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What are your thoughts on the concept of living a very long life?

Oh long life

I can stretch you like rubber,

or let you shrink

like woollen clothes

forgotten in a tumble dryer.

There are things to admire.

There are things that look dire.

But deep inside,

life keeps burning,

different kinds of fire.

I hate it when people call me a liar.

Once you sign a contract,

you belong to a buyer.

There are worldly trips on my timeline,

but holidays are pushed, postponed, denied.

Offices sweat just to give one.

How much youth

do I have to waste

to understand their complications?

If wealth could buy youth,

I would’ve worked like a dog

and slept like a log.

But life is long,

I keep thinking,

and suddenly

it’s short

the very next day.

I wish I had fulfilled her wishes.

Will I ever reach there?

Wisdom doesn’t follow you,

it chases you

one lesson after another.

Desire has no ending.

Expectations keep growing.

Dreams stack like unread messages.

Life keeps going.

Beautiful bodies

become relief for sore eyes.

You get into one chase,

then another,

then another day.

You don’t notice

when your hair turns grey.

I pluck them now,

one by one,

but the day will come

when grey outnumbers normal.

And I’ll ask,

have I gotten old?

The mirror becomes your enemy.

You shatter it.

Buy another one.

Same thing.

Maybe I can still do something good.

Help gentle souls

get back on their feet.

Food.

Roof.

Heat.

Life keeps moving.

Reels after reels.

Memories buffering.

I’m sitting in a rocking chair,

smoking the air of my youth.

Oh long life,

I’m still living you.

Thank you.

What could you do differently?

Once, my teacher’s DVD player froze

during listening practice.

She asked for help.

I stepped in.

Pressed a button.

It froze forever.

The class laughed.

I might have broken something.

But for a moment,

everyone smiled.

Since then,

I’ve learned:

sometimes the difference

is not fixing,

it’s staying kind

when things go wrong.

And I still practice that.

⸻

Once, walking down the street,

someone asked me for directions.

I pointed toward a hill

I didn’t even know existed.

I hope he made it home.

I hope I’m not cursed.

Now, when I don’t know the way,

I say it out loud.

And I still try to point

with care.

⸻

Once, someone asked me,

“How are you?”

I said,

“I’m fine.

Taking wine.

Better not to ask time.

My broken watch shows

half past nine.”

A girl in the park laughed.

She walked up.

We exchanged IDs.

Since then,

I answer differently.

Not perfectly.

But honestly enough

to let a moment breathe.

And I still do that.

⸻

Once, I met a man in his fifties,

wearing an orange robe,

barefoot,

his face glowing

like it knew something I didn’t.

I asked him for a coffee.

He stopped.

Looked at me.

Smiled.

Thanked me

for asking.

The difference

is not the drink.

It’s the pause.

The permission to be human together.

Now, when I meet strangers,

I don’t rush past their light.

I invite it to sit with me.

⸻

Once, on a bus,

my favorite music playing,

heater on,

world soft and warm,

an elderly woman with a dog,

and a mother with a child,

stood there.

The bus was full.

I stood up.

“Please, take my seat.”

That moment taught me

comfort is lighter

when shared.

So now,

I stand more easily.

⸻

These aren’t stories

about what I did.

They’re lessons

about how I live.

So now,

no matter who approaches me,

I carry

a smile,

an understanding heart,

and ears that listen.

Nothing to prove.

Nothing to take.

Nothing to fake.

Just showing up

a little more awake

than before.

And yes,

I’m still doing it.