I miss my mom. I used to push all the buttons just as she would walk down the aisle, a mischievous glint in my eye. Each time we visited the grocery store, I’d dash ahead, my small fingers dancing over the colorful buttons of the self-checkout machine. With each beep, she’d turn around, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “You little rascal! One day, you’re going to break it!” she’d say, shaking her head, but her smile would give her away. Those moments were filled with laughter and light, the kind of memories that could brighten even the dullest days.
Since her passing, the grocery store has become a hollow place for me. I walk through, the automatic doors sliding open with a soft whoosh, and I feel the weight of the emptiness settle in my chest. The shelves filled with brightly packaged goods seem to mock my solitude. I can still hear her voice, echoing in my mind, reminding me to pick up my favorite snacks or to try a new recipe. I wander through the aisles, my heart heavy, searching for a piece of her in every corner.
I remember how she would linger by the produce, inspecting the apples with care, always choosing the shiniest ones. “The best things in life are worth taking a moment to choose,” she would say, her hands gently brushing over the fruit. Now, I find myself standing there, staring at the apples, unable to choose. They all seem dull and lifeless without her touch.
The self-checkout machines are still there, their buttons waiting to be pressed, but they feel like a cruel reminder of what I’ve lost. I can’t bring myself to push them anymore. The last time I stood in front of one, the memories flooded back. I could almost hear her laughter, feel her presence beside me. But it was just a memory, fleeting and painful.
Every week, I return to the store, hoping that somehow it will feel different, that I’ll find a way to connect with her again. But the aisles remain unchanged, their fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like a persistent reminder of my loneliness. I see other families laughing and chatting, and I feel like an outsider looking in on a world that no longer includes me.
One evening, as I walked past the cereal aisle, I spotted a box of her favorite brand. It was decorated with bright colors and cheerful characters, a stark contrast to the heaviness in my heart. I hesitated for a moment, then reached out and grabbed it, a sudden rush of nostalgia washing over me. I could almost see her standing beside me, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Let’s get it! We can make our special breakfast tomorrow!”
With the box cradled in my arms, I made my way to the checkout. I felt a warmth spreading through me, the kind of warmth that comes from cherished memories. But as I stood there, scanning the items and watching the screen flash numbers, I realized that I was alone. The laughter we shared, the spontaneous dance parties in the kitchen, all of it felt like a distant dream.
When I got home, I placed the box on the kitchen counter, a bittersweet smile tugging at my lips. I thought about making pancakes, just like we used to, the kitchen filled with the scent of vanilla and maple syrup. I reached for my phone to call her, to share the news, but my heart sank as reality set in. There would be no more calls, no more laughter echoing through the house.
That night, I sat in the dark, the box of cereal beside me, feeling the weight of my grief settle in. I poured myself a bowl, the sound of the cereal hitting the milk breaking the silence. As I took the first bite, tears streamed down my cheeks. Each crunch reminded me of the moments we had shared, and I felt an ache in my chest for the warmth of her presence.
“I miss you, Mom,” I whispered into the stillness of the room. “I wish I could press all the buttons just one more time, hear you laugh, feel your hand in mine.”
But the buttons would remain untouched, just as the aisles of the grocery store would remain silent, a reflection of the emptiness I felt inside. And in that moment, I realized that while the world continued to move forward, I would always carry her with me, a bittersweet reminder of the love that once filled my life.
People Who Are Completely Out of Touch With the World
G. Miranda’s stunning images, taken for Survival International, provide a unique peek into the isolated lives of different uncontacted tribes around the globe. From the mysterious Sentinelese in North Sentinel Island, India, to the Amazonian tribes near Brazil’s Javari River valley bordering Peru, these photos offer a fascinating aerial view.
The drone photographs are proof of the existence of untouched tribes.
A mesmerizing compilation video shared on Death Island Expeditions’ YouTube channel in 2018, has garnered over 3.5 million views, showcasing these remote settlements and their inhabitants. Witness tribespeople, armed with traditional bows and arrows, gazing curiously at the hovering drones, offering poignant insight into their untouched world.
It amuses people by showing the lives of tribespeople, which are different from ours.
Captivated viewers on YouTube expressed profound astonishment at the vast disparity between their lives and those of these tribespeople. One commenter marveled, «It blows my mind how different our lives are. The fact that they don’t even know about the existence of grocery stores, factories, phones, social media, everything that makes our society what it is. It’s so surreal.»
However, these untouched tribes are now in danger and need protection.
FUNAI, Brazil’s National Indian Foundation, plays a pivotal role in formulating policies concerning indigenous tribes, and their involvement in capturing drone footage underscores their commitment to preserving these cultures.
While some imagery dates back to 2008, as reported by Survival International, the significance of these visuals remains timeless, as emphasized by uncontacted tribes expert José Carlos dos Reis Meirelles Júnior. He highlighted the urgent need to protect these tribes from external threats, such as illegal logging activities encroaching from Peru.
«We did the overflight to show their houses, to show they are there, to show they exist,» he said.
A film has also been released. The Mission, a poignant documentary directed by Amanda McBaine and Jesse Moss, sheds light on the tragic fate of American missionary John Allen Chau. His ill-fated attempt to make contact with the Sentinelese people in 2018 resulted in his untimely demise, symbolizing the delicate balance between curiosity and respect for these isolated communities.
Mesmering things are not only captured on Earth but also in space. NASA managed to capture green lightning on Jupiter from one of its spacecraft. The neon-glowing orb left many in wonder, making the photo quickly go viral. See it for yourself here!
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