Do we answer to respond, or respond to answer?

This has been playing at the back of my mind almost since 2021.

I think I remember what sparked this question and led me to spiral into questioning my own sanity. (If my memory is being kind, it usually isn’t unless there’s a lunar eclipse.) I’d asked someone a very simple question. The kind that begs a Yes or No, followed by, maybe, a three-word explanation. But instead, I was rewarded with a 48-minute “Welcome to my TED Talk…” kind of conversation, err, speech. I remember the duration vividly, simply not because it was really insightful and has bestowed me with a once-in-a-lifetime sort of wisdom, but because:

(1) Every second felt like death.
(2) I had important work right after that meeting.
(3) I was catastrophically sleep-deprived (coffee has stopped keeping me awake!).

And the kicker, you ask? My question remained unanswered.

I replayed that conversation in my head later and realized only to realize what absolute tomfoolery!

It kept happening. Like yesterday dressed up as today, especially in work emails. But not just emails, in face-to-face conversations too. With people I know inside out. People I even like! People who claim to be great communicators (and occasionally flex their narcissistic flair. UGH!). I ask something simple, and suddenly I’m an audience member in a one-woman/woman/man show I clearly never signed up for.

Tiny Beak and Big Chaos

 *Xfpdfkdooo*

Every morning my home bursts into life when he returns, crawls into my bed, and showers me with a flurry of pecks. And the chaos begins. He’s a whirlwind—screaming, throwing tantrums worthy of a drama queen (of course, he takes after me!), and turning the house upside down if I’m out of sight. I’m on an emotional rollercoaster—laughing, missing him when he’s gone, and eagerly awaiting his return. He has my world wrapped around his tiny beak!

Then there’s his endless babbling...God save my ears! Through him, I’ve truly understood: If you love something, set it free.

Of Wings and Wishes...

That evening, I whispered a wish into the wind, unaware if the sky would keep it or carry it along. Time passed—long enough for a flicker of hope to soften at the edges but not quite fade away. And then—like a story writing itself—he appeared. Not a dream, nor a trick of my memory, but real—feathers ruffled by the very wind that once carried him away. Perhaps the world is a circle, or perhaps some wishes have wings. 

Maybe it was the love I sent into the vast unknown that has finally found its way home.