18/09/2024
Lying in bed, I was feeling bored. I fumbled around the bed box and grabbed my glasses, then picked up my cane and headed to my granddaughter's room to chat. When I got there, I saw her working on something on her laptop. When she saw me, she said, “Grandpa, it’s you! Sit down, sit down. I have to go to tutoring.” I sat down in her room. The laptop was still open. Even with my glasses on, I couldn’t see well. Suddenly, I remembered how long it had been since I last used Facebook. Once upon a time, the guy who is now this old man used to be busy day and night chatting and uploading pictures on Facebook. After a lot of effort, I finally remembered the password. Logged in, I saw 8,678 messages in my inbox. The account didn’t even feel like mine anymore, everything looked unfamiliar. I used to have 4,788 friends, but now there were only 28 in the chat list. Maybe they too had stopped using Facebook as they got older.
When I opened the inbox, I saw messages from a few close friends. One of them said, "Friend, I’m not feeling well. I might not live much longer." That message was from five years ago. I had heard the news four years ago that he had passed away. My best friend also passed away nine years ago. Reading our old chats brought back some good memories. So much fun and laughter with friends in the group chats—all of it was still there, but most of them were gone. Then, at the very bottom of the chat list, I found her message. Yes, my old "one-sided" love. I had no idea what happened to her. We loved each other so much, but fate had different plans, and we never got married. Today, after so many years, I remembered her. I went to her profile, and the last post was from 16 years ago— a picture of her with her grandson. Scrolling down, I saw pictures of her family: she, her husband, daughter, son, and grandchildren. A very happy family.
The last time I saw her, her hair was styled in the same way, and she was wearing a red saree, but now she had a different look—dressed in white, and her hair had turned completely white. Suddenly, I saw my own reflection on the mobile screen. Yes, I had grown old too. If she saw me now, she’d probably call me "old grandpa." I wondered if she was still alive. I didn’t know. Then I saw a post shared on her profile. Someone had posted a screenshot of her profile with a message that said, "This grandmother passed away yesterday around 5 PM due to cardiac arrest. May her soul rest in peace." I froze as I read that. A post from five years ago. So, she was gone. Oh, the days when we promised to live together forever. Without realizing it, tears welled up in my eyes.
After that, I started checking other familiar profiles. Their accounts were still active, but they were no longer alive. Many of them had passed away. The friend who used to post new selfies every day died of cancer 20 years ago. I went to see him when I heard the news. Another friend who posted funny jokes—I had no idea what happened to him. A writer friend posted eight years ago that his son had left him in an old age home. I have lost contact with him since then.
Then, I went to my own profile. Amidst the flood of tags, I had a hard time finding my last post. Ah, finally found it after some effort—photos from 33 years ago when I went on a trip with my wife and daughter. As I scrolled through my previous posts, I sometimes laughed and sometimes cried.
Suddenly, my granddaughter called out, “Grandpa, I’m ready. Time to go to tutoring. Can I have the laptop?”
I said, “You’re taking the laptop to tutoring?”
She replied, “Oh, Grandpa, you’re so old-fashioned! We do virtual classes now.”
I asked, “Oh, really? No books or notebooks?”
She said, “Oh, come on! Who needs books for a class?”
I asked, “Really? Don’t you need them?”
She laughed, “Did you need notebooks back in your day?”
I said, “Yes, we did. But back then, we read about how there would be virtual classes in the future.”
She burst out laughing, “Notebooks for tutoring, that’s hilarious! I’ll listen to more of your ancient tales after tutoring.”
Yes, today's “modern us” will become the primitive "us" of 2080. The children of that time will call us ancient.
"I don’t know if I’ll live until 2080. If I do, I’ll come to this timeline on this day, May 24th, 2080, and read this post once again, and remember these beautiful days."
