Our generation was closer, more honest, more humane… and genuinely happy.
With each passing year, I become increasingly certain that the world I grew up in isn’t coming back.
I’m getting older. My generation is fading away, along with the spirit of unity that once made our lives meaningful and filled with shared effort.
Now, when I turn on the television, I see the same things: flooding, damaged roads, litter on the streets, chaos. And endless blaming—it’s always the government, officials, or businessmen at fault, but never the people themselves.
I observe the young and realize—something has gone awry. They complain, demand, protest. In our day, we just got on with things.
We built our country with our own hands.
My generation lived in post-war years—a time of great constructions. We didn’t sit in offices, didn’t write complaints, or demand compensation. We lifted the country from ruins, constructing it as best we could, believing that we were doing it for ourselves and for our children.
We built roads, tunnels, bridges. We erected enterprises, worked the fields, created a reservoir system that supported agriculture. And we didn’t just build; we maintained everything in good order.
I grew up in a village by a river. We knew that if we didn’t care for the riverbed, it could overflow in spring and flood our homes.
But no one waited for “specialists” to arrive.
In spring and autumn, the whole village would gather. We cleared the riverbed, removed obstructions, cut down old trees that could block the water’s flow.
No one asked for money. No one waited for orders from “above.”
And after the work, we’d lay out blankets on the grass, share food from our bags, and treat each other. In the evening, someone would bring an accordion, and the whole village would sing.
We were one big family.
People are different today.
Nowadays, no one wants to take responsibility for their own lives.
I see young men, strong and healthy, complaining on social media about a collapsed bridge under their window or a burst pipe, saying they’ve written to the council and received no reply.
And I want to ask:
“What have you done yourself?”
Why haven’t you gathered your neighbors, gone out, cleaned up, reinforced, repaired? Why are you waiting for someone else to solve your problems?
I don’t excuse the authorities. They have enough flaws—they’ve forgotten their role isn’t just sitting in offices and making promises.
But people have changed too.
Today, it’s every person for themselves.
Some make money from whatever they can, sell land that fed generations, drain water from reservoirs for their gain.
And when disaster strikes, they shrug: “What could we do?”
I’m proud of my generation.
I know we’re called “old.” That our ways and resilience are laughed at.
But you know what?
I’m proud of how we lived.
Proud that we knew the value of hard work.
That we didn’t hide behind others but solved our problems ourselves.
We didn’t wait for government help—we built our lives with our own hands.
We were close. Genuine.
Honest.
Humane.
We lived, not merely existed.
And we were happy.
