So, here is how it oddly begins...
A kite was born from a soul’s deep desire, a little key he believed could keep him happy, out of a souls deep desire, a key to remain happy, he thought.
It was given colours, its talents, a design, its character, and every little detail was a unique choice made by its creator. The creator never wanted to part with his kite. It was his creation, his thought, his love, his needs, and a part of his life.
But fate had other plans. The creator was taken to the heavens.
And once he was gone, people began fighting over the kite, like children fighting over a kite that had fallen from the sky. Everyone wanted to claim it, because it belonged to no one anymore.
But no one truly understood the attachment the creator had for it.
Because the kite was never just a kite.
It was the creator's thoughts, his needs, his love, and a living piece of his existence.
The creator had made the kite for his wife, the woman he wanted to see happy. She eventually moved on and found her own happiness. In doing so, she slowly forgot about the kite and, perhaps, even the person who had created it.
At one point, she had found a refuge. A place where it could be protected. But life brought new turns, new priorities, and new responsibilities. Slowly, the kite became something forgotten.
Yet the kite never blamed her.
She was its connection to the world. She was its window to everything outside. More than anything, the kite wanted her to be happy.
So it accepted every violent twist and turn that life threw at it.
The kite believed in many things.
It believed that the wind liked it.
It believed that the wind wanted to see it dancing freely in the sky.
But perhaps that was never true.
Even when the wind became harsh, the kite convinced itself that these were experiences meant to make it stronger. Every storm became a lesson. Every struggle became an opportunity to learn.
But the truth was much harsher.
With every storm, something important was being torn away.
Every time the kite showed its strength and courage, its beauty was questioned. Every time it survived, people expected it to survive even more.
The kite had a strong skin. It could withstand blow after blow.
But even the strongest skin wears out.
The wind was essential for the kite's survival. Without the wind, it could not fly. Yet the very thing it needed to survive was also slowly destroying it.
That is the irony of the kite's life.
Life itself was ordinary, but it felt unbearably difficult because there was no one holding its string.
Everyone believed the kite was strong enough to take care of itself.
They forgot one simple thing.
It was still just a kite.
And the wind, the very thing it needed to fly, could also be the thing that destroyed it.
So every time the wind became stronger, the thread would tighten and the spool would turn faster.
The poor kite would desperately cling to whatever solid thing it could find. A pipe. A hook. A corner of someone else's building.
Anything that could keep it from being carried away into the uncertain sky.
Until one day, there was nothing left to hold on to.
No more pipes.
No more hooks.
No more buildings.
No more strength to keep searching for something to cling to.
And that was when the kite finally understood something.
Every strange building it had clung to during every storm was an attempt to find its creator again.
It had been searching for its father in every place, in every person, in every shelter.
Now the kite decided to let go.
Not because it had given up.
But because it had finally stopped caring about those who did not care for it.
There was only one thing left to do.
Fly.
Fly in search of its creator.
The kite was the last remaining proof that its creator had once existed on Earth.
And because of that, the kite would never give up.
It would never destroy itself.
It would protect itself from fire.
It would protect itself from water.
It would protect whatever remained of the creator's work.
But the wind would keep getting harsher.
And strangely, the kite no longer feared it.
The kite needed the wind to fly.
And flying was the only way it could continue its journey towards its creator.
So now, the kite almost hopes the wind will not stop.
It hopes the wind will push harder.
Stronger.
Farther.
Faster.
How strange is life?
The kite that once feared the wind now wants the wind to blow harder, because every storm brings it closer to where it wants to go.
Maybe that is what courage really is.
Not the absence of fear, but the decision to keep flying even when the very thing carrying you can also break you.
The kite will fly.
It will protect itself.
It will carry the colours, the character, the love, and the memories its creator gave it.
And someday, when it finally reaches him, perhaps the creator will look at his kite and know that it never stopped trying to come home.
Kiss life. And fly.
