"what is your inspiration for writing this piece?"
"i looked at my budgies/parkeets. i call them mine and part of my family but i rarely think of them or ever interact with them. they are at a very cool corner of the house... the front door. i don't interact with them because they don't interact with me. they don't love me. my mom remembers to feed them every morning. i have rarely fed them since they first arrived. and only the first two out of five that arrived were actually ours. the three others were gifted by a friend of my mother. there were two more (so seven total), and that one died from some sort of digestive diseases (a yellow one that was gifted), and another who flew away and never returned home (a white one). i walked to them today, stepping on the cold floor at my front door, that corner to see them in the cage. they stood on a stable wooden branch and met me at my eye level as i lowered by body to look at them. i don't see love from them. they might not see love from me. most of them save for the blue one never come close to me when i try to feed them. at that moment i think... what do they consider us to be? owners? kidnappers? do they believe they are pets or enslaved? do they even love us? then i remember i'm much friendlier with the wild cats (especially the dragon li cat) that would knock on our kitchen doors for food than my own birdie pets. and i returned to my room and wrote the piece. i call it 404."