So, I decided to really get into this whole 'anok yai relationship' thing a while back. It wasn't some grand plan, more like something I just stumbled into, you know? I’d see them around, these majestic anok yai, and thought, "Hey, what would it take to actually understand these creatures, to have some kind of connection?" Seemed simple enough at first, but boy, was I in for a ride.
My First Steps and Stumbles
I started off pretty basic. Just observing. I'd find a spot, not too close, not too far, and just watch. For hours, sometimes. It was slow going, real slow. I’d try to learn their calls, figure out their routines. When do they feed? Where do they roost? Simple questions, but getting answers felt like pulling teeth. They’re wild, properly wild, not like your garden robin. You move too fast, breathe too loud, and poof, they're gone. Or worse, they’d just give you this look, like you’re the dumbest thing they’ve ever seen. Humbling, to say the least.
I figured, maybe food? Everyone likes food, right? So I tried leaving out some fruits they supposedly liked. Spent a fair bit of time researching what an anok yai fancies.
- Got up early to place it just so.
- Made sure no other critters would get to it first.
- Waited. And waited.
Most days, nothing. The fruit would just sit there, or some other cheeky animal would snatch it. Other days, I'd see one swoop down, grab it, and be off in a flash. No thank you, no eye contact, nothing. Just business. It felt pretty one-sided, I gotta say.
The Daily Grind of Building Bridges
This went on for months. It became a bit of an obsession, almost. My routine was built around them. Early mornings, quiet afternoons. I learned patience, a whole lot of it. I learned to read the tiniest signs – a flick of the tail, a certain call. It wasn't about me trying to force anything, because that just didn't work. These anok yai, they weren't interested in my terms. It had to be on theirs, or not at all.
There were days I’d get frustrated, seriously frustrated. Thinking, "What am I even doing out here? This is pointless." You're trying to build a 'relationship,' right? And it feels like you're talking to a brick wall, a very beautiful, feathered brick wall, but a brick wall nonetheless. My friends thought I was a bit nuts, spending all this time on birds that probably didn't even know I existed. Sometimes, I thought they were right.
A Tiny Shift, A Big Realization
Then, slowly, almost without me noticing it at first, things started to shift. Not in a big, dramatic movie kind of way. More like, one day, an anok yai landed a bit closer than usual. Stayed a bit longer. Didn’t immediately fly off when I shifted my weight. Another time, one seemed to look right at me, a real look, not just a glance. These were tiny things, minuscule. But after months of getting pretty much nothing, they felt huge.
And that’s when it sort of clicked. This wasn't about them becoming my pals, or me taming them. That was never on the cards. This whole 'anok yai relationship' thing, it was more about me learning to appreciate them for what they were, in their world, on their terms. It was about respect, I guess. And understanding that not all relationships are about warm fuzzies and constant interaction. Some are about quiet observation, about giving space, about appreciating from a distance.
What I Took Away From It All
So, did I end up having deep conversations with the anok yai? Nope. Do they bring me gifts? Definitely not. But the whole practice, the process of trying to connect with something so fundamentally different, so wild, it taught me a lot. It wasn't what I expected when I started. I thought I'd be the one teaching, or at least initiating. Turns out, I was the one doing most of the learning.
It’s funny, you set out to understand something else, and you end up understanding a bit more about yourself, and about how different connections can be. It wasn't easy, and it often felt like I was getting nowhere. But looking back, that whole anok yai relationship journey? Yeah, it was worth it. Changed my perspective on a few things, for sure. Sometimes, just being there, quietly, is the most profound connection you can have.
