The Arrival of the Birds
Embracing Freedom Within Limitations
I have been thinking about birds lately. When I see one, it represents the embodiment of freedom. In my neck of the woods, I often see large birds overhead, circling above a hilltop and gracefully swooping to their own rhythm.
They fly. They glide. They soar into the clouds.
By some conspiracy of fate, aerodynamics, and evolution, they are the species on this earth that defy logic—bound by nothing and assisted by no mechanical gadgetry.
They are free as the wind, and this fact is simply amazing.
Through various stops and starts in my life, I have often wondered if freedom can be a state of mind as easy as a bluebird catching the tail end of a breeze and riding that invisible wave skillfully. Could I be free within a set of limitations if my perceptions catch the tail end of that understanding and hold on tight?
A few years ago, someone handed me a ukulele to tinker with, and I was unsure of what I could do with such a small instrument that only had four strings and sounded like a tinny toy.
I eventually learned that with a good quality instrument and a large smattering of tenacity, the possibilities with the ukulele are staggeringly limitless. Different musical styles are possible, including pop, rock, classical, and blues, and creative finger-picking can lead to beautiful instrumental arrangements.
While I am not as proficient on the uke as I am on the piano (yet), I am getting better. Here’s a performance I recorded with my Anuenue tenor ukulele:
In my other artistic practice of visual art, I am only as free as my canvas and tools allow me to be. Creativity seems to thrive under a distinct set of limitations. Even with a small piece of paper and one pencil, so much can be done.
Then, of course, there are times when freedom is not actually possible. In the strip of land known as Gaza, Palestinian communities comprised of millions of men, women, and children have been ensnared in what is essentially an open-air prison. Israel, with its military that is funded by the US government, has spent over half of a century depriving Palestinians of the freedom they deserve while progressively taking over the lands that have been indigenous to their people for centuries.
A bird cannot fly if you tear off its wings.
The next best thing is the hope for freedom in the future. This small trickle of water can sustain a beleaguered spirit in the face of so much devastation.
In the last few months, Israel has been actively bombing hospitals, schools, and everything else it can to uphold its own sense of justice, but where is the justice in killing over 32,000 people?
Every bird deserves to fly.
This takes me back to when I was isolated and limited by circumstances beyond my control. Whether it was abuse from a loved one or the constraints that come with being an immigrant in America, it never felt good to be held down against my will.
All I had was the hope that if I waited it out long enough, maybe the hands that held me tight would loosen their grip. Maybe, if I bear it long enough, the pain would go away.
Hope is but a hatchling grasping for its mother’s love. By some calamity of fate, it will survive the harshest weather and the constant threat of predators to eventually do what it was born to do.
Perhaps freedom is actually a state of mind in which, despite pain and suffering, one can still feel free if one chooses to.
I am not entirely sure this is true, but it is certainly possible.
Despite everything that has held me back in my life, I always found freedom when I sat at a piano to play.
I would go for long walks by myself and be alone with my boundless thoughts and imagination.
When I made a delicious meal for myself, I would smile because I was proud of my effort to do something that fed my body and spirit.
Whatever freedom actually is, I hold on to tiny bits of it every day—in the intentions and decisions I make for myself and my physical and emotional well-being.
In a panoramic view of my life from above, all these tiny bits create their own picture.
These days, I try to see if I can spot a bird when I walk outside.
I’ll feel a breeze touch my face, and I’ll keep walking.
Art and Illustration by Roqué Marcelo
A few days ago, I went with my dear husband and a friend to Cheekwood Botanical Gardens in Nashville. We attended the Indian Holi celebration that was being held there. I enjoyed watching children dancing and throngs of people throwing brightly colored powder all over each other. We ate delicious Indian food from local restaurants and toured the gardens full of countless species of plants and trees. This excursion was a much-needed sensory overload and a day to lift up Indian culture. I went home appreciating the depth of joy and vitality a community of people can bring.
