I thought back of the coldest day in my memory, when the wind was blowing strong and the rain dampens everything in sight, and I was walking on a nightly street. Cold night it might be, but nothing beats the chill that seemingly emanate from my own heart; I walk among the crowd, but feels like I’m the only one around, alone, isolated from the world. It took several cycles of the moon for it to fade, but I have never really forgotten the feelings back then.
Occasionally one question came to haunt me: Why do we keep on moving? Sometimes it’s like the morning dew, evaporate away at the slightest touch of a ray of light, and sometimes it lingers on and on. But then I thought of the little things in life, such as the first time I get to touch a bird.
I was eight, I think, looking out a window on a weekday morning, when the bird came. It was a common myna, about 30 cm (12 inches) in length, big for its species, and pretty old, too, judging by its tattered feather. Its wing seemed to have been damaged, which may be why its standing at the edge of the window and looking straight at me which was like, 10 cm apart, without taking flight. When I called out, it spread its wings, and flew, not away, but towards me, and landed on my shoulder. I could never forget that feeling. Have you ever thought how it’s like to have a bird, an eagle or an owl resting on your shoulder? I could feel its talon even across the clothing, sharp, and no doubt would’ve bite into the skin if not for my shirt. I reached out, and touched its feather, its leg, and its talon. The bird just stood there, occasionally shifting its leg when I touched it, but showed no sign of any intention to leave. I’ve forgotten how its feather felt like, but I could never forget its leg with the golden talon, it felt leathery to the touch, yet, for lack of a better word, pulsed with life. I remember my mother asking me to get ready for school across the room, but that day I stayed for as long as I could, and eventually, after some nudging from my part, it flew off.