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You see: I aspire to be a bird. Birds can fly. They can sing. They sing without worrying what they sound like. Because they’re birds; they’re supposed to sing, that’s what they do. Of course their song is beautiful. They’re birds. Their song is a part of who they are. How they’re identifiable. They fly, they sing. They lay eggs and make nests. It’s what makes a bird a bird. I want to be like that.

But I am a jellyfish. I don’t know why jellyfish don’t sing, but they don’t. Maybe they have the same reasons I do. They’re quiet and they bloop bloop along with the current and they’re spineless and brainless. But you shouldn’t mess with a jellyfish even if it seems harmless, because they’ll sting you. And maybe I should just accept my jellyfish nature instead of striving to be a bird. 

Because a jellyfish can’t be a bird. They can’t even survive outside of the water at all, they can’t even begin to dream of flying. Or singing. Or maybe they do dream about it. Who knows.

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