Stop crying about the old days
I watched a crow trying to build a nest outside using a bright pink disposable vape and a bit of tinfoil. It did not care about twigs. It did not care about tradition. It saw some shiny plastic rubbish and thought that will do.
It made me laugh thinking about all those absolute melts back home who spend their entire lives whinging that the country is going to the dogs because things are not like they were in the seventies. They write massive, boring articles about the death of culture and the loss of national identity. What a load of old bollocks.
You have these university professors sitting in their dusty offices trying to analyse cultural shifts like it is some deep, mystical science. It is not. It is just people copying whatever the loudest knobhead in the room is doing, or adapting because the old way of living became a massive pain in the arse.
Look at history. You think people stopped wearing suits and bowler hats because of a shift in the global consciousness? No. They realised walking around in a wool three-piece in the middle of summer made them sweat buckets, so they stopped. Someone invented a better way of living, the young blokes lapped it up, and the old shitebags had a proper cry about it before they decided to leg it, clear out, and die. That is the whole story.
Every generation is the exact same. You get a pack of idiots who think the world should stop spinning the moment they turn thirty. They want the music to stay the same, the food to stay the same, and the slang to stay the same. They treat their habits like they were handed down by God on a stone tablet. Jog on. Your grandparents thought your parents were total muppets, and their grandparents thought they were a bunch of wet lettuces.
We are driven by survival and laziness. If a new bit of tech or a new way of thinking makes life 5% easier, humans will grab it by the scruff of the neck and never let go. The old culture gets thrown in the bin because it is no longer useful. You cannot expect people to keep doing some ridiculous traditional dance or eating boiled cabbage just to make a few museum curators feel good.
The world moves. It is a chaotic, screaming mess of ideas, and the things that survive are the things that work for the people living right now. You cannot lock a culture in a glass box and expect it to stay fresh. It rots. It needs new blood, new nonsense, and a proper shake-up to clear out the cobwebs.
But the useless old potatoes back home cannot handle that. They want to live in a postcard. They spend their miserable lives looking backwards, terrified of anything that looks or sounds different from their cosy little childhoods. A bunch of mugs wanting to force everyone into a uniform of the past because they have sod all going on in their lives right now. These total melons want you to cough up your time to feed their nostalgia.
Stop trying to freeze the clock, look out the window, and accept that the world does not give a single toss about your precious old traditions.