The unopened lid

Early on a weekend morning, I walked along the East River, where no one had yet left a footprint. Only the tracks of ducks and seagulls stretched and scattered across the sandy shore, fading into the ripples of the water.

The ducks and seagulls flew off—except for one. A lone seagull, unmoving, stared back at me with calm resignation. It had only one leg. As if it had given up on flying, it showed no sign of distress. While others searched for food and quickly flew away to avoid danger, this one remained still. I wondered—how did it lose its leg? How has it survived in this harsh world, living differently from the rest?

I leaned against the railing at the ferry dock, listening to the sounds: boats arriving and departing, waves crashing under the bridge along the path, and the wind rustling through the leaves. After watching the ferries head north to Long Island City and south to DUMBO, I, too, left the riverfront.

On the way home, I passed an empty lot where a sharp, frantic sound—tick-tick, tick-tick-tick—broke the morning silence. A seagull was anxiously pecking at a clear plastic takeout container, trying to reach the food inside. The lid was shut. The food was right there, visible, almost within reach—but unreachable. The bird looked worn out, thin, and desperate, as if it had been trying for a long time. I looked around, wanting to help, to open the lid—but a tall wire fence enclosed the lot. Neither the seagull nor I could get through. We were both left feeling helpless.

As I walked home, I kept hearing that sound—faint but continuous, echoing in my ears.

The next morning, I glanced over again at the same spot. The container had been pushed to a corner near the fence, now empty. The gull must have pecked and pushed with such determination that the lid finally opened. Maybe by now, it’s flying somewhere with a full belly, at peace.

I thought—am I not like that seagull? Trying to open a sealed lid, struggling to create something meaningful, to bring a piece of art to life… Feeling as though I’m fumbling in darkness, searching for a faint light, desperate to open something that won’t budge. When will my lid finally open?