'19' Last Days Of Being a Teenager |Memoir

The birds don't sing anymore.

I stretch in my sweatpants, sitting cosied up on my bed in the early morning, punching letters on a black keyboard. As my eyes followed every line without missing a thing, my ears definitely did. My ears noticed the absence of the bird chirps. And a troubling question popped into mind.Why are birds not singing like they usually do? Again, I peeped through my window, and another question came to mind, this time with more alarming urgency, "Where are the trees?"

The arboreal territory is now vacant. I rubbed my eyes to confirm my sight was already efficient by 7 am, and in that blank instant, I recalled what had happened–what is still happening.Yesterday, a group of construction workers came with their chainsaws and trucks. I heard that but wasn't bothered. It wasn't my land. Why give a damn. The following day I realized the impact of their actions yesterday, and I regret not saving the trees. I wish I had run and called every student in my hall to protest the destruction of that beautiful field and its harmless birds.Now no nature song nor chirping noise compliments my early mornings. And I am left punching my way through gloom and guilt. The birds don't sing anymore because I let their homes be cut down.

It's hard for the birds to sing when they have lost their home. And one thing it appears we humans seem to forget is that as we destroy their homes, We ruin our planet.