soaring skies, struggling streets

As I stare out at the towering skyscrapers, they reach for the sky like birds ready to take flight, untethered, free. From my window, I can see them—the magnificent giants that seem to kiss the clouds, their glass and steel shimmering in the sunlight. But below them, nestled in their shadows, there lies a world so different, so distant, that it feels like another universe. There, below those mighty towers, is a patchwork of small, crooked homes, their roofs covered in blue tarps, the walls patched up with whatever materials could be found. I look at those homes, and I see the people who live there as fish in a pond. Trapped, confined, unable to escape the waters they were born into. And the people in the skyscrapers? They're the birds. Their wings spread wide, soaring high above, with the entire sky as their playground. In the pond, the fish live in close quarters. Their homes are small, just a few rooms shared by many, but they make do. They patch up leaks when the rains come, and they sweep the dirt floors with pride. They cook meals on tiny stoves, and their children play on the narrow lanes, their laughter echoing in the air. The fish have strong hearts, and they work hard. They clean the city, they drive its taxis, they build the towers, but the towers are not for them. They build them for the birds. Sometimes, the fish dream. They dream of flying, of soaring into the sky, of leaving the murky waters behind. But the pond is their home, and the world outside seems too vast, too distant to reach. It's as though the water clings to their scales, weighing them down, keeping them from leaping out. They can see the birds up above, but the sky is not for them. The birds, though, are different. They don’t feel the weight of the water. They rise each morning in their glass towers, surrounded by sunlight that pours through their tall windows. Their lives are filled with opportunities, with choices. If they don’t like one job, they can take another. If one home feels too small, they can move into a bigger one, higher up in the sky. The birds live in a world where the horizon is always expanding, where the future is as boundless as the sky itself. And yet, as free as they are, I wonder if the birds ever feel trapped, too. Do they ever look down from their perches and feel the weight of the world pressing on their shoulders? Maybe their cages are just made of glass and steel, invisible but they're all the same. Maybe their wings tire from flying too high, too fast. Do they ever wish to come down to earth, to feel the warmth of the sun on their face without a wall of glass between them?

For the fish, the world outside the pond is a mystery. They hear stories of what lies beyond, but it feels unreachable, like something they can only dream about. Sometimes a fish does leap out of the water, and for a moment, they catch a glimpse of the world beyond. They see the bright lights, the wide roads, the shiny cars, but then they fall back into the pond, into the familiar murkiness of their world. It’s safer there, even if it’s smaller, even if the water sometimes feels too heavy.  But some fish never stop dreaming. They see the birds and think, “Maybe, just maybe, I can grow wings too.” They study, they work hard, they refuse to let the water weigh them down. They hope that one day, they’ll leap high enough to break free from the pond. And when they do, they’ll fly. They’ll join the birds in the sky and never look back. But for many, the pond is all they’ve ever known, and all they’ll ever know. They’ll continue to swim in circles, to live in their small homes, to patch up the walls when they crumble, to build the towers that stretch into the sky but never climb them. They are the backbone of the city, the hands that keep it moving, but they are invisible. The city depends on them, but it doesn’t see them. And the birds? They continue to fly. They rise higher and higher, building nests in the clouds, never looking down. They live in a world of meetings and deadlines, of fancy dinners and vacations. Their children go to the best schools, they play in parks with green grass and swings, and they dream of flying even higher, of reaching the stars. For the birds, the sky is limitless, and they believe that if they just spread their wings wide enough, they can go anywhere.

But the fish? Their world is smaller. It’s full of struggle and survival. And yet, in that small world, there’s a kind of beauty too. There’s strength in the way they keep swimming, even when the water is murky, even when the pond seems to shrink around them. There’s love in the way they care for each other, in the way they share what little they have. They may be trapped in the pond, but they are not without hope. I look out at the city, at the skyscrapers and the slums, and I wonder what the future holds for the fish and the birds. Will the fish ever grow wings? Will the birds ever look down and see the pond for what it is—a place full of life, full of dreams, full of people who deserve more than just to swim in circles? 

Maybe one day, the fish will rise from the water, and the birds will welcome them into the sky. Or maybe the pond will disappear, and there will be nothing left but the sky, wide and open, for everyone to share.

 Until then, the fish will keep swimming, and the birds will keep flying, each in their own world, separate but connected by the city that holds them both.