When I was around nine or ten, growing up in Lorong Taat, Jalan Parit Mesjid in Pontian, the neighbourhood kids introduced me to the simple joy of kite flying.

Some of them even taught me how to make my own kites. We used bamboo for the frame, plastic bags or old newspapers for the body, and mix-and-match strings from my mother’s sewing kit. Nothing fancy, but to us, it was freedom on a string.

I still remember the feeling of running down the gravel road, the kite trembling in my hand, waiting for the wind to catch.

There was always that small moment of tension, when you didn’t know if it would rise or sink. And that was when I learned something that has stayed with me ever since: a kite only flies because of tension.

If you hold the string too loosely, it falls. If you pull too hard, it breaks, especially if your kite is a do-it-yourself like mine, made from scraps and hope.

But when you find that perfect balance between pull and release, the kite rises gracefully. It dances with the wind instead of fighting it.

Life’s a lot like flying a kite

I think about that a lot these days. Because life, in many ways, is a lot like flying a kite.

We need tension to rise. We need resistance to lift us up. But too much of it, in the form of control and rigidity, can snap us in half.

Some people bring that same kind of balance into every room they enter. They carry lightness without being shallow.

They take life seriously, but not themselves. They can laugh at mistakes, stay calm under pressure, and bring ease to others even when things are tough.

They remind us that strength does not always look like intensity. Sometimes it looks like grace.

The Stoics had a word for this: ‘euthymia’. It describes a kind of calm, unworried confidence. A quiet steadiness that comes from knowing who you are and what truly matters.

It is not arrogance, nor indifference. It is balance. Believing in yourself and trusting that you are on the right path, without being distracted by what others are doing.

When I look back at that boy in Pontian, learning to hold tension without breaking it, I realise that lesson was not just about kites. It was about living.

Because we all face moments of tension. Deadlines that stretch us thin. Disagreements that test our patience.

Seasons that feel like endless monsoons, day in and day out. In those moments, it is tempting to either let go completely or pull too hard.

Learning to adjust

But both extremes make us fall. The real art is in to adjust, to let the wind work with us instead of against us.

That is where lightness matters most.

It is easy to be serious in a serious world. But to stay light, to find humour, gratitude, and curiosity even in difficulty; now that takes wisdom.

It is not about pretending everything is fine. It is about knowing that not everything needs to be heavy to be meaningful.

When you meet people who have mastered this, you feel it immediately. They do not rush to impress or dominate.

They listen more than they speak. They can admit mistakes without losing confidence. They are steady, like a kite held by someone who understands the wind.

I used to think resilience meant pure endurance, the ability to stand firm no matter what.

Adaptability

Now I think it is more like adaptability, the ability to bend without breaking. A resilient person, like a well-made kite, knows when to hold, when to release, and when to let the wind do the work.

It takes time to learn that kind of balance. Many of us start by pulling too hard: wanting control, certainty, perfection.

Then life teaches us otherwise. We make mistakes. Things fall apart. We realise that letting go, just a little, can actually help us rise higher.

Rumi once wrote, “Life is a balance between holding on and letting go.” That single line could have described my entire lesson that day in Pontian.

Hold too tight, and the string breaks. Let go too soon, and it all comes crashing down. So perhaps the art of living well lies in learning to hold life like that string. Firm enough to stay connected, gentle enough to let it soar.

Because the world has enough noise, enough gravity, enough weight. What it needs are more people who can rise above it without losing their grounding.

People who can bring calm into the chaos, laughter into the silence, and kindness into the struggle.

Just like flying that kite in the Pontian sky.

-- BERNAMA

Ir Dr Nahrizul Adib Kadri is a professor of biomedical engineering at the Faculty of Engineering, and the Principal of Ibnu Sina and Tuanku Bahiyah Residential College, Universiti Malaya.