I love sparrows — casually, but profoundly

I love sparrows.

I love how they hop on their tiny feet, their fluffy bodies bouncing like wind-up toys — light, quick, and full of energy. I love how they chirp loudly, their small beaks opened wide, as if engaged in an urgent conversation. I love how they glance up at me with one eye, head slightly tilted, when they crave crumbs.

I love how they keep a respectful distance while pleading for crumbs. It’s as if sparrows understand the concept of boundaries — if you need something from someone, ask with confidence, but also respect the space between. Sparrows don’t disturb and startle people, unlike pigeons, seagulls, or crows. They’re our little polite neighbours, only occasionally seeking a small kindness from us.

I love spotting them whenever I visit a new city. Besides the quality of coffee, I also score a city using my personal “sparrow city index”. Quantity matters — I want to see them every few blocks. But quality counts too — the fluffier and cleaner their feathers, the better. Although I know nothing about the scientific standards of a bird’s health, I like to believe that the fluffy, well-groomed sparrow is a happy, healthy one. And of course, a fluffy and clean sparrow is just cute.

I love how they cheer me up. When I was at my lowest, stranded on Smith Street in Downtown Brooklyn, I was on the verge of collapsing into tears from loneliness and desperation. It was the height of COVID-19, and I hadn’t seen my girlfriend (now my wife) or my family in almost two years. On top of that, I had just been laid off from my first full-time job in the U.S., losing my only source of income while still carrying student loans, and it happened right after I excitedly signed a 12+1 month lease for a studio. As I stood there, overwhelmed by it all, a group of sparrows suddenly appeared in front of me. They chirped, hopped, and carried on as if nothing had changed. I knew they weren’t there for me, but somehow, they lifted my spirits. They made me smile. They always do.

Of course, my love for them isn’t blind. I’m aware that sometimes they can be annoying too. I once encountered an absurdly loud flock in a mid-southern town in Taiwan. Though hidden within the dense, leafy trees, their synchronized chorus filled the air, loud and clear. I couldn’t see them, yet their overlapping chirps created a vivid image in my mind — dozens, maybe hundreds of them, hopping between branches, calling out to one another in an endless, animated conversation. The sheer volume was overwhelming, and I imagine the human residents in the area must have found them unbearable. But honestly, I was more impressed than annoyed. What a sight it must have been.

Sometimes I wonder if, given my love for sparrows, I should learn more about them to prove it? Should I read books, watch documentaries, or study their science and history? But in the end, I don’t feel the need. I enjoy our simple, joyful relationship. Just knowing they exist, seeing them, hearing them is good enough for me.

If I love sparrows so much, people have suggested, maybe I should learn more about them, like reading books or watching documentaries about their science and history? But somehow I just don’t feel like it. I guess I enjoy this simple and joyful relationship I have with them. Knowing, seeing, and hearing their beings are good enough for me.

I love sparrows — casually, but profoundly.