Years have passed, yet I cannot forget the poem I read in my 7th grade. Back then, it held only academic significance, aimed at affecting my grades. Subconsciously, it deeply touched my mind, body, and soul. Now, with a 3-year-old child and having lost my father at 62, its relevance has dawned on me. As my father lay on his deathbed, my child's visits sparked a twinkle in his eyes, an innocence matching that in my child's gaze, both unaware of life's impermanence. In his final days, my father became as frail and vulnerable as an infant, signalling the last of man's seven ages. I, too, am traversing these stages, anticipating the transitions that complete life's full circle.
For nearly a decade, I resided in what one might call a Utopian realm, if such a place truly exists... where people cherished virtue, where perfection was the norm, where speaking the truth was a sign of strength, where candor was celebrated, where honesty earned rewards, where humility was honored, where kindness was expected, where humanity was the only faith, where integrity was esteemed, where ethics ran deep in our veins, where life was about generosity, where friendship meant sharing, where love was abundant and free, where every citizen was kin, where words like war, enemy, and hatred were absent from our vocabulary... This is where I lived for nine years... until I awoke to a world that taught me survival of the fittest... and so, I emerged from my slumber.
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