The Hospital.

It is bleak, dreary, depressing. Pale muted colours, hurried movement, the smell of sanitiser. Faces which show no emotion nor read any expression. Hopelessness hangs thick in the air. Patients in their beds with empty chairs beside them. Patients eating alone, possbily contemplating when they will be wheeled out of this prison, or when they will be wheeled into the operating room.

But then as I enter it again I notice the mural of an aquatic scene painted on the wall, and then the colourful parrot and ladybug which are part of the floor design. I overhear a patient in a wheelchair joking that he has passed his “driving test”, and spot the smile of the head nurse as I walk past. I observe that the curtains are fully drawn, allowing sunlight to pour into the rooms, while revealing the wonderous world outside - patiently waiting the return of those recovering. I see families engaging in friendly banter and warm smiles all around. I turn and see my own grandfather, hobbling back to his bed, with a contented look on his face. He is full, both with food and with the joy of the company he is in. Everything, from the pastel colours of the wall to the lights on the ceiling, seems brighter.

As I depart, I leave with a renewed sense of purpose. No longer is the hospital a place of hopelessness but a place of hope, one of a better future. It holds promise and carries the dreams and wishes of all those who are recovering inside. Till the day they can be discharged, they can only fix their longing gaze upon the world as seen through their windows…

Random thoughts which ran through my head when I visited my grandfather in hospital on Saturday. Pretty interesting how perspective affects us.