As a child (and even now), my baby brother always had a soft spot for animals. He would befriend chickens and goats my parents bought and beg my parents not to kill them. Back then, he would go to our store, sneak out a handful of rice and go to feed the homing pigeons that flew into our compound so they’ll like him enough to stay. He even went further to keep sugared water for them because someone at school told him doing so would make the birds stay forever (which was downright ridiculous to me and alarming). This child loved animals (especially birds) so much that one time he started imitating the cries of chicks.
Why?
So a hawk would fly down and he’d catch it and make it his pet🤦
One day, Emmanuel’s love for birds panned out, and he caught a bird. Now if you know me well, you definitely know that I HATE animals, especially birds! I’m a firm believer that anything with fur, fangs, or feathers has no place in a human household. So naturally, I was averse to the idea of having a bird in the house talk more of being put on a roster to ensure the bird’s comfort.
Emmanuel was beside himself with joy which was odd because there was nothing special about his feathered friend. It was just a regular, brown, sparrow-like bird. We named the bird Tweety, and the first thing Emmanuel would do once he woke up was to check on the damned creature. Eventually, I caught the enthusiasm and went to see Tweety once in a while (from a safe distance, of course). At first, the stupid thing was aloof, but finally, he warmed up to my brother’s coos and dreamy stares and even started answering to “Tweety” with the cutest little chirp.
After some time, I noticed something about Tweety; no matter how much bathing water we left, he didn’t look as neat and as dapper as when we found him. Though he (I’m assuming it was a male. I’m not an ornithologist) got pleasingly plump and happy, he looked a tad disheveled than normal. Dad (another animal person) told Emma that he had to free Tweety because birds like him didn’t do so well in captivity.
Emma was shattered. But finally, he noticed what I noticed and decided Tweety had to be Free-ty. That day, you’d think someone died with how heavy Emma’s face was. The bird actually hesitated before flying away and Emma didn’t eat well that day. If he heard a chirp in the backyard, he’d dash out to know if it was Tweety. Three days later, Tweety flew back into our lives, much to Emmanuel’s happiness. It seemed like he got a makeover; his feathers looked a healthier shade of brown and lay loving on his little streamlined body and his underside was a nicer and cleaner shade of ecru.
Now to me, Tweety was a little chirping-and-pooping ball of feathers, but Emma was the right person for him and loved him just as he was. That is how it is with the right person. They’d not only love those parts of yourself you hide like blood money but would also encourage you to grow and become the best version of yourself. They won’t try to stifle your growth or confine you to a box, no matter how convenient it would be for them.
They would encourage you to think outside the box, break down the walls of the box and explore other worlds outside the box even though they know there’s a possibility you might like those worlds too much to come back. They’d encourage you to take that job, perfect that skill, try that new thing even though they know those opportunities would give you wings. And when you do meet that person, that right person, I hope you remember to fly back into their lives just like Tweety did because, at the end of the day, every bird and every free spirit needs a perch.
Originally published on Medium.
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