“Stop Sam! Please! Don’t run anymore!”, I screamed at Sam who was running happily on the wide fields of grass holding my string as tight as our sense of connection to each other.
I am caught by the branches. My wings are wide open letting the wind get under them and make me float close to the branch to which my string is twisted. On the other side of the string, Sam not having noticed this fuss, is wondering why the string is not catching up his happy run. He is starting to pull the string. “Stop that Sam! Look at me!” I continued louder this time.
Although it is the third time since my lucky day that Sam stepped in the store in search of a light, stripy kite and picked me excitedly, yet the fear of flight remains in my heart. In these three times of practice, I have kept looking at Sam and relied on my attachment to him to forget the panic of flying so high in the sky.
And now, here I am, caught in this old tall tree with long branches wide open in every direction. I wish my string had twisted to a lower branch and I was kept away from the wind, hanging in the volume of leafy branches inside the tree.
As a strong gust of wind blows under my wings, the stretching sound of my string gets into my ear and adds to the panic in my heart. “what if the string gets cut?! Oh my God! This means that I will go wherever the wind takes me and I might keep flying in the air, at this height… or even higher!”, even the thought was killing me. The world was turning dark in front of my eyes. “What if I close my wings and fall to the ground?”, I was struggling to find some way. “But then I will fall down with a float in the air, and who knows? My paper could get stuck to some branch and tear apart; death of a fearful kite! No! This is not me.”