Why have we changed so much? When I was a child, people seemed kinder… This question has been on my mind for quite some time.
The world used to be a different place. People used to be different.
I remember a time when kindness wasn’t just a nice word but a way of life.
Back then, no one expected gratitude for offering help.
No one turned a blind eye to someone else’s trouble with indifference.
I watched neighbours lend a helping hand—not because they felt obliged, but simply because it was the right thing to do.
And now?
I just asked for three apples…
I live in a small village.
A modest cottage, a tiny pension, but it’s enough for me.
It’s peaceful here, quiet, surrounded by nature—just what I need.
A few days ago, while strolling down the road, I noticed an enormous apple tree laden with fruit.
Ripe and juicy, the apples were hanging in heavy clusters, and beneath the tree lay a carpet of fallen ones.
Nearby was the owner of the garden, an elderly gentleman around my age.
I greeted him and politely asked:
“Good sir, could I take a couple of apples? They look so tempting!”
Simple enough, one would think.
But his response…
He spun around sharply and gave me such an angry look that I felt a momentary chill.
“They’re sold!” he snapped. “A buyer’s coming soon to collect them!”
I didn’t even get a chance to reply.
He turned away, as if I were a beggar about to make off with his treasure.
I continued my walk, feeling like a criminal.
A criminal for merely asking for three apples.
When did people stop acting human?
I remembered how, as a child, there was a giant apple tree in our yard.
It grew between two houses, and anyone could pick an apple—there was no asking, no dividing, no forbidding.
Neighbours, if someone was in need, would bring sacks of potatoes, milk, bread.
If someone faced hardship—everyone gathered to assist, doing whatever they could.
And now?
Now we count every penny.
We’ve become bitter, greedy, and fearful that someone might get more than us.
We hide our gardens, our crops, and hoard our savings as if we could take them to the grave.
The old neighbour and the apples…
I recalled an incident from many years ago.
A boy from the neighbouring house asked an old man for an apple.
A lonely old fellow lived in his house, and his apple tree was teeming with fruit—so much so that they rotted on the ground.
The boy wasn’t stealing.
He hadn’t sneaked into the garden.
He asked politely.
But the old man was furious.
He brandished a stick, waving it menacingly while yelling that if anyone came near his apple trees, he’d ‘knock their heads off.’
The boy ran off, crying.
The old man lived for a few more years.
Then he passed on.
And the apples he so fiercely guarded simply rotted away.
He took nothing with him—neither his garden, nor his greed, nor his angry voice.
Now the apple trees are neglected.
Yet sometimes, when I walk past his house, I wonder: was it all really worth it?
Where did we lose our kindness?
I look at our world and don’t recognize it.
Somewhere along the way, we lost something crucial.
As a child, I was taught that we ought to help one another.
That if we have an extra loaf of bread, we ought to share it.
That if our garden is brimming with fruit, we should at least offer one to those who ask.
My mother always said:
“If you can do a good deed—do it. It’s bound to come back to you.”
And I witnessed that.
I saw people helping each other—later receiving help themselves.
I saw kindness being passed from one person to another, like a boomerang.
But now…
Now we measure everything in money.
We fear that someone might exploit our kindness.
We trust no one, not even those who merely ask for an apple.
We’ve erected barriers—around our homes, around our hearts.
But life isn’t about money.
No matter how much we have, we’ll leave with empty hands.
We won’t take our crops, our bank accounts, or our house’s square feet with us.
But we could leave warmth behind.
We could pass on what makes us human.
But instead, we retreat into a cold space filled with distrust, malice, and envy.
I don’t know if this can be fixed.
But I know one thing:
If you can do a good deed—do it.
At least so you don’t depart with a clenched jaw and an empty heart.
