Buzz...buz———— “Dad, I need to go to the bathroom right now; wait or finish it yourself.” I was afraid I would collapse on the floor within seconds, so I stumbled upstairs to the washroom at the sound of his sighs. Perhaps he thought I was just trying to get away from this boredom, but all that was in my head was “How is that possible? Why did I never see that coming?” Thinking of that, a weight dragged my heart down to the ground as I went up. I was doing a job that I had been doing every 20 days for the past two years. A job where my left hand moved back and forth mechanically in our west-facing living room, where sun didn’t disperse the dimness. It was always hard to see clearly in there, but I have never bothered to turn any lights on, finishing the job already took me enough time. The only difference this time was my dad finally couldn’t endure my work ethic and asked me to pay attention to the edges, so I peaked at his left temple and started the monotonous movement there. Then, I realized what was falling from the vibrating steel blade and my eyes were glued on them as they floated onto the ground. I didn’t even know my dad had so much white hair, and yet they were drifting like a snowstorm. After awhile, I went down to finish the shaving with a totally different mindset. I suppose I wasn’t very good at hiding my emotions; my dad asked me what …show more content…
In my volunteering at Richmond Hospital, I have seen many seniors struggling with their lives and started to think about my parents, imagining what they might experience. How their hair, once luxuriant forests, have been clear-cut. How their faces, once radiant silk ribbons, have become pale and wrinkled. How their bodies, once powerful water wheels, creaked with every inch they moved. Time, the non-stopping whip, stealthily carves its passage. I wish I could stop this movement, but that’s not possible. Instead, I must concentrate on what I can