We think sometimes that poverty is only
being hungry, naked and homeless.
The poverty of being unwanted, unloved and uncared for is the greatest poverty.
We must start in our own homes to remedy this kind of poverty.
- Mother Teresa, 1910 – 1997
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Granny used to say to us, "Wait until you reach my age!" and sometimes she used the indian quotes such as 'thread follows the eye of the needle thus it is in real life'...
So, yes indeed. Here I am, and I realize that this is how and what Granny probably felt.
Loneliness has hit rock bottom and surfaced in a tornado that takes my entire concentration and psyche in a corner to sit alone, in the middle of all that is going on outside with the rude loud careless people who go about business no realizing or knowing that there is someone on the other side of the wall who suffers day and night out of physical, mental and emotional torment.
I feel another twitch and pull from the nerves in my head, a freezing pain in my now lifeless toes and a sharp agonizing pain in the back reminding me to 'take it easy'... As my blurry eyes strain to read what I type in haste lest I lose sight out of so much usage and long hours at the computer, and ... and... and...
But what makes me stop at this page and ramble away, I type on... is that look of my granny, my mum, my dad, and many more people I have witness go through the misfortunate of being victims of loneliness.
Having lived through some fine times in their lives they probably did not feel as unhappy as I do. Passed have they but left behind with me what they treasured both material and their profound values. Profound indeed, but then I ask, surely, is that really what society supports in the day and age of now? Perhaps not and perhaps that is why, because I trust too much, I get beaten rotten.
Today I sit in a home where the emptiness stares at me as I attempt desperately to ignore the loud humming of the airconditoner of a neighbor living in the apartment above ours, or the heartless ceaseless loud roarings of the trucks and mechanics attending to the trucks they repair in the gulley on the other side of the wall. I try and tend to the searing pain in my leg, ignoring the mosquito hovering over and around in an attempt to ease my throbbing head or the arthritis biting into my shoulder. why dear god, in this quiet unspoken torture where no one wants to listen to me, many make fun of me, and many many more are happy that I suffer do I need to live in this world?
Is this what Granny probably experienced? Is this probably how she felt?
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