Fever Dreams in Surabaya: Thoughts in a Whirlpool

It began with a scratchy throat and a heaviness in my head. By evening in my wife’s brother’s home in Surabaya, the fever had settled in like an unwelcome guest. A home test confirmed what I suspected—COVID had found me.

Plans for the next three days—meetings, phone calls, quiet writing—dissolved into the slow motion of illness. I spent hours stretched out isolated from the others, the sounds of the household drifting in from other rooms, the world narrowed to the whir of the AC and the restless churn of my own thoughts.

And churn they did. Ideas and memories circled endlessly, like leaves caught in a whirlpool—sometimes colliding, sometimes spinning apart, occasionally joining in strange combinations. Conservation strategies I’d been mulling for months brushed up against flashes from old expeditions. A scene for my next book tangled with a memory of an orangutan pausing mid-climb to look down at me with quiet curiosity. The whirlpool carried everything—trivial details, grand ideas, and scraps of unfinished plans—around and around, as if waiting for something to settle.

Somewhere in the haze, my mind landed on Alfred Russel Wallace, the British naturalist who, while in the Malay Archipelago, was also laid low by a tropical fever—malaria, in his case. He wasn’t in Surabaya, but on another island called Ternate in what is now Indonesia, and in that delirium he pieced together one of biology’s most powerful ideas: the theory of natural selection.

I couldn’t help but wonder—was it the fever that loosened the threads in his thinking, allowing new patterns to emerge? Did the altered state strip away the usual constraints, letting disparate observations weave into something entirely new?

In my own much smaller way, I recognized the same strange unlocking. The fever had softened the usual walls between ideas, letting them eddy and mingle in ways they might not have under clearer conditions.

By the time the fever broke, the whirlpool began to slow, its contents drifting back into familiar channels. But a few thoughts remained suspended—bright, unanchored, and ready to be explored. Illness had been the price, but clarity, in its odd fever-born way, had been the gift.

A Letter to the Future

I recently read a "letter to the future" composed by Mongabay's  Rhett Butler as a forward to an art exhibition. I was so impressed by this means of expressing an eco-testament, I crafted my own reflective narrative. As they say, imitation is the most sincerest form of flattery.

Dear Future Guardians of Earth,

If you’re reading this decades from now, it means there is still breath in the forest… and perhaps, a glimmer of hope still rustles in the canopy.

My name is Dr. Gary Shapiro, aka Orangutan Dad. Nearly half a century ago, I knelt in the leaf litter of Borneo’s ancient rainforest and looked into the eyes of a young orangutan named Princess.  She met my gaze with curiosity, gentleness, love, and—if you’ll allow an old scientist a touch of poetry—a connection of ancient family and a wisdom that felt older than the forest itself.

That moment changed my life.

It’s what compelled me to dedicate my life to understanding and protecting these “people of the forest.” Orangutans, to me, are not just animals—they are fellow travelers on this fragile planet. Intelligent, yes, but also contemplative. Patient. Capable of empathy, thought, and resilience. They showed me that intelligence wears many forms, not all of them human.

I write this letter from a world that is, I fear, still learning that lesson.

Too many forests have fallen. Too many rivers have been poisoned. Too many species have been pushed to the edge for profit and convenience. But despite the odds, we’ve also witnessed the power of small actions—of communities rising to protect what they love, of students in Indonesia becoming scientists and stewards, of donors and dreamers uniting to save what they can. I have seen it in the faces of the young conservationists who received the Orangutan Caring Scholarship, many of whom now carry the torch I once held.

If this letter has reached you, it means something remained. Perhaps even something thrived.

Maybe you walk through a forest where orangutans still build their nests high in the trees. Maybe you sit beside your children and tell stories of how people came together—not perfectly, not quickly—but with heart, with wisdom, and with enough courage to matter.

I hope you live in a world that values silence as much as speed, wonder as much as wealth. I hope you’ve learned from the orangutan’s quiet strength—their ability to adapt, to think, to nurture with patience. And I hope you continue to fight for the voiceless—not because it's easy, but because it's right.

The future was never promised. But I believed it could be earned.

With care and conviction,

Gary L. Shapiro, Ph.D.

President, Orang Utan Republik Foundation

Field Researcher, Educator, and Friend of the Forest

Borneo & Sumatra, Earth—circa the 20th–21st century

Two Decades of Hope: Celebrating the 2025 Orangutan Caring Scholarship Award Ceremonies

This summer during the month of July, I had the privilege of traveling across Sumatra and Borneo to witness something extraordinary—young minds stepping boldly into their futures, fueled by education, compassion, and a shared vision to protect Indonesia’s natural heritage. The 2025 Orangutan Caring Scholarship (OCS) award ceremonies were not only a series of events; they were a celebration of resilience, progress, and promise.

As we marked the 20th anniversary of the program, I felt an overwhelming sense of pride—not just in the scholars we’ve supported, but in the network of educators, conservationists, students, and donors who have made this vision possible.

From Banda Aceh to Palangka Raya, Pontianak to Samarinda, each ceremony carried its own flavor, shaped by local cultures, university traditions, and the stories of the students who walked across the stage. But across all of them, a common thread ran strong: the belief that education is the most powerful tool we have to protect our forests and the species who call them home—including the endangered orangutan.

At each stop, I had the honor of speaking to the students—some wide-eyed and just beginning their journey, others preparing to graduate and enter the field as conservation professionals. I shared insights about orangutan biology and behavior, and why their survival is intricately linked to the people of Indonesia. But I also listened. I listened to stories of hardship and perseverance, of academic passion and personal transformation. These students are not just recipients of a scholarship—they are future leaders in conservation science, environmental advocacy, and community education.

In Pontianak, the Faculty of Forestry at Tanjungpura University warmly welcomed our team with incredible hospitality and a deep sense of shared purpose. Their enthusiasm and encouragement for the students was inspiring. Their message was clear: the future of Indonesia’s forests depends on education and collaboration, and they are proud to stand beside us in this mission. I extend my heartfelt gratitude to the Deans, Professors, and staff who have supported the Orangutan Caring Scholarship program year after year.

A special acknowledgment must be made to Yayasan Palung, our dedicated partner in West Kalimantan, whose team has worked tirelessly since 2012 to implement the scholarship program with professionalism and heart. Their commitment to mentoring students and fostering conservation awareness in the region has played a pivotal role in shaping the next generation of Indonesian conservationists. I am deeply grateful to their leadership and field teams for their continued trust and partnership.

We also owe an enduring debt of gratitude to the Orangutan Information Center (OIC), our first on-the-ground implementation partner, who helped launch the OCS program in 2006 in North Sumatra. Their pioneering work, dedication to youth empowerment, and belief in the scholarship model laid the foundation for everything that followed. Without their early support and vision, this 20-year milestone would not have been possible.

Finally, in Samarinda, the warm and gracious support from the Faculty of Mathematics and Natural Sciences at Mulawarman University provided a meaningful capstone to this year’s ceremonies. To the deans and professors who took the time to join us, share in our celebration, and lend their wisdom and encouragement to our students—I offer my heartfelt thanks. Their presence reaffirmed the university's commitment to developing the next generation of scientific leaders and conservation advocates in East Kalimantan.

There were moments of laughter—like watching a student karate demonstration before a ceremony at the University of Palangka Raya—and moments of solemn gratitude—like presenting copies of Out of the Cage to university libraries that have stood by this mission for years. Each gesture, each interaction, underscored how the OCS program has become more than just a scholarship—it’s become a movement of hope.

To everyone who has supported this program—from donors large and small, to our partners at The Orangutan Project, to Indonesian business leaders beginning to join our cause—I say thank you. Your investment has already transformed over 300 students’ lives. And as we look toward the future, I am more determined than ever to ensure this program continues to grow, evolve, and inspire.

In the faces of the OCS scholars, I see the future of conservation in Indonesia. I see guardians of the forest, voices for the voiceless, and champions of a more sustainable world.

Together, we are making a difference. Together, we are planting seeds of change that will bear fruit for generations to come.

With pride and admiration,

Dr. Gary L. Shapiro

Founder, Orangutan Caring Scholarship Program

President, Orang Utan Republik Foundation

The Fruit of My Heart: A Durian Tree, a Memory, a Legacy

For nearly 47 years, I’ve been in love with a fruit that inspires obsession, awe, and even controversy—the durian. To many, it’s the "King of Fruits." To me, it’s a symbol of nature’s boldness, generosity, and mystery. But it’s more than flavor or fragrance—it’s personal. Durian has walked with me through nearly five decades of my life, a steady presence in my work, my travels, and my heart.

Just the other day, I had a reunion. Not with a person, but with a durian tree I planted almost a decade ago.

When I first pressed that young sapling into the fertile soil of Sumatra, I did so with hope. Not just hope that the tree would survive the monsoon seasons, the dry spells, and the hungry insects—but hope that it would thrive in a way that connects people, forests, and the wildlife that depend on both. I had planted it at Ibu Erna's Eco-farm, located in the buffer zone outside of Gunung Leuser National Park, not far from where orangutans, those wise, contemplative beings who also have a fondness for durian when they find it ripe and ready. 

For years, I didn’t know if the tree had made it. Life moves fast, and my conservation work pulled me to other regions, other causes, other jungles. I recall stopping in a few years after planting the sapling noting that she had grown but still too young to bear fruit. But the memory of planting that tree—digging the soil, gingerly placing her into the earth and tenderly packing the supporting soil, sweating through my shirt, smiling like a new father—never left me.

And then today, I returned.

She was there. Not just alive, but tall and strong. Her wide canopy offered shelter from the sun, and her branches—oh, her branches—cradled the heavy, spiny treasures I know so well. Durian fruit, ripe and ready, hanging like golden teardrops of gratitude.

After a cry of initial excitement, I approached her slowly, reverently. To touch the bark was to touch a timeline of my own life. A decade ago, I had more stamina, perhaps less wisdom. That tree and I—we had grown in parallel, each in our own way.

And I felt something unexpected. Parental pride.

Yes, I know she’s "just" a tree. But in that moment, I didn’t care. I saw in her the fulfillment of a promise. The labor of my hands and heart, bearing fruit in the literal sense. And I thought of my orangutan daughter, Princess and the other orphaned orangutans I’ve helped return to the forest, the students I’ve mentored, the forests I’ve defended leaf by leaf.

This tree was family. She was part of my story.

As I stood proudly beneath her, I laughed at how quickly the years fell away. The thought of the creamy, rich taste of the durian took me back to roadside stalls in Sumatra, jungle camps in Kalimantan, fruit vendors in Bali and Java and midnight feasts with friends and strangers drawn together by this bizarre and glorious delicacy.

I remembered how orangutans carefully choose which durians to eat—waiting for them to ripen, opening them with deliberate strength. There’s a reverence in the way they eat, a mindfulness I’ve always admired. In some ways, my long journey with durian has taught me the same: to wait, to savor, to share.

Today, I did all three.

I savored the fruit from Ibu Erna’s farm with friends and curious visitors alike—even tasting those that squirrels had worked hard to chew through the spiny husks. As we ate, I shared the story of the tree—born from my hands and nurtured by committed ecofarmers.

We all need moments like this. Moments when we step outside the rush of responsibility and reconnect with what’s quietly grown beneath the surface of our lives. For me, it was a durian tree. For you, it might be something else.

But I promise you this: the fruits of love, patience, and connection are always worth the wait.

The Flow of Love: Expressions of Life’s Deepest Meaning

What if the meaning of life is simply this—love?

Not the love shaped by romance novels or fleeting emotions, but the profound, abiding presence that flows through all of creation. Love, in this context, is not something we possess or chase. It is the essence from which we arise and the current that carries us forward. When we say "life is love," we are pointing to something deeper than sentiment—a foundational energy, a universal intelligence that animates our existence.

Love as the Ground of Being

Many wisdom traditions point to love as the source and purpose of life. In Christianity, "God is love" (1 John 4:8). In Sufism, divine love is the driving force behind the soul’s journey toward union. Buddhist compassion (karuṇā) is a form of love rooted in awareness of suffering and the wish to alleviate it. Even secular thinkers, such as Erich Fromm, have emphasized love as the highest form of maturity—a practice, an art, and an orientation toward others and the world.

In this view, we are not separate agents trying to find love. Rather, we are channels through which love expresses itself. And when we surrender to that current, we enter what psychologists call a flow state.

The Flow State of Love

The “flow state” is often described as the psychological condition where one becomes fully immersed in an activity—with energized focus, full involvement, and enjoyment. But what if flow is more than just productivity? What if it is love in motion?

When a dancer loses themselves in movement, or an artist becomes one with the brush, or a parent gazes into the eyes of a newborn with complete presence—these are not just moments of peak experience. They are manifestations of love expressing itself through us. Not for accolades, not for outcome—but as a pure outpouring of being.

A Moment in Banda Aceh

I felt this flow of love with unmistakable clarity during the 2025 Orangutan Caring Scholarship (OCS) ceremonies in Banda Aceh. As I looked out at the faces of the students, officials, and families—many beaming with pride, some with tears welling in their eyes—I was overcome with the quiet power of shared purpose. These young men and women, recipients of the scholarship, were not merely names on a list or statistics in a report. They were the future of conservation. They were love in action.

One student approached me after the ceremony and said, “You changed my life.” But in that moment, I knew the truth ran deeper: we were changing each other. Their hope, their resilience, their commitment to protect orangutans and their forest homes—this was love taking shape in the world. It moved through their words, their gratitude, and the generations of care they would carry forward.

In that conference hall in Banda Aceh, under banners and lights and the weight of decades of work, I felt more than pride. I felt alignment. A deep stillness wrapped in joy. The love I had poured into the program for years was returning, not as a reward, but as a living wave of connection. It was the flow of life acknowledging itself.

Manifestations of Love in Action

If life is love, then everything we do—when done with awareness, compassion, and authenticity—is an expression of that truth. Some examples:

• Teaching with patience: A teacher who nurtures curiosity in their students is transmitting love as learning.

• Crafting with care: The artisan who pours attention into detail is shaping love into form.

• Listening deeply: When we offer someone our undivided presence, we practice love as spaciousness.

• Protesting injustice: Even righteous anger, when rooted in care for others, can be love demanding dignity and fairness.

• Forgiving with grace: Releasing resentment is love choosing peace over pride.

Even the quiet moments—the tending of a garden, the preparation of a meal, or a simple breath taken in stillness—can be offerings of love when we are attuned to the present.

Living from the Current

To live in alignment with the meaning of life as love is not to be naïve or perpetually cheerful. It is to recognize that beneath the chaos, confusion, and clamor of the world, there is a still stream flowing. And when we step into it—through mindfulness, compassion, creativity, or service—we remember what we are made of.

It is also a call to discernment. Not all actions are love in disguise. Some are fear, control, or ego cloaked in noble language. The challenge is to constantly inquire: Is this coming from love or from fear?

Love Is the Practice

If love is the meaning of life, then our task is not to define it—but to embody it.

This may look different for each of us. For some, it’s teaching children. For others, it’s building bridges between cultures, healing wounds, protecting nature, or telling stories that awaken hearts. When aligned with love, these actions are not just tasks; they are sacred expressions of purpose.

And in this sense, the meaning of life is not a puzzle to be solved. It is a dance to be joined. A melody to be played. A current to be followed.

So let us ask ourselves each day:

• Where is love asking to flow through me now?

• What can I do today that opens the channel just a little wider?

When we live the answer, the meaning is no longer elusive. It pulses through our hands, our breath, our gaze.

It becomes us.

Doing and Being: The Mirror and the Mystery

Most people define themselves by what they do during the course of their lives.

We are taught to build resumes, not reflect on essence. Our modern world reinforces this: jobs, roles, projects, accomplishments—they become our identity’s scaffolding. For example, my foundation provides a platform to conduct activities that contribute to saving orangutans. It gives purpose. It gives shape to time. It gives me something to say when someone asks, “So, what do you do?”

But let us pause, if only for a breath, and ask a deeper question:

Is what we do really who we are?

When we peel back the busyness and ask simply, "Who are you?"—the silence that follows is often uneasy. Not because the question is meaningless, but because most of what we quickly offer as an answer is not the truth. At best, it is a story, a useful fiction we tell ourselves to keep the ego intact.

“I’m a conservationist.”

“I’m a mother.”

“I’m a CEO.”

“I’m a 25-year-old white woman from Nebraska.”

These are not untrue. They are descriptors. Labels. Demographic metadata.

But let me be clear: You are not your labels.

You are not your age, not your skin color, not your address or achievements. You are not even your memories.

When I ask you, “Who are you?” you are likely to respond in language. But language is a net cast across the ocean of consciousness, and it never pulls up the whole sea. Words carry both denotation (their dictionary meaning) and connotation (their cultural shadows). What one culture hears in “white” or “old” or even “self” may be profoundly different than what another does. And so even in conversation, we are constantly misaligned in our understanding of identity.

What remains when the words fall away?

When the stories unravel?

When the ego takes a seat in silence?

Celebrating 20 Years of the Orangutan Caring Scholarship: A Journey of Hope and Commitment

As I prepare to board my flight to Indonesia, I am filled with both excitement and reflection. This is no ordinary trip for the Orangutan Dad. It marks a milestone: the 20th anniversary of the Orangutan Caring Scholarship (OCS)—a program that has, over two decades, touched lives, nurtured dreams, and strengthened the future of Indonesia’s forests.

In the coming days during the month of July, I will travel to four cities: Banda Aceh, Palangkaraya, Pontianak, and Samarinda —each a hub of scholarship, hope, and determination—to help award 30 new students with Orangutan Caring Scholarships with the help of our local implementing partners. These young men and women represent the next generation of conservationists, biologists, foresters, and environmental stewards. Their dedication will help safeguard Indonesia’s rich biodiversity and the precious habitats of its iconic species, including the orangutan.

A Legacy of 20 Years

Looking back, the OCS program began as a seed of an idea—a way to empower Indonesian youth through education, fostering a homegrown commitment to conservation. With the backing of our partners, donors, and local organizations, that seed has grown into a flourishing initiative. Over the years, more than 300 scholarships have been awarded, and over 200 students have completed their degrees in fields critical to Indonesia’s environmental future.

These graduates have gone on to work in government agencies, nonprofits, research institutions, and communities across the archipelago. They are not just protecting forests; they are shaping policies, restoring ecosystems, and educating others.

The Power of Consistent Support

What makes this program truly special is its consistency. For 20 years, we have stayed the course, even during periods of economic uncertainty and shifting global priorities. This unwavering support has built trust—trust from our scholarship recipients, partner universities, and the broader conservation community. We are also delighted and honored that the Government of Indonesia recognized our sustained work.

As I prepare to meet the newest cohort of scholarship recipients, I am reminded that our work is not done. In fact, it is more vital than ever. Deforestation, climate change, and habitat loss continue to threaten Indonesia’s forests and wildlife. The need for skilled, passionate conservationists is greater than ever.

Ensuring the Future

While we celebrate this 20-year milestone, our eyes are on the horizon. How do we ensure that the Orangutan Caring Scholarship continues to thrive for decades to come? The answer lies in sustained partnerships, innovative fundraising, and engaging new supporters who share our vision of a greener, more sustainable Indonesia.

This trip is not just about awarding scholarships. It is also about strengthening our network, building new bridges, and inspiring others to join this mission. I look forward to sharing stories from this journey—stories of hope, resilience, and the boundless potential of Indonesia’s youth.

A Call to Action

As you read this, I invite you to be part of this legacy. Whether through donating, sponsoring our students, spreading the word, or simply learning more about the challenges and opportunities in orangutan and forest conservation, you can make a difference. Together, we can ensure that the Orangutan Caring Scholarship remains a beacon of opportunity and a force for good for many years to come.