Every time I visit my mother, I come back with my head abuzz with stories. Everyone we meet has a story associated.
That guy whose father was so difficult that his wife left him. That woman whose adopted son was taken care of by his birth mother after he was in bad accident. That girl whose brother made the father sign off the property to him, leaving her with nothing. That lady whose first husband burned her badly but another man offered to marry her so she could keep his house. The drunk graduate who now is a garbage collector. The old woman whose daughters are in the hanky-panky business.
Everyone we meet is a walking talking story, as it should be. I am sure I make a pretty interesting story too!
Where do stories get lost in big cities?
That guy whose father was so difficult that his wife left him. That woman whose adopted son was taken care of by his birth mother after he was in bad accident. That girl whose brother made the father sign off the property to him, leaving her with nothing. That lady whose first husband burned her badly but another man offered to marry her so she could keep his house. The drunk graduate who now is a garbage collector. The old woman whose daughters are in the hanky-panky business.
Everyone we meet is a walking talking story, as it should be. I am sure I make a pretty interesting story too!
Where do stories get lost in big cities?
This time you will hear some more. This is the beauty of small towns and villages. we have time to listen and observe. No mad rush all the time.
ReplyDeleteYes mom, that's what I meant by writing this. Life should be about life, about people and about being a part of their lives.
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