Ode to the Old

I love old people. There is something special about them. Not just the exceptional ability to judge younger generations with that facial expression we all have experienced (or maybe not everyone?).

They have a special kind of depth and fragility. A whole lifetime stands behind them, marked by struggles no one has ever seen.

Oh, yes, I almost hear that skeptical "don't be an idealist."

Yeah, there are some absolutely unbearable old grumblers. 

Yeah, barba non facit philosophum.

Yeah, I was also burned to ashes by a stern-looking old lady in her terribly colorful headscarf for inappropriate looks and awful manners (who wasn't?).

But have you ever noticed those eyes faded by years? Have you touched those warm and slightly trembling hands? Have you ever embraced an old person, afraid of cracking their fragile bones?

I remember being irritated by those oldies who occupied almost the whole space of a bus early in the morning, when you are doing your best not to be late to school → university → work. What kind of urgent business do you guys have at this very rush hour? Loneliness, maybe.

Since childhood, I was told to respect the elderly, and it felt so natural. Then at some point, we become rebellious: age alone isn't a good enough reason to deserve respect. We become severe and, of course, fair judges. We easily judge everyone, for we surely know better "how to" — our parents, their parents, and all previous generations up to Adam and Eve. In the end, we could have still lived in Eden, if not for them.

And then we live our lives with our own battles, inner and outer. We argue, quarrel, make mistakes, and blame everyone except ourselves, of course. Until some point.

After bitterly falling ourselves, we already see others' falls from a slightly different angle. And we somehow judge them not quite the same way.

Another knockdown from terribly unfaithful fate reveals our ability to sympathize with those who are lying in a different corner of the ring. What a surprise — they ache too.

"There are times we punish those we need the most" (What Happens Tomorrow by Duran Duran) — to learn to forgive those who punish us.

But wait a minute, that's not what I meant to say. Well, actually, it's already been said. And one day, if we're lucky enough, we'll become the old ones too — fragile grannies and grandpas covered in funky tattoos, but with that very same special ability to burn those young folks to ashes.

With love and hugs,

Chairomai