A bit late in the story, but what I wanted is a black and white sepia photo so yeah.
They say with age comes wisdom, with wisdom you learn, a lesson is learned when you die, and that lesson is life.
I agree to disagree.
More so because I am a faggot, but mainly because there is everything to disagree about it.
Don't you think so?
You see, things change, as human wisdom does indeed evolve and involve with time based constraints. Think about it for a moment, your grandpa probably thought the good old days were the best, when in fact it is really not.
My grandfather was born in 1901, it was before WW1, and it certainly wasn't the good old days, truth is better than fiction in this case. The year was 19xx sometimes, the weather was harsh and electricity was nada, back in a time when they still relied more on candle in a lantern and oil lamps, they used to not have Honda Civics and Kawasaki motorcycles, they had to walk.
My ancestor took a ship or some horse cart I dunno which because at the time there wasn't a digital journal and books were too expensive, so are notes to write on. The rain was heavy, and mud slosh, the days brings nothing but charred skin and smell of fresh animal shit in a farm somewhere in the lower parts of China, which back then was still all Communist about it 100%.
There was no such thing as good old days, not even when they crossed the borders to Thailand, passed Myanmar, and entered Malaysia, on a hot spring day possibly when there is nothing but the humid weather and the disguised liking of port officials that took the last of their gold coins and threw them as 'citizens' to an inferior country in the 1930s or so. Life was harsh, as it was unforgiving, my ancestors did not have money, grandma possibly stayed in a small house, grandpa worked till he was 50 to get his big break and owned his own business as times finally proceed to the 'good old' part. Wisdom sure tells you otherwise, good old is sign for good and you are old.
Daddy was a good boy, born after a family of baby boomers and labourers and youngest to the lot, after some 2 brothers and 8 sisters. They aren't really close, but their memories were when they born in between the war, when the Kempeitai would execute their murderous intent on the disloyal to the rebellious in Malaysia during the Japanese Occupation that they now try to deny from ever happened. There was yet again, no good old days here, it hasn't begun.
Daddy was a boy in the town, a small one then in the island of Butterworth, to him, Penang Island just a boat ride away was a paradise unfound, unreachable. What he held close to him was a picture of grandpa, in a frame with his extended family. My uncles and aunties that he cared and loved for. Life was hard, after the war, homes were burned and towns were decked with freshly burning fires and honor left asunder over a nation that was claimed by the loss of war. Then, sometime later, the British help her back on her feet, and in 1957, a glimpse of the good old days finally appeared.
My father was a young boy by then, and finally he did have a chance at life, one that was so fragile and shakeable had it been a dream, he certainly would jolt awake with a light snap of a finger beside his ears. Even full grown men could cry at the loss of this fragile moment. However, it was 1958, and he was enrolled as a student in a college, after a late year in the high school then, which was good old CLHS. (I am a graduate there, as are my sisters). Life was finally good, and there was hope in his eyes when I look back and see the photographs of him posing beside his brand new Volkswagen Beetle, which was a new fad then, it was the sports car of the generation, to be able to afford one is like saying "Living the good life" as Kanye West is with his 600 bhp Lamborghini Murcielago.
(Picture unrelated, but the image is relevant somehow, our porn filled industry and life guided by everyday news of shameful activities and all that in the news for all to see.)
So it came to me, in 1985, I was born to a family of 4, and I am the only son. It was beautiful, life is finally good for my family, as life is complete, a heir as needed, and a life to look ahead and beautiful to cherish for all their living years.
However, I suppose like what I said earlier, and again, and again...my good old is bound to come later, the good old that my grandfather, my grandmother, my mother, my father, my sisters have struggled to find, we are yet to get there, I am too far away.
When I think about this, I curse the very being that made me, but I too cherish that very being. I cherish my family when I think about how fragile one can simply dissipate just like history passing.
When I remember about this blog post sometime tomorrow, looking back perhaps expecting some deep seated reply, I would shed a tear or two, or maybe I won't. My good old has yet to arrive, and I am doomed to see through the hardship that is life.
In this modern age, I no longer have to rely on shovels to dig up coal, like my grandfather did, or rely on lanterns and run from the Japanese soldiers and their bayonets like my family did carrying my father who was still an infant then. I merely have to enjoy what was already reaped, but it is a close reminder, that the good old was won over by sheer effort, sheer will, sheer survival instinct that we have lost, in this generation barely a century in distance.
As I struggle through this day and age of paperwork, grey area justice, as with mommy and daddy struggling to stay together after 30+ years of marriage, I think about the good old days. I know, in my heart, that the good old days exist, in my memory, they always will be.
I walk on, to find my own good old days.
I hope you do too.