sometimes, it is like fabric of my heart snags against a random sharp edge of life, and something comes unravelling, wondering, "how did it come to this?" all those warm afternoons that, somehow, i will never be able to revisit, the images of old houses - once so important - growing fainter in memory. normally it is alright, like music, each note grows out of another and yet, is complete and perfect in itself; but sometimes, it feels like a late autumn evening with rain drops that keep falling on my head!
and at such times, i can't help wonder about my grandparents. my grandpa, whose macular degeneration means that as memories fade, there probably isnt any new imagary replacing it; who doesnt like to complain about his tinititus, he says, but it annoys him very much; whose nostalgia isn't very encouraged for the fear that it only makes him angrier and bitter. his ambition and independence, from his youth, are his best and worst allies in his old age - sometimes life is easier, if you know how to ask for help - and he tries, but at the same time his (almost stubborn) self-reliance is a boon for everyone around him. but you can't help but wonder how his choices have calcified now, for better and for worse.
my grandma, does slightly better, she was, even at the peak of her youth, used to thinking beyond her own self - she did, i think, even then learn to bask in the joys of her children and her family. she learnt then that happiness can come from places different to getting what you want*; she used to humour us even then, letting us get away with what we wanted, so now when we ask her to listen to us - she indulges us still, and we listen to her still, and times don't seem to have changed all that much - just a gentle gradiance but nothing all that very dramatic.
*i cannot imagine why else would she take such good care of us when we were sick and helpless with such good humour, and be just as happy as i was when finally the side-effects of the medicines wore out and i could actually taste my food. i cannot actually remember these as seperate incidents but i think even babies remember when someone has shown them such unconditional kindness.
and at such times, i can't help wonder about my grandparents. my grandpa, whose macular degeneration means that as memories fade, there probably isnt any new imagary replacing it; who doesnt like to complain about his tinititus, he says, but it annoys him very much; whose nostalgia isn't very encouraged for the fear that it only makes him angrier and bitter. his ambition and independence, from his youth, are his best and worst allies in his old age - sometimes life is easier, if you know how to ask for help - and he tries, but at the same time his (almost stubborn) self-reliance is a boon for everyone around him. but you can't help but wonder how his choices have calcified now, for better and for worse.
my grandma, does slightly better, she was, even at the peak of her youth, used to thinking beyond her own self - she did, i think, even then learn to bask in the joys of her children and her family. she learnt then that happiness can come from places different to getting what you want*; she used to humour us even then, letting us get away with what we wanted, so now when we ask her to listen to us - she indulges us still, and we listen to her still, and times don't seem to have changed all that much - just a gentle gradiance but nothing all that very dramatic.
*i cannot imagine why else would she take such good care of us when we were sick and helpless with such good humour, and be just as happy as i was when finally the side-effects of the medicines wore out and i could actually taste my food. i cannot actually remember these as seperate incidents but i think even babies remember when someone has shown them such unconditional kindness.
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