As an old man, joy comes in small doses. My heart flutters watching my grandchildren play, their laughter like fragile music. I watch carefully, silently willing them not to stumble, not to hurt themselves. Every morning, I tend to my garden, inspecting which plants cling to life and which have surrendered. The strugglers demand my attention—they must be saved, and so I act. I have no pets; their lively presence is absent from my days. Sometimes, I wish for their companionship, but the cost of care is too high.
Sitting in my healing chair, watching the world pass by, has become my ritual. The afternoon light calls me to rest—to ease my aching knees, steady my breath, and quiet my mind. Retirement means time is no longer a thief, and healing is my only labor. Some might call it laziness, but I have earned this stillness. Let them judge.
Yet sorrow, too, arrives in quiet ways. A friend turns away mid-conversation, and suddenly, I am invisible—a ghost in my own life. A child ignores my greeting, and the ache is sharper than I expect. A stranger rises from the seat beside me, and his departure feels like abandonment. These small moments fracture the day, leaving cracks too deep to mend.
This morning, a message flashed on my phone: an old school friend is on life support. A stroke. Untreatable. We were boys together in Kelantan, sharing a rare kindness in a place ruled by bullies. Now, he lies motionless in a hospital bed, machines breathing for him. The photo of him there—so frail—cuts deeper than I can bear. Ten hours separate us, maybe more with holiday traffic. I cannot reach him in time.
Forgive me, my friend. I am sorry you are alone. But our friendship does not end here. My prayers will always stay with you.
These bitter fragments pile up now—news of passings, of endings, trickling in like a slow, cold rain. They are my daily bread. The sorrow lingers, persistent as a throbbing tooth.
Strangely, I prefer bad news to good. Bad news closes a chapter. Good news? It demands a new beginning. And at this stage of life, I have no room left for fresh starts.
