I am relatively young; I am 38 years old. It’s not my first youth, I’m not even 18 years old, but I don’t consider myself past either. Basically, youth is in the human soul. And he can keep it there until he dies.
Grandma is 92 years old, and she hasn’t complained of any pain yet. Although, I think there are hundreds. At this age, the elderly man has rheumatism, he has cataracts, some limbs and organs hurt, plus he endures the lack of dignity of going to the toilet alone. Or if he walks, he crawls, but doesn’t complain.
I’m in pain and I’m silent. But sometimes, I screamed in my heart. My eyes are watering with pain. I still cry sometimes hoping no one sees me. I do it out of a feeling of pity for the traditions, which have been lost, for the nation.
I would like us to be independent.