‘Why do old people always sit in front of me?’ – my daughter mumbles angrily, as two people take their seats in front of us on the bus.

Of course, she exaggerates. She gets it from me, too. Old people don’t always sit in front of her, and what’s ‘old’ to her is not necessarily ‘old’ to me.

I turn my eyes to the couple in front of us. Yes, they are older, but I am not able to tell their exact age as I only see the backs of their heads and an occasional glimpse of their profile as they look at each other. They have a couple of bags each (filled with groceries?) and the man holds a bouquet of flowers. They talk quietly, and I continue watching them while listening to my girl complain a bit more.

There is something about my daughter and old people. Something neither her nor I can explain. When an older person, be it a man or a woman, passes her on the street, she gets a shiver. Every time. I am fascinated about it, because I don’t understand it. But at the same time I’m a bit scared to try and dig deeper into it, not knowing what I may find. Why does she get the shiver? Why is it only to do with old people? What does it all mean?

‘You shouldn’t discriminate old people’ – I tell her, while the older couple in front of us keep talking to each other. My daughter does not ask what ‘discriminate’ means, although I know she’s not familiar with that word. Still, I try to explain it in simple words that a 6 year old could understand. I’m not only eager to introduce her to this new concept and meaning of ‘discrimination’, I’m also a little bit worried about her reaction to seeing me old. Because I will be, one day (wishing for that day to be as far in the future as possible). She’s already told me once: ‘Mama, I will not be able to take you to cosmos with me. You’ll be too old!’. Not something any mama wants to hear.

As I keep listening to my daughter chatting away, I go back to my own thoughts of getting old: ‘No, I am not looking forward to growing old. To me old means lonely. But it does not have to be this way, I guess. Look at the couple in front of us. They look just like me, going around their day. They must be good friends, they don’t look lonely at all’.

At that moment they kiss. A few tiny kisses on the lips. And I literally say ‘awwwww’ to myself. That is so sweet. I always sigh and smile when I see older people showing signs of affection: when they smile to each other or hold hands, when they kiss or hug. I want that!

I want the person who will be in love with me when our faces are wrinkly and our hair is grey. I want the love the lasts.

The man gets up, still holding the bouquet of flowers, and when the bus stops, he steps out. I follow him with my eyes. He simply stands outside looking at the woman, his eyes not moving from her face. The woman holds his gaze until the bus starts moving again and he is no longer in our field of vision.

‘So who are the flowers for?’ – I think to myself. Are they lovers, meeting secretly on the bus? Is the bouquet for his dead wife? What’s their story?

I slowly let my questions fade away and return my attention to my daughter. ‘Will I not give you shivers when I get old?’ – I ask her. ‘No, mama. You will always be my mama, even when you are old’.