The Old Man and his Nightingale

This is a story that I have narrated to quite a few already. I still think a version of this story on this blog would be a great addition. Inspired from a story I once read somewhere... ...

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Far away in a quiet, forested land, an old man lived in solitude with his pet friend - a white nightingale who sang the most beautiful melody across all lands. The nightingale loved the old man for his gentle soul and kind treatment. The old man loved his friend for the unwavering company it provided.

Every morning, the old man would hang the cage of the white nightingale on a low branch of the apple tree outside his door. The nightingale would sing. Then, he would lay down on a chair by the patio, immersing his soul into the melodious chirping.

One day, the old man's granddaughter came for a visit. She saw the caged bird became sorrowful.

"Grandfather, why do you lock such a beautiful bird in a sad cage?"

"Because I love my nightingale and he loves me too. If the cage is opened, he will fly away from me forever. " the old man replied.

The little girl as innocent and naive as she was, replied," But grandfather, if the white nightingale loves you too, why would he fly away and never come back?"

The old man was stumped.. He had never placed himself in the position of his pet. It had been tyranny that kept the bird with him. He was sad. It was a test. His fingers were shaking as he unlatched the door. It was really the final test.

Once the hook was free, the nightingale took to the air. Freedom lashed about his wings and he flew further and further and further away. The old man waited till there was only a speck of gold in the air, but the nightingale never flew back... ...

The old man waited everyday by the patio. At dawn when the light rose, he would be searching the skies for any faint glimmer of hope but it was always disheartening.

A year..

Two years..

Three years later..

A chirp. It was definitely a chirp, no, many chirps.. The old man was feeble and slow but he rushed to the window. Perched on the low branch, his old friend - the white nightingale; and there was another. A pair of white nightingales nestled against each other, singing that familiar old song. The old man laughed and cried.

The Old Lady by the Sea by Karen Lim

Looking outside her window, she felt a surge of unrest churning within her brittle bones. She could taste the salt in the air as the breeze tickled her cheeks. She shut her eyes as a droplet formed at the corner of her lids. Slowly, it trickled down her weathered wrinkles and splattered on the windowsill. Then, she smiled. It had been long time ago since she felt this vigor.

The lady did not speak her thoughts aloud for she knew there were none around to give humane comfort. Tabby was nestled snugly beside the door, purring softly, oblivious to her mistress’ sudden ambition. It was a cool, quiet night in Hawaii, like any other time on this side. But tonight, she could hear echoes beckoning from the shadows beneath the darkness. The old lady inclined forward, head outside the frame. She was desperate to hear more. It was a presence that brought unrest to her yearning heart but peace to her melancholic soul.

She had adapted well to living alone. Ten years of seclusion in Kauai taught her the essentials of a hermit. Do not leave home without Tabby. Do not talk to tourists. Do not try any outdoor activities. Do not keep dreams. Once a month, the grocer’s boy would send her deliveries down from town but conversations were limited to lackluster words of appreciation. She had no company, no friends and no family anymore.

Years of arthritis has caked up her joints and it was hard to cross her cottage as hastily as she wanted to. Her trusty walking stick had been her favourite outdoor accessory but not now. It would be too much of a hassle for the feat she was attempting tonight. The door opened, allowing a noisy waft of sea breeze into the cottage. Like any other mindless pets, Tabby darted away from her comfort zone, apparently irked by her mistress’ lack of consideration as she crossed her path recklessly. The woman knew her way well despite her notorious label for aloofness. It was a short walk to Shipwreck Beach. That was where she was headed tonight.

There was enough illumination to determine that she was the only creature out on this silken white carpet of sand. With warm saline trailing from her eyes, she tilted her head towards the pale moon and bellowed, “DEAR LORD, LET THIS BE MY LAST!” With that she broke into a lopsided scamper along the receded shoreline towards the cliff; her knees were not cooperating.

“…Peace. Regrets. Complaints. Dreams. Courage…” Each word whistling in the wind pierced into her soul. It ached. Time could not compensate for her losses. “Peace... Regrets... Complaints… Dreams... Courage... PEACE... REGRETS… COMPLAINTS… DREAMS…. COURAGE……” the voice shouted in her head. All her life, she had been living a deception. All the major decisions she made in her life were mistakes, or so she always thought. It was this self dejection that pushed her to make her final desperate move - to live in solitude till the day her Dear Lord called upon her.

But yet again tonight, she heard the words that brought back déjà vu. The last words her husband left her minutes before cancer took his last toll. He was only forty-seven. For fifteen years, she lamented her partner for leaving her so alone, so early. She blamed her son for being incapable of filling his shoes. She hated the vague direction her husband left her. She blamed his passing when their son left home to pursue his own dreams. Tim never wrote back and never came home ever again. She gave up all hobbies, pastime activities and teatime invites. Her friends tried to rope her into social gatherings and counsel support groups but after months of unappreciated retorts, they gave up; all drifted away in their own directions.

The edge of the cliff was a good spot. It was a breathtaking view. The dark surface of the waters stretched thin and wide, converging with the contrasting moonlight that sliced the blackness. The old lady let her garments loose to bathe her aged skin in the dim glows. The roar of waves crashing against the steep face rattled her teeth. She could comprehend the message finally. The last task her love demanded from her was the courage to let go of her regrets, courage to seek peace rather than complaints and the courage to chase her dreams as their son had done. In that final moment, she knew exactly how courage could be obtained.

She took one step back. She had seen the young surfers do it on this cliff a hundred times. Another two steps back. A short run was all she needed. Her knees could take that much. Just three more steps back. Her vision clouds with the face of her smiling husband. A silhouette resembling Tim forms in front of her. Then, she let go of all inhibitions and made a run off the edge of the cliff, plunging 30metres into the liquid.

The water was sinuous. It took her form and wrapped itself gently around her stark body. In a matter of seconds, the old lady reached the surface. Floating on her back, facing the moon, she let a wide grin spread across her face before laughter accompanied the applauding sounds of waves against rocks.

~END~

Author’s Quote: There are no dreams too big or too small and it’s never too old or too young for anything. Just dream and keep the courage.

The first waft of Certainty.

I shall begin with the end in mind and therefore I shall reveal my dream.

I want to travel the world, in 2013, ~5 years later.

I will be 25 and I will open my black box of time. Then I shall cast away all last thoughts and be on my expedition.

My future is clouded with uncertainty. But, amid this cumulus of new changes that I face with the onslaught of each new phase, I shall hold on to this dream and make it a glowing milestone in my life. This is the first waft of certainty.