sometimes old folk are cranky

but over the past 3 days the old folk that have come down have been absolute gems (and who doesn’t get cranky now and then regardless of age, right?)

just got off the chartered bus and was immediately drenched in sunlight and self-pity (boooo the sun is so hot and my throat is in full revolt and my nose is a jammed tap that won’t stop gushing and i have to take the bus home who knows when it will come….)

then i turned to see several of the old folk who had come down to help sing and arrange stuff make their slow climb up the steps, to the mrt, then a slow shuffle in, and goodness knows how long their journey home is (and at their speed too)

when i boarded the bus (that came instantly, so much for all the worrying) i discovered to my chagrin that my ezlink card was still snuggling in my shirt pocket at home / as i dug desperately in my wallet, an old lady propped herself up on her walking cane and offered me coins…

my throat and nose still persist in churning up gobs of stubborn phlegm and by now the small bit of flesh below my nose has been rubbed raw by the past 10 days of wiping 

yet i am reminded by their example that love is a choice, and that everywhere i go, people with far less than me / who are going through far more still choose, daily, to make that choice.

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