Living like a Bird
Air beneath their wings, the mother and daughter bird fly through the sky, swerving past clouds and over trees. They seem joyous, enjoying the freedom this world has given them and the blessing of having one another. However, one day that mother bird will die, her feathers withered, her bones weak and frail, and she will leave that poor daughter bird alone. We were sitting on the carpet, in my grand-aunt’s house in Pennsylvania, eating desserts that we had bought from a new Indian store. Playing a card game, the happiness and laughter of my grand-uncle boomed through the room while he slapped the deck, placing three kings on the pile. Grinning, I placed down my four aces, winning the game. Out the window, leaves swirled with the delicate falling snow, as a gentle wind blew against the trees. From the corner of my eye, I saw a graceful figure enter the room; she had a smile which reached her eyes, eyes seemed young for such an old face. She was my grand-aunt. The moment she sat down, I jumped into her lap, feeling content and blissful.
That was the last time that I saw her. We were in California waiting for my dad by his office, when we received a phone call from my uncle. Picking up the phone, my mother greeted him in Hindi, a language foreign to me at the time. Curious, I looked at her questioningly. Putting down the phone, she looked at me as a tear fell down her cheek and told me that my grand-aunt had passed away. Thoughts raced through my mind; to a seven year old living in an extremely privileged environment, death was an obstacle that seemed too large to overcome. Slowly, it occurred to me that I would never get the chance to say goodbye to her kind smile and wise eyes, never get the chance to tackle her in a bear hug, or never get the chance to laugh with her or play with her again.
Slumping in my seat, I whispered a hoarse plea to my mother, wanting her to tell me that my grand-aunt was not “gone”. That she was still living happily in Pennsylvania, doing whatever she did out there. Not taken from the world with a phone call. Later, my grand-uncle moved out; he felt that the house was becoming too empty and lonely. As I thought about the yellow colored house with a purple carpet, suddenly without my grand-aunt, the bright, vibrant colors seemed to become depressing in memory. Angry red spots would cloud my vision, and my head would throb as each memory of my grand-aunt washed over me, each wave bringing greater and greater anguish. At school, I walked around the border of the playground, refusing to talk to my friends. Coming home, I would lay in my bed at night, secretly listening to my father and mother calling other family members to exchange apologies.
There was only one place I could turn to where my grand-aunt would still be with me. Sneaking out late to the night sky, I would lay on the cold, concrete ground, staring with wide eyes at the diamonds twinkling in the vast darkness above. I dedicated the brightest one to my grand-aunt and would imagine that she was lying by my side, watching the stars with me. With no rational excuse for her death in my mind, the fantasy of her lying next to me was a false hope and attempt to bring things back to a state of normality. Days passed, until we got a call inviting us to the cremation of my grand-aunt’s body. Traveling to Pennsylvania, we stayed at a hotel, and the tears that came made the world look as if it had been submerged in water.
The next day, we drove to the river where we were going to leave her ashes. Logs upon logs were stacked, and on top of all was a body covered with a white sheet. As the man poured gasoline over the logs and lit the match, I braced myself for the streams of tears. Inch by inch, the man moved the fiery match towards my grand-aunt’s body. He dropped the match and leaped backwards. Fire jumped, devouring the gasoline, causing me to stumble back, in confusion. How could the world take her life with such a ravenous hunger and ease? Moving across the logs, the fire reached the white sheet, as the black smoke rose and grayed out the sky. Her body gradually turned into black ash. My eyes followed the smoke to the drifting clouds, as I realized that the world is still moving, despite the fact that my grand-aunt was not here anymore. Looking around, I saw that flowers were still growing, and that the wind was still blowing. Pain stabbed at my heart, and my throat tightened strangling me to the point where I could not breathe. In an effort to let go of the pain, I embraced the glowing memories I had of her.
On the plane back, thoughts swirled around me about the pain caused by life and death. After the death of my grand-aunt, I realized that life is a cycle, and it is hard to accept at times. When I came back to school, my friends surrounded me and pleaded me to play a game of tag with them, like old times. This time, letting go completely, I agreed, and I felt a feeling I had never felt before. I had expected to feel empty and hollow for leaving the pain behind, almost as if I had betrayed my grand-aunt, but I was surprised with a feeling of normality and contentment. Life simply moved on. That night, while eating dinner, I came to realize that I had the power to commemorate her, to honor her life, by doing simple actions of showing the same affection to others day by day - the same way as she did. As for the mother and daughter bird, I began to understand that it was not important that the mother bird will die as we all will one day. However, flying together in the sky, daughter and mother, wing by wing, was what truly made life worth living.
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Written as a personal essay for an Expository writing class in 7th grade. This was the first literary piece that made me realize the power of writing to push my thoughts forward. When you write, you draw upon a string connected to hundreds of other thoughts; this essay liberated me in a way I had never considered before.