Blog

In the shaded glen of Alvara, birds fluttered from branch to branch, their melodies echoing in the morning air. Beneath a great fig tree, a boy named Emil sat with his grandfather, watching a commotion unfold above them.

A flock of birds had gathered, all fighting for the ripened fruit. Feathers flew, wings flapped, and high-pitched cries filled the air. One pecked another; another knocked fruit to the ground. It was chaos over a handful of figs.

Emil frowned. “Why do they fight so much, Grandfather?”

Grandfather Tomas, a weathered man with eyes that carried more seasons than any calendar, smiled gently. “Because birds act on instinct, child. When they’re hungry, they fight. But look what happens.”

He pointed to the trampled figs below—smashed and wasted. “Most of their food is now gone. Not eaten. Just destroyed.”

Emil’s eyes widened. “So they fought… and ended up with less?”

“Yes,” said Tomas, leaning closer, “and humans are no different when we act on impulse.”

Emil turned, puzzled. “But we’re not birds.”

“No,” his grandfather said, voice calm, “we’re not. We have reason. We have the ability to wait, to plan, to share. But when people fight over resources—land, food, power—we end up destroying the very things we hoped to gain.”

He paused, letting the boy absorb the lesson.

“When people act out of anger or impulse, they don’t just hurt each other. They damage the systems that feed them, the relationships that sustain them, the harmony that protects them. Fighting might give the illusion of strength, but real strength,” he pointed to his chest, “is patience. Real courage is in restraint.”

The boy looked back up at the birds, now flying away, hungry and empty-beaked.

“So what should we do instead?” Emil asked.

Tomas picked up a fallen fig, gently cleaned off the dirt, and handed it to the boy. “Endure. Share. Solve, not shatter. When problems come, we face them—not with fists, but with forbearance.”

Emil nodded slowly. “Endure problems through patience… not fighting.”

“Yes,” said Tomas. “Birds may fight and fly away. But we build homes, families, nations. If we don’t learn patience, we don’t just lose a fig. We lose the tree itself.”

And beneath the fig tree’s silent witness, a boy and his grandfather sat—choosing peace in a world that often forgets how.