Memoir Monday: What Do You Worry About?


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No place for the weak

I've become accustomed to listening to my mother complaining about the flaws in the house over the years:

The sink faucet in the guest bathroom is damaged: it's leaking, she tells me over lunch.

The walls in the back room are leaking and all the paint is falling off,’ he tells me on another occasion.

Every day it's a new, deeper and deeper problem. The house has become a monster with a thousand heads, one head cut off and a hundred magically grow back, bigger and more terrifying.

But I know and my mother also knows that the real problem is that the house is old and deteriorating every day: any investment made in it will only be a ‘hot tissue’, because in order to fix all the flaws in the house, it would have to be demolished and rebuilt again.

As is the house, so is my mother. Every day I see how the years begin to take their toll on her body. Her blood pressure, cholesterol and sugar problems, although under control, still persist. In addition to these ailments, there is another one that I have been able to see in these days that I have not gone to work and have spent a lot of time with her. My mother is apparently losing her hearing in one ear.


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Last week I said something to him and he didn't listen to me. Then I repeated it several times and she didn't hear it either. Only when I approached her did she pick up on what I was saying. After that, similar things have happened while I am communicating with her. I have told her that we should go to a specialist to see what she has, why she doesn't listen, but my mother, who has just lost her youngest grandchild, cries as if she were a child and says that at this moment she doesn't care about anything and that she prefers to die. That's the way things are.

In this country it is easy to worry, because there are a thousand problems that can keep us awake at night. But at the moment the problem that worries me most is the situation of the house, my home, and my mother's health. I feel that growing old in this country is a very ungrateful and difficult experience. Old things are thrown away, they are no longer useful, and that goes not only for objects, but also for people. It worries me that it has fallen to us to grow old at this time when Venezuela is going through a general crisis and is governed by a sinister and ruthless government.


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As time goes by, people and objects inevitably grow old. The ageing process is a natural and predictable part of life, but most of us would like that when it is our turn to go through that last stage, all our needs are met and all we have to do is rest and reap the fruits we have sown. We have enough physical limitations in old age without also having to go through economic, medical and political limitations. In these days, in view of the things I have experienced, I am reminded of the title of the Coen brothers' film, adapted from the novel by Cormac McCarthy: No Place for the Weak. Venezuela is certainly not a place for the weak.


This is my participation this week for our great friend @ericvancewalton's initiative: Memoir monday. If you want to participate, here's the link to the invitation.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Until a future reading, friends

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Thank you!

It is hard to live here and feel that anguish. I understand and support you in your thoughts.

Thank you for your comment. Regards