The might of the pen

Disclaimer: This is a true story! I wrote it quite a while back, and it was miraculously rediscovered in one of the forums that I frequently participate. I decided that it belongs here, to be revisited by my future self so she can laugh at my amateurish writing skills.

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I used to live with my grandparents back in China. My uncle brought a pair of parrots, then gradually the family of parrots increased and our house was always lively with the chatters of birds (even at 4am!) As time passed, we discovered that the lifespan of the parrots living here rarely lasts longer than a year, and we didn't know if it was premature or that birds have a short lifespan. I observed these birds finding companionship in each other, quarreled, had petty fights, and found comfort in each other within the confines of their cage. I also observed some of them lucky ones finding mating partners - lucky, because my parrots seemed to be somewhat selective about their mates. One male and female parrots that one randomly pairs up together doesn't automatically become mates, I've seen.

There was a particular pair of parrots: one was green feathered, and one was blue. There was a long history of mischief and trouble behind the blue feathered parrot - she was the fiercest biter, the most defiant, and the most troublesome when released about the house.

In daytime, I'd release them from their cages so they can fly around the house and experience greater freedom (making sure that all windows are closed, of course.) At night time, I would take a broom in my hand, and the cage in my other, pointed the broom to the birds then to the cage. Some of the smarter birds understood immediately and flew in to the cage, where the other aged, more easily worn out birds is already napping inside the cage. The *other* birds, however, are either dimmer in intelligence or plain defiant. Blue was always one of them. When I try to get other birds in the cage, I'd coax them into my hands (took quite a while to convince them all that it's time to go "home"), then gently guide them down from the windowpanes or where other high place that birds likes to settle themselves on. With blue, however, not only do I have to directly catch her with my hands, but I also have to wear a *glove* lest she bites me and reward me with rabies (she bites damn hard!).

After that, I'd clean the crap that they shitted all over the place. Then go to bed myself. If the birds chattered with themselves among the cages - which they usually do when the moon is full and illuminate their cage, giving them the notion that it's not quite bedtime yet - I'd cover the entire cage with a black blanket and VOILA - all is silent. (!)

One fine day (I was living 3rd floor of a 6th floored apartment), I took the cage of parrots out to the balcony for some sunshine. And on that particular day, my ears picked up something unusual from the bird's usual conversaion (not that I understood any of it). All parrots were singing in unisons at times, or one of these parrots would seem to be yelling out of the cage at some distance, then waited silently. Then my ears would pick up a single parrot call - not from the cage, but from a distance. And soon enough, and sure enough, my eyes spotted the summoned lone parrot flew in the sky, swooping down to the balcony and grasping the side of the cage with his talons. With one look at the freed parrot, I guessed he might have escaped from some other family of pet parrots and didn't know the rules of the jungle. He was dangerously thin, like he hasn't eaten since. He didn't try to escape as my hands wrapped around him and put him inside the cage; if his escape had to do with being caged, then I guess he must have thought he had less to lose back in the cage (than starving to death.)

Gradually this new green parrot's feathers are no longer dull and few from the lack of nutrition. He began to gain weight rapidly (it's AMAZING how fast these birds grow), got acquainted with his new friends, and seemed to be quite content of my once-per-day flight policy around the entire house. The most amazing part, is me seeing my troublesome blue bird-friend got cozy with the new green new-bird-comer, coming each other's fur on the head (the more lonely birds do that by rubbing his/her head against the cage. It's always good to have a partner to wash your back now and then :D), and sleeping with one's head (half-way hiding) under the other's chin. To me, their affection towards each other is quite an enigma - especially on the part of that blue bird, because for one, the newcomer was a skinny weak dude who was recovering from starvation, and my bluebird was a peerless beauty with blue feathers that would make a clear blue sky looks grey and morose (I'm exaggerating, of course. But I'm trying to emphasize on the total inequality of their appearances and their physical attributes.) But then again, what do I know about bird love? I'm not a birdie.

Unfortunately, the green newcomer's heath has deteriorated greatly in his life on the outside. He didn't last more than a few weeks. What happened afterwards was *the* most heartbreaking experience I've ever had. I saw a dramatic change in my usually feisty, aggressive blue bird. She no longer pushed the other birds out of the way arrogantly (because she's kind of big for a parrot. No parrot ever dared to pick on her.) as she made her way out of the cage. She no longer WAS out of the cage at all. She didn't eat AT ALL, and I've no idea how much she slept. She didn't talk, didn't even squeak a single sound days after days. (There really should be a bird therapy/counselling clinic somewhere. I'm serious.) In fact, she's never out of the cage when I set the other birds out of the cage to fly around. I sighed, and dragged her by the tail (I was only 7 years old at that time.) She was a total deadweight as I dragged her out of the cage. I cautiously wrapped my good hand around her thinning body, somehow intuitiously knowing that she wouldn't bite me like she usually did now, and put her on the windowsill among her friends. I then proceeds to go off to elementary school (which takes about 20 steps from my apartment. So usually my grandparents didn't accompany me.) to skip ropes in those fancy ways with the other kids on the playground, trying to outdo each other. But when I finally came home, the bluebird wasn't there. And I was told that she "fell off" the windowsill and died...

It was a memorable moment. Later I find myself comparing human relationships with each other with that of the blue and green and white parrots of the world, and realize it's not the passion or the loyalty or the deepness that we lacked to have a successful relationship...it's simplicity. At 7, I learned to keep some tears to myself. I've cried many tears in front of adults and my peers alike - authentic and fake-tautdrum tears alike, but crying over a bird? Shame on me, thought I, as I laid still under my blanket pretending a deep sleep, and waited until the adults are sound asleep in their own dreamworlds. Then I sneaked out of bed and walked onto the balcony, where I knew my grandmother has thrown the body of the new green bird 3 floors down below, without a proper burial. There I finally released myself there, wondering if grandma has done the same thing to the bluebird...


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PS. On the other hand, the blue parrot will no longer be able to shit on my head...

- All spell casters abuses their power.
- I AM a caster of spells.
- Therefore I'm an bad, bad witch :P

...Because I'm collecting the number of Mamun's "missed calls" on my cellphone like a trophy...what a sadistic thing to do.

It's much like the way those un-looked-at spam mails are doubling in the spam folder of my Gmail account daily. (Geez...now if only my bank account would miraculously do that. Or my IQ. Both will eventually lead to world domination.)

Update: Have you ever wondered where the term "business" came from? The luxury of spare time are seldomly granted for those who leads a busy lifestyle. WHO leads a busy lifestyle? People with businesses to concern themselves with. WHAT is the characteristics of a busy lifestyle? Simple! Busi-ness.

Get it?

[Inane post will be deleted on the next update]

"Let me say this about people who believe in just being honest and straightforward with criticism: their motives are generally not pure and honest at all. There is often an undercurrent of hostility directed at the target; they themselves feel insecure, or in need of asserting their power. A person who truly cares about expressing a criticism in a way that is constructive looks at the individual he or she is facing and decides, strategically, what will work, what will improve the target's performance in the long run. "

The concise translation: Honest people are not necessarily considerate of others.

Dear Diary,

Allow me to make a confession, one which I've refrained from making for weeks. My reticence tormented me, my guilt teared away at my conscience. Having no one to talk to, and being confused about what really happened, I put away my problems to face the new challanges that life brings me, for I can run away from my past...at least for a little while, but never can I turn away from facing the future. It was too important.

It did not take long for me to figure out that there is no future for me if I do not confront my past troubles - something that I always knew, but it was never a lesson for me to learn until now. Running away is never the solution. Although talking about it didn't solve the problem, I find solace in knowing that there is somebody out there who heard my words and understood my pains.

And now for my confession: I failed a friend. I failed someone who was there for me in my worst troubles. I failed someone who understood me the best, listened to my innermost private thoughts. Someone who empowered me to do my best and believed I can make it in life. How? He became dishonest with me, I confronted him, and he refused to communicate openly like he always did before, so effortlessly. I blamed myself for it. It must have been something I've done or said that hurt, or betrayed him in ways that I do not know. But he denied that was so, and told me I was paranoid. He denied so much, "me thinks he protests too much."

I've come to realized that he's not the person he wanted everybody to believe he was. I've ignored the signs, finding it hard to believe at first. He placed such emphasis on the importance of self discovery, he was obsessed with the conceptualization of self identity, that what's left for one to conclude but that the man knows himself? But it wasn't knowledge of himself he sought.

From his past, he talked about how inferior he felt next to his brother. He was dead jealous of his brother, wanted to have his grace, his charm, his ability to get attention from everyone. As he grew up, he was set on distinguishing himself from his brother. He had something to prove, or so it seems to me - that his brother isn't the only kind to deserve admiration, perhaps. He scorned upon superficialities, euphemisms, and so called social etiquette that people put up for the sake of maintaining the social order known as civilization. When you peel the skin away, he said, the rest is shadows. Nothingness.

It was a perfect fit to my philosophy on the essence of humanity. But I guess nobody told him that he is already worthy of love, simply by staying true to himself. If at least one person tell him that, as he has told me with such sincerity that I began to believe in myself, then maybe those shadows of insecurity will be gone from the radiance of his own beauty - which he has perhaps missed the opportunity to find. Or maybe he already have build his character and stayed true to himself in some ways, but there's no denying that he's suppressing much of the qualities inherent within him. He especially looks down upon feminine traits, which he have in abundance. That was only one example. The worst of all is: he isn't the carefree person he'd like to have everybody believe. In fact, he takes himself very, very seriously. I didn't believe it at first, but it all made sense - his dogmatism, oftentimes sticking to his own intepretations and refusing to think outside himself (which can be done by trying to think in other people's point of view). In one music forum, I've mentioned that there are two types of thinkers - one who make his own intepretations, and one who listens and understand the way others think. The former leads to greater introspection and self discovery, while the latter leads to enlightenment. Neither is wrong or bad, when given a balanced dose of each. But the excess of the former contributes to dogmatism, with the other contribution factors being: insecurity of one's own standpoint, which I believe is the consequence of self deceit, which by the way leads to one taking oneself too seriously.

The excess of the latter leads to self neglect. The opportunities for personal growth and the development of potentials lies with those who knows themselves. (That's what I believe, at least.) But I digress. Truth had its way, eventually. To witness the betrayal of self is a tragic thing. As secure and sure of himself as he seems, that's the only weakness in his character. It's a HUGE weakness; when you build your castles of self deceit on thin layers of ice, one day it will all come crashing down on you. You drown, nobody hears your screams outside the four walls you surrounded yourself with. My pleading voice cannot penetrate those walls, as much and as often as I've tried to let him know...that I'm here. That I'll always be here, and I won't go away.

What's there to do? Huh? What IS there to do?! My head must have been bald from scratching as I asked myself. But as time passed, my life...instead of falling to pieces, it went on without him. I gave him up. True friends never gives up on one another. That means only one thing: I'm a lousy friend.

I let him go. Even my heart moved on, though it didn't heal without scars. My mind concentrated on school and music. At night, I wander off to dreamland to do all the things that isn't mortally, physically, and realistically possible. He have no part in my life anymore, and I feel less and less bad about it, gradually. That means only one thing: I'm the worst friend alive. I'm too selfish to learn how to be a friend. I don't deserve to have friends. It makes me feel like the worst human being alive, like I'm unworthy of love, of friendship, and of the admiration that I so constantly receives from even total strangers.

After telling Neena everything, now I've told you. The guilt still bore holes in my conscience. My worst critic. My merciless Judge. It isn't over. I have a feeling that my retrial is not far in the future, and I vow to not fail another friend. My black wells of despair, my fears of the uncertain...there's really nothing that can stop me from trying at the very least.

Edit: I realized that I've written this entry elaborately and, as always, dramatically. Usually it was for my writing pleasures; this isn't "usually". I want to point out that I mean every word I say here, and as seriously as if they were written in blood.