Here’s the deal. I was raised to always be respectful to my elders. In my adult self (the adult society considers me to be, at heart I’m forever 20), that has imprinted to be a very big part of me. So whenever I see an elderly person in need (doesn’t have to be very old, as long as they look like they’re older than me), I feel this huge responsibility to help them.
At work, there are a lot of elderly people that come shop their weekly veggies, and they love to talk. I don’t blame them. Most of them probably live alone. Once they get out, they want to talk. Very simple.
However, what annoys me is when their relatives/caretakers don’t listen to whatever it is these old people have to say. It annoys the living crap out of me. Think about it, they have a life time of stories to tell you, and you don’t want to listen. Yet you complain your life is boring. Really?
For me, it’s always been interesting to hear people out. To hear of their childhood, first crushes, and so on. I think it has something to do with the stories my grandparents used to tell me about their lives. I remember the story my grandpa told me about how grandma used to gamble to earn them money during the Vietnam war. She’s good at it, don’t ever play anything with her. Not even on the Sega Saturn. At some point, I got so fired up, I wanted to get in touch with every survivor of the Holocaust and talk to them just to write down their stories. So they could live on through that. I also partially blame the movie The Boy In Striped Pyjamas. If you haven’t seen, see it!
I know I’ve been sloppy about the updates. I really want to get better, so I will try harder. Peace and love until next time.
//c_Cae; trying to get back to scientific writing again….