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.

How have your political views changed over time?

I believed.

They said.

I thought it was a blueprint.

Turns out

it was a script.

They used mics and media

to turn lies into truth

and truth into something flexible,

foldable,

sellable.

They fulfilled their vested interests,

manufactured faith,

made the sightless follow,

marched them to the cliff.

Nobody pushed.

That’s the part that hurts.

They jumped.

Mid-air,

they realised

we were never citizens,

just numbers

lined up inside voting polls.

We thought they were good.

Sold our souls for sweet food,

temporary taste,

long-term damage.

Insipid truth

served with big words.

Modality.

Technicality.

Economic boom.

Share market groom.

Noise dressed as progress.

When I grew up,

I was the only one

left in the room.

Everyone else carried flags.

My friends said,

“Don’t worry,

we’ve got your back.”

But backs turn quietly.

Syndicates.

Manipulations.

No, I am not carrying their bags.

I already carry enough baggage

just surviving.

They shouted:

Eradicate poverty.

Employment opportunity.

GDP growth.

Smiling faces.

Then recruited people

who didn’t even know

how to tie their laces,

appointed their dogs,

trained them to bark

straight into our faces.

Tycoons joined in,

made the party look grand.

From a distance,

it looked like vision.

Up close,

intentions were bland.

And a few good lads

the honest ones

dissolved somewhere

between compromise

and silence.

My political views over time

couldn’t even resolve

my own confusion.

So they said,

“Let the country suffer.

We’ll call it a buffer zone.”

Life got tougher.

Good people became Lucifer.

And Lucifer smiled and said,

“This is heaven.

This is your world.

Live or die.

Laugh or cry.

Your views don’t matter.

Every day

we will plant a lie,

neatly pressed,

wearing a tie.

Lean towards us,

we’ll make you high.

Refuse,

don’t question our actions.

Our job

is to divide,

to fracture,

to make fractions.

So go away

if politics is not your attraction.

And that’s how my views changed.

Not because I stopped caring,

but because I learned

who was never listening.

When are you most happy?

Oh happiness.

Finally, a question

that knows my name.

I’m most happy

when faces glow

not for cameras

not for permission

but because joy showed up

uninvited

and stayed.

When someone I’ve just met

looks at me

and says

“hello”

like they mean

you matter.

When a door opens

for an elderly stranger in a mall

and nobody claps

nobody records

nobody posts.

Just kindness

doing its quiet job.

My happiness grows tall then.

I’m happy

when a shop welcomes you

like you’re walking

into your own ship.

Yes, of course you have to pay

but hey

hey

hey

there’s sunlight on the bay

and suddenly life

doesn’t feel so heavy.

I’m happy

when I forget

things that hurt me

a long time ago.

Not because they vanished

but because forgiveness

walked in

and hatred

lost its seat.

I’m happy

when streets don’t echo

with begging hands

even though I know

every silence

has its own complications.

When color returns

to people

who were once

sigh-less.

Breathless.

Unseen.

When people unite

not to shout

but to sing.

One song.

One joy.

Different voices

same pulse.

I’m happy

when someone falls on the street

and people rush to help

instead of rushing for angles.

Instead of zooming in.

Instead of stealing pain

for content.

I’m happy

when I cook something

and someone says

“this tastes like love”

even if they don’t use those words.

I’m happy

when loving people are around.

And listen

if you don’t have money for the flight

don’t panic.

If your mind can board

your good memories

and your heart becomes light

you still travel.

You still arrive.

I’m happy

when I can give more

with what I already have.

Because abundance

doesn’t come from having

it comes from giving.

I’m happy

when I don’t have to deal

with people

who call me sick.

Yes.

110 degrees.

Lying in bed.

No.

It’s not a fever.

It’s the fever

of happiness.

I’m happy

when my community shows up

with flowers

not because I’m gone

but because I’m here.

So…

what is happiness for me?

It’s not somewhere else.

It’s not later.

It’s not when I win.

It’s here.

Right now.

When someone

is listening.

When someone

is reading.

When someone

feels this

and realizes

they are not alone.