When I look into your eyes
I can see a love restrained
But darlin' when I hold you
Don't you know I feel the same
'Cause nothin' lasts forever
And we both know hearts can change
And it's hard to hold a candle
In the cold November rain
Siren's Song
Friday, November 14, 2003
mood: reflective
music: Freaky Friday - Aqua
An old lady, frail pale, well into her seventies, flesh sagging, and skin noticeably wrinkled; oblivious to the world, scavenging (yes, plunging her arm into the gaping blackness of the bin) the trashbin for empty drink cans.
I saw. My heart skipped a beat. I quickly looked away. This isn't the first time. Yet each time I see an old folk spreading his or her wares along the streets for sale, or appealing to people to buy paper napkins or handicraft, or serving lively bubbly abled bodied boys and girls at fast food restaurants, my heart aches a bit.
Sympathy, or admiration?
On one hand, I feel sorry for them. On the other, they're resilient enough, strong enough, to support themselves at their age. If we deprive them of such "jobs", what else could they do, to spend their time, and to earn whatever meagre income they could lay their hands on for a living? The struggle for survival in itself is a powerful reason for one to carry on living. There is fulfilment in being alive, in doing something, in surviving. Wouldn't it be better if they had something to occupy themselves with, then being a silent old lady or old man who watches and observes and waits to die. Who lives vicariously through young people, re-running his or her own happy scenes of youth in his or her head, heart a tiny bit wistful for what once was. For what can never be again.
Have you seen the old man in the closed down market,
kicking up the paper with worn out shoes?
In his eyes you see no pride, and held loosely at his side,
Yesterday's paper telling yesterday's news.
Have you seen the old girl who walks to the streets of London,
dirt in her hair and her clothes just in rags?
She's no time for talking, she just keeps right on walking,
Carrying here home in two carrier bags.
Sound familiar? The lines above are ripped right off Ralph McTell's "Streets of London". The song never fails to perk me up when I'm jaded with life. *smiles*
