The panic of growing older

Getting older is like visiting an all-you-can-eat buffet. What should be hot is cold, what should be firm is limp and the buns are bigger than anything else on the menu.

I could remember the days when I was still in grade six; I could run home each day as I heard the bell; my house was very close to the school premises and I was an only child.

I could always come to school late and sneak into the class, during the break periods I will run home, only to be seen again after the break.

I was a very silly and playful child and my best game was pranking people and get people around me to laugh.

When I look at kids doing so, I could feel a sting of jealousy. Life has taken another toll on me, I now use a wheelchair for movements.

I could remember days I had to walk myself to anywhere I wanted and these days I missed my younger days; this sedentary life feels like nothing compared to my active self.

My smile isn’t so cute as I have lost a great number of teeth; my husband doesn’t do much for himself, he just sits by the window side all day long, watching the sunset and nature.

This wasn’t the old age I wanted; I still wanted a fun-filled life, but stroke came for me way too early.

I had a house help who did everything ranging from cooking, cleaning the house, and doing the laundry; something I detested so much when I was younger; guess life has its way of making one compromise.

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