I found a ten cent coin that was made in 1967 today on the cement floor of a converted primary school turned cafe. I noticed that the coin, this tiny, silver thing, was older than I was. In fact it was twenty-six years older than me. And I thought that was interesting. Like, the difference between objects and a person’s life, and that something like the coin was likely to last much longer than I ever would, but I get to experience life like the coin never could.
I took the coin home with me. It’s in my money box, with the rest of my small change, that I hope one day will accumulate and take me on an incredible holiday overseas. Or, maybe just pay for my food over there (I think I’ve been overzealous in imagining my wealth).