Bird Symbol Analysis

I was always fascinated with birds when I was a child. I would watch them and daydream. I admired their gracefulness and envied their freedom. I wished for wings so I too could fly out of this harsh life. I wished to speak their language, to ask them what it felt like, flying so high. I wondered which god to ask or indeed if there was such a god who had the power to transform humans into animals. But then I also thought of the constant danger of being shot down by humans or eaten by larger animals. And the birds never seemed to have enough food to eat, either, because they were constantly nibbling on human feces. Without food, life as a bird might not have been much better than life as a human. And if I became a bird, I would not see my family again.

I told everyone that she was such a happy bird, because she chattered and sang all day and all night. She drove my whole family crazy, though. “She isn’t singing, she is crying, ‘Let me out, let me out!’” Cunfar said, acting as though he was the poor bird.

“Don’t be silly, she loves me. I’m her savior. Look at all the food she gets.”

But in reality she ate very little. After school one day that week, I rushed home with some worms in my hands and found my Beautiful River Treasure dead in her cage. I sobbed my heart out. I blamed every member of my family for her death. […] My heart was broken. Deep inside I knew I was responsible for her death. Instead of helping her, I had taken her freedom away, and I hated myself for it.

I couldn’t understand all the words but I could make out that the story was about a rich steel baron, in some place called Chicago, who fell in love with a young girl. […] Love stories were hard to find. I would have given anything to read the whole thing. But the Red Guards destroyed any books that contained even a hint of romance or western flavor. You would be jailed if such books were found in your house.

I kept those forty pages for a long time, locking them like a treasure in my personal drawer […]. I poured over the words. I wondered how the people in the story could have such freedom. It sounded too good to be true. But even after hearing years of fearful propaganda about America and the West, the book was enough to plant a seed of curiosity in my heart.

But in truth I didn’t really believe that playing with the birds would have caused any harm to Chairman Mao’s revolution at all. In truth I felt humiliated. I’d never had to do this in my old school.

My self-criticism passed the test easily, and my teacher and classmates burst into laughter when I read that last line. I also had to stand outside the classroom for a whole hour afterwards. “Cunxin, have you fed the poor birds yet?” the boys teased as they walked past, and my face burned with humiliation.

I hadn’t meant what I’d written. I hadn’t learned anything about serving Chairman Mao. All it made me realize was just how much freedom I was being denied. I would never be able to play with my beloved birds again. Now I was a bird trapped in a cage where even my feet had to conform to the rules.

Aside from the drugs, though, I did want to experiment with nearly everything the Western world had to offer. I discovered Western movies, especially the John Wayne ones. I liked the courage he portrayed. I also liked movies such as Star Trek and the 007 films. I went to operas, symphonies, pop concerts and plays. Through Ben I met some extraordinary people—people including Liza Minnelli, Cleo Laine, Gregory Peck, Frank Sinatra and John Denver. I even went to discos, but I wasn’t too fond of them. Still, I was like a bird let out of its cage, and I could fly in any direction I chose.