Why have we changed so much? When I was a child, people were kinder…
I’ve pondered this question for a long time.
Once upon a time, the world seemed different. People felt different.
I recall an era when kindness wasn’t just a nice word but a way of life.
Back then, no one expected gratitude for lending a hand.
No one turned a blind eye to someone else’s troubles with indifference.
I saw neighbors helping each other out—not because it was required but because it was the right thing to do.
But now?
I just asked for three pears…
I live in a small village.
A modest cottage, a tiny pension, but I manage.
It’s quiet here, peaceful, with nature all around—just what I need.
A few days ago, I was walking down the street and saw a huge pear tree, laden with fruit.
Ripe, golden pears hung in heavy bunches, and beneath the tree was a carpet of fallen fruit.
Nearby, the owner of the garden worked—an older man who looked to be around my age.
I greeted him and politely asked,
“Sir, might I take a couple of pears? They look so delicious!”
It seemed like a simple request.
But his reaction…
He turned sharply and glared at me with such anger that it caught me off guard.
“Sold!” he snapped. “A customer is coming to collect them soon!”
I didn’t even have a chance to respond.
He turned away as if I were a beggar encroaching on his wealth.
I turned and walked on, feeling like a criminal.
A criminal for merely asking for three pears.
When did people stop being humane?
I recalled a time when an old apple tree stood in our yard.
It grew between two houses, and anyone could pick an apple—nobody asked, nobody divided, nobody forbade.
Neighbors, if someone was in need, would bring bags of potatoes, milk, bread.
If one of us faced hardship, the whole community banded together to help in any way they could.
And now?
Now we count every penny.
Now we’re bitter, greedy, afraid someone might receive more than we do.
We hide our gardens, our harvests, our savings, as if we’ll take them with us to the grave.
The old neighbor and the apples…
I remembered an incident from many years ago.
A boy from the house next door asked the old man for an apple.
The lonely old man lived by himself, and his apple tree was teeming with fruit—falling to rot on the ground.
The boy wasn’t stealing.
He didn’t sneak into the garden.
He asked politely.
But the old man was furious.
He grabbed a stick, waved it around, and shouted that if anyone else approached his apple trees, he’d “kill them all.”
The boy ran off in tears.
And the old man lived for a few more years.
Then he passed on.
And the apples he guarded so fiercely rotted away.
Nothing left with him—not his garden, not his greed, not his shouting voice.
The apple trees are now deserted.
Yet sometimes, when I walk by his house, I wonder: was it worth it?
Where have we lost our kindness?
I look at our world today and barely recognize it.
Somewhere along the way, we’ve lost something vital.
When I was a child, I was taught that a person should help another person.
That if you have extra bread, you share it.
That if your garden overflows with fruit, you should give at least one to someone who asks.
My mother always said,
“If you can do a good deed—do it. It will surely come back to you.”
And I saw that.
I saw people helping one another—and then receiving help in return.
I saw kindness passed along from one to another, like a boomerang.
But now…
Now we measure everything with money.
We fear that someone might exploit our kindness.
We distrust everyone, even those simply asking for a pear.
We’ve built fences—around our homes, our hearts.
But life isn’t about money
No matter how much we have—we will all leave with empty hands.
We won’t take our harvest, our bank account, or our square footage with us.
But we could leave behind warmth.
We could pass on to others what makes us human.
Yet instead, we retreat into a cold world filled with mistrust, anger, and envy.
I don’t know if it can be fixed.
But I know one thing:
If you can do a good deed—do it.
Even if only to avoid leaving with clenched teeth and an empty heart…
