Why have we changed so much? When I was a child, people were kinder… I’ve been pondering this question for a long time.
The world used to feel different. People used to be different.
I recall a time when kindness wasn’t just a nice word but a way of life.
Back then, no one sought thanks for helping others.
No one would turn a blind eye to the suffering of others.
I watched neighbors come to each other’s aid—not because “it’s expected,” but simply because it was the right thing to do.
But now?
I merely asked for three pears…
I live in a small village.
A modest house and a small pension, but it suffices for me.
It’s quiet and peaceful here, with nature all around—just what I need.
A few days ago, I was walking along the lane and saw an enormous pear tree.
Ripe, yellow pears hung in heavy clusters, with a carpet of fallen fruit beneath it.
The garden’s owner, an elderly man about my age, was nearby at work.
I greeted him and politely asked,
“Mate, could I take a couple of pears? They look so appetizing!”
It seemed simple enough.
But his reaction…
He spun around and looked at me so angrily that I felt uneasy for a moment.
“They’re sold,” he snapped. “A customer’s coming to collect them soon!”
I didn’t even have time to respond.
He turned away as if I were a beggar trying to take his wealth.
I walked on, feeling like a criminal.
A criminal for merely asking for three pears.
When did we stop being human?
I remembered a time when a large apple tree grew in our courtyard.
It stood between two houses, and anyone could take an apple—no one asked, divided, or forbade.
Neighbors, if someone was in need, would bring sacks of potatoes, milk, bread.
If someone faced hardship, everyone would gather and help however they could.
And now?
Now we count every penny.
Now we’re bitter, greedy, fearing someone might have more than us.
We hide our gardens, our harvests, our savings, as if we can take them with us to the grave.
The old neighbor and the apples…
I recalled an incident from years ago.
A boy from the neighboring house asked an old man for an apple.
The lonely old man lived in his house, and his apple tree was laden with fruit—so much so that they rotted beneath it.
The boy wasn’t stealing.
He didn’t sneak into the garden uninvited.
He asked politely.
But the old man became furious.
He grabbed a stick, waved it around, and shouted that if anyone approached his apple trees, he’d “kill them all.”
The boy ran away in tears.
And the old man lived on for several more years.
Then he was gone.
And the apples he guarded so fiercely simply rotted away.
Nothing left with him—not his garden, not his greed, not his shouting voice.
The apple trees now stand neglected.
But sometimes, when I pass by his house, I wonder: was it worth it?
Where did we lose kindness?
I look at our world and don’t recognize it.
Somewhere along the way, we lost something vital.
When I was a child, I was taught that one should help another.
That if you have an extra slice of bread, you should share it.
That if you have a garden full of fruit, at least give one to those who ask.
My mother always said,
“If you can do good, do it. It will surely come back to you.”
And I saw that.
I saw how people helped each other and later received help themselves.
I saw good deeds pass from one person to another, like a boomerang.
But now…
Now we measure everything in money.
We fear someone might exploit our kindness.
We trust no one, even those who just ask for a pear.
We erect fences—around our homes, around our hearts.
But life isn’t about money.
No matter how much we have, we will leave with empty hands.
We won’t take the harvest, the bank account, or the square footage of our flat with us.
But we could leave warmth behind.
We could pass on to others what makes us human.
Yet instead, we leave behind coldness, full of distrust, bitterness, and envy.
I don’t know if this can be fixed.
But I know one thing:
If you can do something good, do it.
If only to avoid leaving with clenched teeth and an empty heart.
