I spent hours picking nettles by the creek, hoping to make enough money for my medicine. The gloves I wore, old and full of holes, reminded me of the days when my husband was still around. I used to pick berries with him. Now, all I could afford was a cup of linden tea, and my pension barely covered anything.
At the market, my stall was simple—just me, my raffia bag, and the fresh nettles. A young woman, talking about detoxing, bought a bag for eight dollars. To her, it was just another trendy ingredient. But to me, those nettles were my medicine, the only thing that could help with my arthritis.
As I arranged my goods, two city officers approached. One asked for my permit, and I explained my situation, but they didn’t care. Instead, they handed me a fine for seventy dollars—more than my entire week’s pension, more than my monthly medicine. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t. I packed up and left, feeling the weight of a world that didn’t care for the simple life I knew.
On the bus ride home, I thought of the irony—trying to earn money for my health, only to get punished instead. Tomorrow, maybe I’ll try another market, or maybe I’ll give up. But I’ll still pick those nettles. It’s all I know.
**Moral:** The world may change, but there are people who remain steadfast, holding onto the simple truths of survival and resilience. Even when society fails them, their strength lies in what they know and who they are.
