[ ‘YouTube’ Script 1 ] So, this is it. This is where I get to commit myself for the first time to saying something on YouTube in a prepared way. Where I write a piece – type it – and then read it so that I can make myself understood without constantly tripping over my own tongue.
I don’t have a teleprompter, so I’m using Wordpad instead. Which would account for my shifting gaze and the occasional glow on my glasses. Which I have to wear while I’m reading, because my vision is what is known as impaired.
That’s just one of the difficulties I have with being old, 78 years and 9 months old to be exact. I have quite a few difficulties. But I’m not going to list them here. Boring.
There is one particular one I’d like to talk about though.
I was alone on Christmas Day, and it’s likely I’ll be alone on New Year’s Eve. That’s not unusual for me. It’s the way it’s been for a lot of years. My friends are far away and have pre-occupations of their own. My family, my surviving family, most of whom I’ve never actually met, is at the other end of the country doing their own family things. And I couldn’t get down there anyway. So I rely on my helpers when they call in to give me a bit of good cheer in the short times they have with me.
But they can’t be expected to deal with this thing I have, this loneliness. It’s not easy to describe. It’s a hard thing, bitter, lump in the throat, tearful. it’s a physical pain. About as bad a pain as I’ve ever suffered, and that’s saying something believe me.
Even so, and despite that, I try to remember, as I try every year, I have not been picked on by the Fates for special punishment, though it often damn well feels like it. There are countless people in this world who are suffering, from loneliness, from far worse than loneliness.
Old people, some in this building, whose flat has become their entire world, and an empty world at that. So I think of them.
But I think also of the countless children, young people, women, loveless, abused, who suffer so much in their own homes.
And then I think of the homeless, whatever their age, men and women, on the streets for any number of reasons, trying to find a corner to sleep in, struggling for food and warmth, even as I’m speaking. And those chronically-ill and disabled for whom struggle and pain are constant, year-in year-out, realities. I know what that’s like. And all those others in hospitals who receive care, but no visitors to give them comfort and strength, and I know what that’s like too.
And worst of all, all those innocents, not least the children, who have been robbed of everything, their homes, their families, their whole futures, everything that ever meant anything to them, as a result of war and genocide.
When I consider these, then I have to count myself lucky that I am at least allowed to live in peace, and security, with my own thoughts and ideas and dreams. I still have hopes, even at my age, and no-one can stop me having those. I still make stuff, music, poetry; I still have aspirations, ambitions. Also, I can still be angry, still fight, even if it is only with words. Why not? As of this moment, I’m still alive. Please, have a Happy New Year, if you can. Tata.