Why have we changed so much? When I was a child, people were kinder… I’ve pondered this for a long time.
The world was different back then. People were different.
I remember a time when kindness wasn’t just a nice word, but a way of living.
Back then, no one expected gratitude for helping someone.
No one looked away indifferently from someone else’s troubles.
I saw neighbors helping each other out—not because they “had to,” but simply because it was the right thing to do.
But now?
I just asked for a few apples…
I live in a small village.
A modest house, a meager pension, but it suffices for me.
It’s quiet here, peaceful, with nature nearby—just what I need.
A few days ago, I was walking down the road and saw a huge apple tree, laden with fruit.
Ripe, red apples hung in heavy clusters, and beneath the tree lay a carpet of fallen fruit.
Nearby, the garden owner was working—a man of my age, by the looks.
I greeted him and politely asked:
“Mate, could I have a couple of apples? They look so tempting!”
You’d think that would be simple enough.
But his reaction…
He turned sharply and glared at me so angrily that I felt uneasy for a moment.
“Sold!” he snapped. “The buyer’s coming to pick them up soon!”
I didn’t even get a chance to say anything.
He turned away from me as if I were a beggar trying to take his fortune.
I walked away, feeling like a criminal.
A criminal for simply asking for a few apples.
When did people stop being human?
I remembered a large pear tree in our yard when I was a child.
It grew between two houses, and anyone could pick a pear—no asking, no dividing, no forbidding.
Neighbors would bring sacks of potatoes, milk, and bread if someone was in need.
If trouble struck, the whole community would rally around to help.
And now?
Now we count every penny.
Now we’re bitter, greedy, worried someone might get more than us.
We hide our gardens, our harvests, our savings as if we’ll take them to the grave.
The old neighbor and the pears…
I remembered something that happened many years ago.
A boy from the house next door asked an old man for a pear.
The lonely old man lived alone, and his pear tree was so full that the fruit was rotting on the ground.
The boy wasn’t stealing.
He didn’t sneak into the garden.
He asked politely.
But the old man erupted in anger.
He grabbed a stick, waved it around, and shouted that if anyone went near his pears again, he’d “kill them all.”
The boy ran away in tears.
The old man lived a few more years.
Then he passed away.
And the pears he fiercely guarded rotted away.
Nothing went with him—neither his garden, nor his greed, nor his boisterous voice.
The pear trees are abandoned now.
But sometimes, when I walk past his house, I wonder: was it worth it?
Where did we lose our kindness?
I look at our world and hardly recognize it.
Somewhere along the way, we lost something important.
As a child, I was taught that people should help one another.
That if you have an extra slice of bread, you should share it.
That if your garden is full of fruit, give at least one to someone who asks.
My mother always said:
“If you can do a good deed, do it. It will certainly come back to you.”
And I saw that.
I saw people helping each other—and then receiving help themselves.
I saw goodness passed from one to another, like a boomerang.
But now…
Now we measure everything in money.
We fear that someone might take advantage of our kindness.
We trust no one, not even those who simply ask for an apple.
We’ve erected fences—around our homes, around our hearts.
But life isn’t about money.
No matter how much we have—we’ll still leave with empty hands.
We can’t take our harvest, our bank accounts, or our houses with us.
But we could leave behind warmth.
We could pass on what makes us human to others.
But instead, we’re leaving behind a world full of mistrust, anger, 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.
Even if it’s just to leave with your teeth unclenched and your heart full.
