The sunbirds kept me alive

4 mins read

It was 2020, and COVID-19 had just broken in the news. I just returned not too long ago from an overseas posting in Bangkok, back under my parents' roof after two years of living by myself. No one knew just how severe the pandemic situation would become, and we could only react to the immediate situation right in front of us. 

Then, I was working in a marketing role for a packaged food company. Business became turbulent, being directly affected by the changes in consumption patterns due to the lockdown. It created an immense amount of reactionary work, with huge uncertainties and risks, which became a source of anxiety and worries in my day-to-day. 

In the background, having little space to breathe within a regular 4-room flat, the friction between my folks started to build up. Without fail, some kind of small disagreement would escalate into a shouting battle, and it only got worse over time. 

There was chaos over at the little screen that perched on my work desk, just inches from my bed, and there was chaos just outside the door. With no travel or social life, my usual escapes and outlets were out of question. 

It didn’t take too long for me to be worn down by an environment that offered no room for peace and rest. 

I found myself often numbing myself with endless scrolling, dreading to wake the next day. The alarms would ring, and I'd remain in denial and paralysis. I often stay glued to the bed, letting my two minds fight about when is the right moment to spring up, delaying every second I could and battling myself till there was enough self-loathing to lift me from the pitiful state. 

I did not think there was something wrong at that point. It somehow did not feel alarming enough to be missing energy and enthusiasm for life. In hindsight, those were the first signs of an oncoming depression. 

Some mornings, however, were different. Minutes before the alarm would ring, I'd hear a beautiful bird song just outside my window. The bright, melodious sound would awaken a curiosity in my heart, urging me to open my eyes and seek the source of this sound. 

I'd soon discover that the songs come from this cute palm-sized bird perched on the window pane just next to my bed, with a bright yellow belly and brown body. I'd find out from the Internet that it was an olive-backed sunbird.

The bright and cheerful tunes would bring a smile to my face and almost transfer some kind of positive energy into my cells, helping me bounce up instantaneously from the bed. 

This was not a chance occasion, I’d realise soon. The sunbirds would come often, and it became something I looked forward to. Some mornings I'd feel myself come awake, with eyes closed, looking forward to the arrival of their songs. 

Some mornings, I'd negotiate with the bird through my thoughts to sing a little longer, before I'd relent and get up from the bed.

Some days I'll stealthily hide behind my curtains, slowly peeking through the gap to catch a glance of this shy songbird, usually fleeing upon meeting me eye-to-eye. 

Little did I know, just how life-giving the appearance of these sunbirds was in my life. In those gloomy days, that was the little glimmer I looked forward to daily. 

Did they come because they knew I'd need them? 

Was there a bigger force out there sending these little earth angels my way? 

What was that special feeling of nature visiting me at my window, a sense that something was trying to reach me? 

I started to look out my window more often, something I rarely had time to do until it became the only thing that’d enliven me. The dance of the tree crowns just outside my window drew me in, and the diamond-like sparkles on the surface of the canal stream cast by the morning sun gave me my daily micro-doses of joy. 

I'd still be torn and lost, completely unclear why I was living in misery, under the torture of my reprimanding mind. 

But I had something small, something at all, to look forward to. 

Something that'd keep me showing up instead of giving up. 

Something that'd give me a hint that there's more in the forest waiting to receive me. 

The sunbirds kept me alive when I could not be. 

Years after becoming a forest therapy guide and slowly learning about nature, I'd come across a study that plants and trees could respond to bird songs. The songs would activate a certain mechanism within the plant to expand and grow, as though it is encouraged by those melodious cheers to do the difficult thing. 

I'd learn that humans respond to bird songs too. It is in our DNA that we recognise birdsongs as a signal that there are no dangerous predators around, that we are safe. That we can lie back and relax, without worry and fear. Perhaps that was why their songs felt like a healing escape from my threatening mind.

Life can get difficult, and we so often depend on ourselves to power through it. Yet, nature has its own way of showing up and reminding us of its healing presence, opening doors to our hearts in ways we never expect.