She walked slowly along that busy road, grey hair, unkempt but kept by a seemingly brittle synthetic band, adorns her head bent because of weariness or maybe hopelessness. Everything is gray, including her striped blouse and pants just below the knee. Or was it because
she looked gray, too? Five people passed over the limp woman who was taking every step seriously (or with difficulty). Not one spent time to glance. I was behind her and I saw the gloom but did not see the face. I moved past her but did not look at her, too, trying to avoid seeing the misery.

He wanted to belong. He loves to share his collection of green jokes. He appears jolly but the deep lines on his face share the deep scars in him. Not everybody enjoys his presence. The disgusting smell of his aged body and bad breath brought by poor hygiene and neglect ruins anybody’s desire to exchange intelligent views with him. My disgust most of the time is superseded by pity.
I know not every aged man or woman experiences such sad fates. Not every golden ager is being disliked, ignored or hated. Lucky them. But the later life is inevitable. This is the time when one cannot even smell his own smell, or cannot even flush the toilet after use, or cannot even comb her hair to make it presentable. This is the time where one hates to take a bath every day, or change his undies before going to bed, or brush her teeth or denture three times a day.
Maybe instead of laughing at their limitations, we take time to reflect thinking that one day we will belong to that group of seniors. One day we could be among them – adored or disliked, revered or despised. Do we laugh with the others, too, as they laugh at us; not aware we are the objects of their ridicule?
A sixty four thousand dollar question – are we ready to become old?