then forgotten.
And that was when it struck him.
“What good is being beautiful if I cannot live?”
Slowly, the beetle made his way to the river’s edge.
He looked down at his reflection.
The golden shell still gleamed, but it was not him.
And so, with a deep breath, he did what he should have done long ago.
He shed the golden shell, letting it sink beneath the water.
His old, brown shell was waiting underneath—lighter, freer, his own.
For the first time in weeks, the beetle took off, his wings lifting him high into the air.
No one stared.
No one whispered.
And yet, he had never felt so full of joy.
The golden shell sank into the mud, forgotten.
The magpie found another creature to trick.
The butterflies and dragonflies danced on, never thinking much about the beetle’s brief obsession.
But the beetle?
He never wished for a golden shell again.
Instead, he soared.
He ran.
He explored.
Because in the end, he had learned the truth:
It is not how brightly you shine, but how freely you live, that truly matters.
Corporate Trainer, Consultant, Entrepreneur & Author | Therine Goh 
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