Wither

Today, I saw an old lady trip and fall. She merely tripped on one of those cement things on the ground that you see in parking lots. As I was helping her up, I was thinking: had it been me, I'd have been able to break my fall and catch myself. I would be able to pick myself up without help. Most likely, I would not be bleeding from my mouth and nose.

I will be in her shoes someday. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

I used to volunteer at a hospital sometime back. Nothing too fancy, just the regular, bottom-of-totem-pole kind of thing. The ward I worked in had people all recovering from some sort of heart surgery. Stitched gashes down the chest and old age were always the common features. I saw them everywhere. Everyday. For six months. That is when I first noticed the entertwined infirmity and old age.

Among other things, I used to deliver the mail to the patients from the receptionists desk. Most of the time, they weren't able to open these themselves because weakness, and sometimes, arthritis. At other times, they were unable to see, or read. I read them their letters. I watched them react to those words someone had scribbled on a fancy piece of paper. It made them so happy, so sad, so longing. They were dependent on me for the knowledge of those letters and for all those emotions. The more I saw this, the more afraid it made me.

I don't want to be indisposed. I want to be indispensable. Tick-tock, tick-tock.

Old age is the single most daunting disease out there, at least to me. There is no drug, no treatment out there that will help me. With old age will come infirmity, weakness, dependency, and many other things that I am too afraid to list here. I don't want to be any of that. I want to age gracefully. I want to die before I lose my memory, before I need help going to the bathroom, before I am forgotten. I want to be that sassy old woman that I worked for at Merck. Very learned, nurturing, funny and knows how to get her way with a smile. I wonder if in her world, old age is a disease.

There is never enough time and there never will be. For me to be someone, anyone. To be enough. All I have is now, and whatever I am now. I can take it, or leave it. Learn now, do now, fly now and fall now. My body is one of the greatest instruments I will ever own. So is my mind.

But they will both not last. Someday, my knees will give way from under me and I will sink. My vision will blur. My memory will fade. Time corrupts all and it is on nobody's side. It's us versus time. And we are not going to win.

"Nothing of me is mine to keep, other than memory."

I better get going. Tick-tock, tick-tock.

A walk in my shoes

I walk for many reasons, and you can probably tell what the reason is from the way I’m walking. I walk as a part of my natural instinct to find food and shelter, and to flee danger. Here, I am walking fast with a purpose and with a destination in mind. Most of my energy is focused on what awaits me and I pay little attention to anything else. Of course, among other things, this results in me being labeled as a jerk because I completely fail at noticing people I know as well.

I also walk to reflect, and introspect. These walks lack both direction and destination. The constant motion of my feet and body helps keep my thoughts in motion as well. Here, my gait is more laid back, and I am mindful of my surroundings. I look at nature, notice people and smile at strangers.

I take quick, short steps. I usually hold my head up, my back straight and my shoulders relaxed while walking. My arms are usually tightly clutch to my sides and my vision is focused forward. I don’t pay much attention to where my feet are going. All I know is that a reflex is guiding them one in front of the other, and I am being propelled forward by the reactionary force of the Earth. I am unwary of other things and as a result, I stumble a lot. On cracks in the pavement, random objects and sometimes, my own feet.

Walking is an essential part of my day, my life. I am horrified by the idea of owning a car one day and driving to places. I am glad I live in a city that is “foot-friendly,” so to speak. Given a good set of directions and time, there is no place I can’t get to on my two little feet. Walking keeps me independent. It makes me empowered. It keeps my circulation going, and my muscles at work. It dictates my preference for shoes.

Without my love for walking, my shoe-rack wouldn’t be the same. For real. I like my feet to be comfortable when I walk. I avoid stilettos and backless footwear. Most of my footwear is either flat, or has block heels. And straps. Must have straps. If there are no straps, then I am more concerned with keeping the shoes on my feet than with walking.

If the terrain is tempting enough, I walk barefoot. I love being barefoot and experiencing the raw stimuli of the ground below. Within reason and hygiene, I like to walk barefoot as much I can…until my heels start to crack. My goal for this fall is to collect the sounds of crisp, fallen leaves under my feet. My goal for this winter is to run barefoot in the fresh snow. In spring, I want to walk in lawns and let the fresh grass tickle my feet. Without walking, my life wouldn’t be the same. I am grateful I was born with a functional body. I am grateful for my very short legs and feet.

And I am proud that walking gives me joy.