My grandmother has never known when to take a break. When I was barely 10, me and my cousin would make it a game to do things for her before she could herself. Truly it was never us mocking her age or ability, rather it was our need to know that we could keep her being her. With the markets I think she always saw them as a generosity towards us(a way of us making money), but especially as time went on I began going to the market because I love my grandmother and I don’t want her to get hurt. I watch as she limps more and more and as bug bites(from her late night weed pulling sessions no less) heal slower and slower. Helping her and others was never me just being good. It was a way of me controlling my surroundings. Now my only interactions with my grandmother are me helping her- truthfully the work that I do with her is a way of walling off myself from her. As long as we’re talking about plants, or brick laying, or weeding, we aren’t talking about how different me and her really are. In the end isn’t action really a way of muting humanity’s evolutionary towards intellect- a way of drawing that dull, drooling caveman- calling for the bliss of ignorance rather than just the “thrill” of living.
