There are two words that almost sound alike, only one letter separates them. One is a desperate wish, one that has to come true no matter the cost. And the other is avoiding the cold. At all costs, that would give us wings, a bird flying away. And if we were to write them down using different characters, the wish would become the other shore, and the flight would become pessimism.
The story starts with a bird. A pessimistic bird. One that was born only with wings. Because the pessimism was a later addition. The cold put it in the bird’s skin, the first winter after his birth. But there are those who say that it had always been there, in his wings. That long before the cold had a chance to touch his skin, the bird had already seen other birds preparing to fly, and that was what turned him into a pessimist.
The cold convinced the bird that if he were to stay, he would never survive that winter. But there are those who insist that the flight of those other birds was what convinced him. Because every beat of their wings sounded like a refrain. Repeating, always repeating, that if they were meant to stay, they wouldn’t have been born with those wings ready to help them escape.
And our bird took flight. He flew to a warmer shore. Carrying that pessimism in his wings, and a desperate wish to survive at all costs in his heart. Because he knew that a different outcome would never be. Not as long as those wings remained a part of him.
I have a bird that will never abandon me. I will never know what pessimism is. Because I will always be flying up here, and pessimism won’t be able to reach me from down there.
Pessimism is knowing that even though right now the bird is flying high in the sky, eventually it will have to land, it will have to fly back down to me.
I believe that there is strength in numbers. That the more teeth there are in a smile the better. I know that ducks fly away from the cold. But I am sure that if I throw enough rubber ducklings into the arctic ocean, and keep them together, the tables will turn. I know that the cold will be the one fleeing for good.
Why am I the only one that sees what you don’t want to see? Ducks fly away in a flock. Getting together is what makes them flee. And I am sure that your rubber ducklings will do exactly the same.
I am not worried. When my bird dies, it will help me to cross to the other shore. My bird knows the way, like all birds do. I am not worried, because I know that I won’t have to swim and risk ending lost and adrift.
If by bird you mean the wings of your soul, then pessimism is knowing that something that has spent all its life caged and stunted won’t be able to miraculously take flight once you open the door.
You are wrong. Wishes are an unending string of whims, not a once-in-a-lifetime request asked in desperation. Wishing is flying. It’s riding air currents. Up and down. Up and down. Wishing for a different thing every time.
Numbers don’t have anything to do with it. It’s a matter of paying attention. If all you do is wish, there is no problem whatsoever, you are able to take flight. But if you pay attention to whether your wish has come true or not, then every time it doesn’t, it starts to weigh you down. Until one day you can’t lift your wings and you don’t bother wishing anymore.
I am a tropical bird. I eat fruits that have a sun inside them and I fly. What made you think that the word pessimism would be in my vocabulary?
I know that the word pessimism is in your vocabulary because the night is dark. The suns that are trapped inside those fruits shine where no one will ever see their light. And the colorful plumage of tropical birds doesn’t glow in the dark. Even you must know that the night always wins. Because that is what pessimism is.
Once I heard a bird vibrating its bones to create a song with which to woo its beloved. I won’t run away from the cold, because I want to do the same with my teeth. I want my teeth to chatter. I want to have a song for my beloved too.
Pessimism is knowing that even if your song successfully woos your beloved, it won’t warm you up. Because true cold doesn’t enter through the heart.
I know that I matter because when I was born I was given a bird. One that instead of using its wings to fly uses them to keep me from crossing to the other shore before it’s my time. I know that my life matters more than the flight of a bird.
And the saddest thing is that you haven’t realized yet that your bird was the one that separated both shores. That without your bird there wouldn’t be death, only an immortal life.
Not everyone is fortunate enough to be born with wings. Some people are tenacious and make their wishes come true with perseverance alone. Heating the air their balloon needs to fly higher than the birds.
The difference is that birds innately know how to land. When your balloon’s air grows cold, when you finally give up on your dream, you won’t be so lucky. You will crash.
Pessimism is something that those around you plant in you. Lucky for me, I have a bird that pecks at those seeds and eats them before they can take over my life.
Pessimism is knowing that the bird doesn’t discriminate. That it eats all the seeds, even the ones that could have embellished your soul.
Birds are born with wings in order to fly away from the cold.
Wings weren’t the ones that taught birds to flee. If you hadn’t given one of your teeth to the chick, it would have struggled to find a way to break free of its egg. You made it easy, before there were even feathers in those wings.
It doesn’t matter if I only see the sea in the horizon. I see birds crossing over the horizon, and that is all I need to convince me that there is a shore on the other side. That there is an afterlife.
Everyone knows that those birds die in the sea. Diving into the sea.
Wishes are worms that eat you from the inside, getting dangerously close to your heart with each bite. Lucky for me, I have a bird that pulls them out and devours them, before they can reach my apple seeds and the poison spills.
What you don’t realize is that wishing, that those worms were the ones keeping the wound clean. And now you are doomed to a dark, dark life. One without illusion, one without purpose.