As a boy I always wished I could be a bird so I could fly. Usually when life was difficult. “Wouldn’t it be marvellous,” I would think, “to just fly away like a bird?” Life is so easy for birds. They just sing songs and eat. I was conscious of the risk of being eaten though. All they have to do with their time is find food, find mates, not get eaten, lay eggs, sing songs, and then die. Of course they have to find food or they’ll die. They have to find mates and lay eggs too because they feel compelled to continue their species. They’re always searching for things, never satisfied. They’re driven by instinct; choice is really non-existent. They probably don’t even know why they’re being eaten. They don’t know a lot of things. There’s no learning, no appreciation, no questions and no answers, and no reason to do anything at all but it doesn’t even matter because instinct doesn’t require that. Do they even know what a bad day is or is it just another day regardless of whether they found that food or a mate or didn’t get eaten?
No I didn’t want to be a bird anymore. A human storm of chaos and bliss and every shade in between was far more appealing. Being able to choose to live and know why I did and fight for a dream. I never did realise how similar to birds people can be. But I was afraid of becoming a bird ever since.
I always did want to fly though…