Youngblood
Caged birds, free birds
By Kenneth P. Pornasdoro
Philippine Daily Inquirer
First Posted 00:16:00 05/15/2008
In our province not so very long ago, my alarm clock was not a cell phone tucked underneath my pillow. I would wake up to the sound of birds. Our neighbor’s roosters, doing their early morning vocal exercises, usually woke me up between 3 and 4 a.m. As the sun rose to light up the whole town, swarms of mayas chirped in unison at around 6 a.m. And I knew it was late in the morning when I heard pigeons pecking on my bedroom window at around 8 or 9 a.m.
Aside from making those wake-up calls, birds also cheered me up during the day. We used to have pairs of cute budgies in our home. These so-called “love-birds” flirted all day, making soft sounds to signal adoration, but they could also make noisy, restless sounds when irritated. The females always laid eggs that never hatched. They probably loved their partners more than their potential young ones.
One evening, my father brought home a pair of colasisis. They were amazing. Their chirping instantly sent my imagination soaring to a tropical rainforest filled with towering trees and birds of paradise. I watched with fascination as they ate using their sharp claws and pointed beaks to rip into a juicy banana. But the most amazing thing for me was what they did after sunset. They would position themselves at the top of the cage and dangle upside-down like a bat, and stay like that as they slumbered.
As a kid, I loved caged birds better than free birds. Caged birds were far more spectacular than the white and brown feathers of the free birds I usually saw. The budgies we had where majestically coated with green, blue, yellow and white feathers. The colasisis’ orange beak and emerald green feathers, highlighted with bright red streaks, was very beautiful to see.
In my younger days, I had this notion that free birds only come in shades of white and brown. I thought that anything more regal easily caught the interest of trappers who then put these birds into cages and sold them to people. But recently, I had a chance to go bird watching around our school with bird experts. The activity included a lecture where pictures of amazing birds photographed around the campus were shown. What I found very surprising was that the lecturer took the pictures in the same places where I usually went every day. And more surprisingly, the birds did not just come in shades of white and brown. Green, orange, red, blue, yellow and patches of vivid colors coated the feathers of the birds on the photographs.
The place where most of the shots had been taken was just above the place where I usually hung out. I was amazed when I realized this. The speaker asked us how we could have missed it. I didn’t know the answer.
I tried to reason that my imperfect vision was to blame for missing those birds. After all, they were photographed with camera equipped with a telescopic lens.
But if I couldn’t see them, surely I must have heard them. I could distinguish between the chirping of the maya and that of other birds during those childhood days when I would wake up to their sounds. The reason for my present ignorance was probably my lack of attention. The routine of student life, like fulfilling class requirements and beating project deadlines, must have kept me from enjoying the presence of the birds.
The experience raised to a different level my reverence for wild birds. Where before, I would automatically reach for an air gun whenever I saw a bird, now I instinctively tell myself, “Just watch, don’t touch.” I don’t find pleasure in shooting at moving target anymore. Instead, happiness for me is hearing birds serenading the trees, feeling their presence and seeing them comfortably living their own, wild lives.
In my hometown in Pagbilao, Quezon, some years ago, I watched an eagle hovering against the bright blue sky. It looked like a huge kite, with its wings in full stretch and seldom flapping, as it soared up above. I wished that all wild birds were as free as that majestic lawin. Now I dream of the day when people and wild birds again live together harmoniously.
Kenneth P. Pornasdoro, 21, is an industrial engineering student at the University of the Philippines, Diliman.
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