The only time I could feel reassured again was when I read a story that wasn’t mine. Reading on a bench with trees and the chirpiest of birds all around me was the biggest adventure I’ve had in my life in the past few months. The birds keep calling out; Calling out to their peers, their friends, the air, the nature, and all of us. They sing so we can sleep but also stay awake and tune in to their voices- it was like watching a 4D movie. The tamarind tree under which I sat threw tamarind fruit pods without warning and you don’t know when one will hit you, but it will at some point and I can’t avoid it. So I did not move. The sudden thuds those tiny little pods made when they hit the ground made me understand pressure, and how they were full and ripe, came to the Earth where humans would stamp on them and they would mix with the tar, almost as if they’re invisible. Very familiar concept. There were ants all over under my bench but not one stung my bottom or back, because I didn’t know of their presence until I finished my reading and sat up and looked. Or did I? It is either ignorance or lack of awareness. I think that day the story was not just the one that was in the book. It was from all around me, and it was a good story. How I can give back to nature for that can only be through feeding myself with more and more of it, until I’m able to write one.