I often see old people sitting on their narrow balconies, staring at the wall across the street or the road below.
That image really bums me out.
But what would bum me out even more is seeing myself like that one day. So years ago, I made a promise to myself: I’m not ending up there.
I was where you are now, and one day you’ll be where I am
I still remember the first time I really noticed an old man on a tiny balcony like it was yesterday.
I’m about 20, driving through downtown in the middle of a scorching summer, stuck at a red light. The intersection is chaos—traffic, noise, exhaust from scooters baking in 104 °F heat.
Me? Cool as a cucumber with the A/C blasting.
While I’m waiting for green, I’m idly looking around with zero worries in my head. Then my eyes land on a balcony in the building opposite.
First floor. A balcony maybe three feet wide. There’s a white-haired old guy in a white tank top, hairy shoulders out, just staring down at the busy intersection in front of his place.
I distinctly remember checking if there was an outdoor A/C unit anywhere. Couldn’t spot one. My brain immediately went into overdrive:
