So last night I was out with the fam to watch an Indian movie, Paa, about a child affected by a condition known as Progeria. It is a disease that rapidly ages a child and makes him physically more mature than mentally.
Needless to say, it was an emotional movie. But for some reason I did not feel the need to cry--this child is perfectly happy in his world. If I cry, it would be out of pity. That I am more fortunate than he is. But that is not true--in the movie, the child became a politician's favorite student and was able to see the President's house. Had it not been for the condition to separate him from the crowd, the politician would not have been curious about the child and would not have taken him to do such a prestigious activity.
After leaving the movie theater, my (distant) grandma grabbed her plastic handrest (cane) and dashed, relatively, outside the theater. I realized she did this because she did not want us to feel held up due to her slow walking disposition. I took her hand and walked her out.
Surprisingly, another elderly lady was dashing off, similarly, with her four-wheeled walker. She zoomed away to the exit as (what seemed to be) her daughter held the double doors open. This was a white woman who, after her handicap mother passed through the doors, gave me a look.
We both presumably just watched the same movie.
She had this look on her face: I know we are two completely different people. And normally I am not this nice. I truly see you as a different race, I do not view you positively. But your grandma and my mother are one and the same. They both need me to hold this door open for them. So I am.
I thanked her. My grandma in her cute English said Thank You. Thank you very much, thank you.
We are Different, yet the Same!
I somehow landed watching TLC tonight because of a special on Progeria-affected children. Then afterwards, Born Without Arms. Now, its about Shiloh, a mermaid girl with only one leg.
So what really sets us apart? A genetic code?
