why i’m letting go of color-based superstitions
in defense of black birds…
there is something gentle about realizing how quickly the mind reaches for fear. it happens almost automatically, shaped by stories passed down, whispered warnings and symbols repeated so often they begin to feel like truth. we rarely pause to ask where these ideas came from or whether they still deserve a place in how we see the world.
color, especially, carries heavy meaning. black is often painted as something to fear, while brightness is mistaken for safety. yet in nature, darkness is not an enemy. it is where roots grow, where seeds rest, where transformation begins. birds with dark feathers still sing. trees grow strongest in shaded soil. not everything that looks intense is dangerous.
one morning, i noticed one black bird perched on the aratilis tree, its eyes glowing red. then i saw two more birds coming from the guyabano tree beside it. i was curious about what kind of birds they were, since they were loud and had a different sound. i felt a quiet sense of unease because of the combination of black and red, colors i’ve unconsciously learned to associate with darker meanings.
i was actually happy to see them. watching them from above filled me with a quiet sense of awe. i tried to capture the moment on my phone, but the leaves kept getting in the way. even so, their presence that morning and the striking contrast of their colors remained in my thoughts.
I looked up the birds online to learn more about their name and any symbolism they might carry. It turns out they are Asian glossy starlings, and I was happy to know what they were.
our minds play with ideas and concepts based on what we are used to seeing and believing, what we hear and what we inherit from history. we judge and label based on colors, appearances and familiar narratives. many of our beliefs are formed through stories, experiences and quiet inheritances, and i’ve come to hold them with curiosity and acceptance. i believe there are things only we can truly understand or prove when they happen to us.
because of this, i think we should not rely too heavily on what is written whether something is labeled good or bad as it may lead us to disappointment. these writings can be guides and helpful references, but i believe in balance and timing.
sometimes, we notice signs, tiny reminders in reality that feel like warnings. i believe these moments remind us that life is a balance of ups and downs. even if something signals a challenge ahead, it doesn’t mean we need to dwell on it or let fear take over. things will pass, as everything always does. this is simply how life works. the wheel keeps turning, carrying us through light and shadow alike. recognizing the balance doesn’t take away the warning, it just helps us move through it with calm, knowing that each moment, good or difficult, is part of the rhythm of life.
i’m learning that wonder is a choice. fear arrives quickly, but wonder asks us to slow down, to look again, to listen more closely. that morning, the birds didn’t bring harm. they brought presence. they brought sound, movement and a moment that pulled me out of routine and into awareness.
perhaps omens are not predictions, but mirrors. they reflect what we are already carrying inside. when we are anxious, we see warnings. when we are open, we see meaning. the same sign can feel heavy or hopeful, depending on the lens we choose to wear that day.
i also realized that nature does not label itself. birds do not know they are symbols. they simply exist, fulfilling their role without fear of how they are perceived. there is something freeing in that. something we, as humans, could learn from. to exist without constantly explaining ourselves. to be without needing to be judged as good or bad.
as i continue to notice these birds visiting each morning, i feel a quiet shift in me. less resistance. less rushing to conclusions. more listening. more trust. maybe that is the real gift they brought. not luck or warning, but a reminder to meet life with openness instead of assumption.
life moves in ways beyond what the eye can see, beyond what we can control.