I remember, once you rescued an injured parrot, took care of it and kept it in your home. The parrot loved to eat guavas and wouldn't eat anything else. I remember, how you always used to be worried, what will happen once the season of guavas ends... You tried to feed it so many different things but the parrot wouldn't take any. By and by, the broken wing healed and then it became clear, it wasn't just a superficial wound, the parrot had lost one of it's wings forever and couldn't fly ever again. The parrot was very irritable, would even bite the people who loved and fed it. Everyone said, it was a wild one but you understood, that it's anger and violence were just expressions of it's sadness, helplessness and frustration over the inability to fly. You'd often empathise with the parrot... for seeing it caged, would break your heart. So, you used to keep the gates of the cage open, to let it out and let it at least sit, eat and breathe in the open air. But the parrot would return back to it's cage everytime, as if totally out of hope and enthusiasm for life.
That parrot is special to you, I know. And it's special for me as well. Because in it, I found glimpses of me.
Wounds, healed by you... only to be found that I had lost one wing forever and could never ever fly again. My specifications, similar to it's liking for guavas. My anger and hostility. And lastly, my inability, to find courage, because I too, have accepted the cage as my fate.