Every morning, before the sun had fully risen, a small bird perched on the oldest mango tree in the village and sang.
It sang when the sky was bright.
It sang when the clouds were heavy.
It sang when the wind was gentle and even when the rain beat against its tiny wings.
The villagers loved the bird, but one young woman named Adwoa could not understand it.
Adwoa had stopped singing.
Life had not turned out the way she had imagined. The plans she had carefully made had fallen apart one after another. The opportunity she had prayed for had gone to someone else. The person she thought would stay had walked away. And the future she once looked forward to now seemed covered in uncertainty.
So she kept asking herself the same question:
“What is there to be happy about?”
One morning, as the bird sang from the mango tree, Adwoa looked up at it and whispered, “What are you singing about? Do you have answers that I don't have?”
The bird continued singing.
Adwoa almost laughed.
“You don't even know what tomorrow will bring.”
Still, the bird sang.
She watched it for a while before walking away.
The next morning, the bird was there again.
Singing.
And the morning after that.
Singing.
One day, Adwoa finally sat beneath the mango tree.
“Why?” she asked softly. “Why do you keep singing when you don't know what is coming?”
Of course, the bird gave her no answer.
It simply sang.
And suddenly, something inside Adwoa became quiet.
She realized that perhaps the bird was not singing because it knew that tomorrow would be better.
It was not singing because all its problems had disappeared.
It was not singing because it had found all the answers.
It was singing because it had a song inside it.
And perhaps that was what she had forgotten.
She had been waiting for life to become perfect before allowing herself to live again.
She had been waiting for an answer before allowing herself to hope.
She had been waiting for everything to make sense before allowing herself to smile.
But the little bird seemed to know something she did not.
Sometimes, you do not sing because you have an answer.
You sing because there is still something inside you worth expressing.
You keep moving because there is still a road ahead.
You hope because your story is not finished.
And you rise each morning—not because you know exactly what the day will bring, but because you are still here.
That morning, Adwoa stood beneath the mango tree and smiled for the first time in a long while.
She did not have all the answers.
Her problems had not magically disappeared.
Nothing about her circumstances had changed.
But something within her had.
She went home, opened the notebook she had abandoned months before, and began to write again.
Not because she knew how her story would end.
But because she still had a story to tell.
Outside her window, the little bird continued singing.
And for the first time, Adwoa understood.
A bird does not sing because it has an answer.
It sings because it has a song.
And sometimes, that is enough.
Sometimes, you don't need to understand the whole journey.
You simply need to keep singing your song until the next chapter finds you.
