If someone only accepts your “no” after they agree that your reason is good enough, they don’t actually believe the decision belongs to you.
That’s why “I just don’t want to” makes certain people angrier than almost any excuse.
An excuse gives them something to work on. They can solve it, minimize it, argue with it, tell you why it shouldn’t matter.
“I don’t want to” leaves them with nothing except the fact that your preference outranks theirs in a decision about your own life.
That’s the part they actually resent.
They don’t care about your reasons, they just want veto power.
I work the front desk at a small doctor’s office, and I wish people could see what happens on the other side of the phone. Every day, older patients call us confused.
They are told to use the patient portal, upload documents, check lab results online, fill out forms before the visit, and confirm everything through a link. Some of them do not know what a portal is.
Some do not have a smartphone.
Some have one, but they are afraid to click the wrong thing.
Last week, a man in his late 80s called about his test results.
He said, “Ma’am, I don’t mean to bother you, but the computer says I have a message and I don’t know how to open it.”
He sounded ashamed.
That broke my heart.
He should not have to feel ashamed for needing a human being.
Technology can be helpful. I understand that.
But when people who built this country are made to feel helpless because everything became a login and a password, we have gone too far.
Not everything needs to be an app.
Not every answer should be hidden behind a screen.
Sometimes people need a voice.
A patient person.
A real human who says, “Don’t worry, I can help you.”
Progress should not leave seniors behind.
Because one day, the world will move faster than us too.
And I hope someone is kind enough to slow down.
I’m tricking my students into writing a research paper by having them write an open letter and then strengthen their argument by adding evidence. They were allowed to write about anything they wanted for the first draft of their open letter, and one of my 10th grade boys decided he wanted to write about girls who only like bands because the members are cute and don’t really care about the music.
I let him do it because I’ve found that shutting down a student’s idea at the first draft stage tends to make them more obstinate about the topic. I figured we’d get to the evidence-gathering stage, he wouldn’t be able to find scholarly sources and he would change his topic.
Well lo and behold, today he comes into class and tells me he’s changing his topic. Apparently, he couldn’t find any evidence and he figured he was being kind of hypocritical because he gets really excited about athletes he doesn’t even know and the only reason that’s different than fangirls is because it’s him. He actually told me that he realized that writing that first letter would be pretty condescending. He’s going to write about LGBT rights instead.
This next generation, y’all. There’s some good stuff happening.
Eine Gesellschaft, die einen Achtzigjährigen zwingt, ein Smartphone zu benutzen, um grundlegende Rechte wahrzunehmen, ist keine moderne Gesellschaft. Sie ist eine Gesellschaft, die beschlossen hat, ihre eigenen Älteren im Stich zu lassen.
Bis 2026 wird alles zu einer App, einem Code, einem Portal, einem Chatbot geworden sein. Doch genau die Menschen, die dieses Land mit ihren eigenen Händen aufgebaut haben, sind nun in ihren eigenen vier Wänden Analphabeten.
Wenn man für die Vereinbarung eines Arzttermins oder das Bezahlen einer Rechnung die Hilfe eines Sohnes oder einer Enkelin benötigt – sofern es überhaupt welche gibt –, dann hat das System versagt.
Das ist keine Innovation. Das ist Ausgrenzung.
Technologie sollte den Menschen dienen, nicht darüber entscheiden, wem Würde zusteht.
Wenn wir diejenigen, die vor uns da waren, im Stich lassen, entwickeln wir uns nicht weiter. Wir werden lediglich bequemer und egoistischer.
I thought she was going to be the person I grew old with.
We met in New York, became best friends first, and eventually started dating. For almost three years, she was part of everything, weekend plans, family dinners, late night conversations, even the little arguments about where we’d order dinner from.
Then one evening, she asked me to meet her at our favorite coffee shop.
I knew something was wrong when she wouldn’t look at me.
She told me she’d fallen in love with someone else.
I didn’t argue. I didn’t even know what to say.
I just sat there listening while the person I had imagined my future with explained that she no longer saw me in hers.
The hardest part came afterward.
I kept finding little reminders of her everywhere, a song in the car, her favorite coffee, a restaurant we’d visited, an old photo hidden in my phone.
Months later, I finally deleted our pictures.
I expected to feel relieved.
Instead, I cried.
Not because I wanted her back, but because I realized I was finally accepting that the life I’d imagined with her was never going to happen.
Some heartbreak isn’t about losing a person.
It’s about losing the future you thought you were going to have.
Being a translator is emerging from your darkened room and blearily asking friends/acquaintances/strangers 'Is it peeling you do to onions? Is that the word? Peeling?'
"Each language encapsulates the world-view of its speakers – how they think, what they value, what they believe in, how they classify the world around them, how they order their lives. Once a language dies, a part of human culture is lost – for ever."
Dixon, 1997.
Está feo refunfuñar, pero que haya quien muestra este nivel de respeto por el oficio del traductor (y por el idioma, a juzgar por la redacción), pues oye.
¿Quieres trabajar gratis un mes a cambio de menciones?
@ioniacob, te sorprenderá saber que los traductores también comemos.