Counting years

When did old become a four-letter word? Something to be avoided, at all costs, which really is folly, since the march of time and our marching along with it is not something we can stop or control. Perhaps it has to do with the notion of being passé, past prime, no longer relevant and thus no longer desired or desirable. The World Health Organization has a term for it – ageism, a lack of respect for older people. The WHO even has a director of Ageing and Life Course, who said, “It is time to stop defining people by their age. It will result in more prosperous, equitable and healthier societies.”

In our business, everything of today is passé by tomorrow – literally old news, good only for pambalot ng isda, although these days I don’t think anybody still wraps fish in newspaper. I guess that’s why it’s called news (and not olds).

But when it comes to people, this whole concept of being old – of ageing – takes on hysterical proportions. There are those who consider being old – or rather, being perceived as old – worse than being called pangit (ugly) or bobo (stupid). I don’t know what age they want to be – 30? 40? – but it just isn’t the age they are.

But when exactly is one old? I guess becoming a dual citizen – senior and Filipino – is a good enough measure. Thus there are those who will not even consider getting a senior citizen’s ID and think it the supreme insult when waiters or drugstore sales people ask for their senior ID to apply the discount.

Perhaps because I grew up at the tailend of my generation – the bunso among cousins – the concept of old is not a negative thing. My niece tells her friends her aunt enjoys being old, and I guess I do. A week before my 60th birthday I went to the municipio to get the requirements for my senior card, and on the day promptly at 9 a.m. I was there with my documents and in under an hour I was officially a card-carrying senior citizen.

And I have been enjoying the privileges of seniorhood ever since. Not just the discounts, but other perks, like not having to stand in line at government offices and supermarket checkout counters, being offered a seat and help with carrying packages and baggage. My niece has learned to appreciate the benefits of having an old aunt – on a recent trip we were called out from queues and had priority checking in and boarding, and staff seemed nicer and more helpful to us than to other travelers.

I recently decided to no longer dye my hair. I am quite sure the IRF4 gene that is in my chromosome 6 is skewed so that I greyed early, as I have been coloring my hair for more years than I can count. Actually I had been thinking about this for a while, and have had long discussions with my friend and hairdresser Cherry Reyes (she with the perfectly coiffed and colored mane). We had sort of agreed to go for it “when I’m 64” as a nod to the Beatles, but early this year, after reading about a literature professor who turned 60 with silver hair cut in an “architectural

bob,” I convinced Cherry that we should get it done. The technical process of un-coloring hair is not a quick or a simple one; let me skip the details of the long process but I am sure I severely challenged Cherry and all her colorists at Toni&Guy. Now, months later, my hair is in its natural state of silver and grey, and on its way to the hip and architectural cut that Cherry envisions.

I got mixed reactions from family and friends. A few people thought I’ve gone punk and platinum (I will try and aim for the punk part). Among the artists and arts workers that I hang out with, it was a positive thing or a non-issue; many of them are silver-haired as well. There were friends who were aghast at my decision; some, I think, were (and maybe still are) too shocked to comment. One of them told Cherry, “I don’t like her hair; it makes her look old.” Which brings me back to the topic of being old. Is it really so bad? There are drawbacks of course; the knees creak and crack, the back hurts, you forget things – and people (which isn’t always a bad thing, believe me), your body chemistry sometimes goes awry… After operating non-stop for decades it’s not surprising that parts of the body may break down or at least need maintenance.

I recently had a full physical check-up, my first in over five years. I asked my goddaughter, who is a doctor, to look at the results, since there were some findings I wasn’t sure about. She told me everything was fine, and not to worry about the findings – “It’s just because you’re getting old,” she said, and added: “There’s just one problem…” What, I asked, ready to be concerned. “You’re crazy!” she guffawed. Maybe true, I have to admit, but that has nothing to do with age.