The lift

The great thing about residing in a place for about one and a half decades together with some others, you really see how people have grown. You enter the lift, and you start to observe. Like you've always known how this person would turn out totally gorgeous when she hits the peak of her youth. Or like, you sorta draw some links between smoking and weight loss because the girl who was always seen smoking has gotten really skinny. Or you learnt how hormones did not seem very fair to some teenage growing boys, because look how those young lanky boys outgrown you and how presentable and tall they've become. Or, like how you used to wonder which grade the other uniform-clad neighbours are in and now you are wondering what are their occupation.

And you also realize, how those white hair is slowly peeking out among the black strands, how their shoulders tend to slouch and how small their frames have become. You notice how some are accompanied by their other halves and how some come along with baby strollers. You wonder what happened to some people and whether they have moved out. And you also see new faces.

And this lift? It used to appear so much larger. To the extent of raising the arm slightly to press the button. The same place where you confronted your fears. The fear of getting stuck in between levels and the fear of scary noises as it moves up so swiftly. The same place where you anticipate wolf-like dogs pouncing on you whenever the door opens at a certain level.

We are growing together, and we are growing older.

Taking a crowded lift; sometimes, gives me the timely reminder that change is the only constant.