Navigating Age and Identity Amid Global Tensions: A Personal Reflection
It is genuinely challenging to believe that I am 50 years old, let alone 56. I understand that some of you might be shaking your heads in disbelief, thinking, "That cannot be right" or "That is impossible." I empathize with your skepticism and apologize for placing you in such a perplexing situation. With the world currently grappling with significant issues, such as the fragile ceasefire in the Middle East, the Trump administration's ongoing crackdown on illegal immigration, and territorial tensions between Malacañang and China, I do not wish to add to your already strained nerves.
The Mirror's Deceptive Charm
Even I become frazzled when I gaze at my own reflection. It is unnerving not to be able to pinpoint exactly how many years I have spent on this earth. Clearly, not all mirrors are created equal. The one in our newsroom men's room possesses a certain je ne sais quoi that consistently draws me to it. In fact, it makes me appear ten years younger. If you turn off one of the lights, I can even pass for a 36-year-old, an age I successfully maintained for at least a decade. Many people have wondered how I managed this feat, but I did, until I realized that holding onto 36 forever was an impossible task. I suppose this explains why I find myself in the men's room so frequently.
That is the entire story. I do not have a bladder problem, nor do I have a compulsive need to wash my hands. You see, it is nothing out of the ordinary, so you can lower your eyebrow in suspicion.
Why Discuss Age in Uncertain Times?
You might be questioning why I am rambling about my age during such uncertain times. Or perhaps you are not. Regardless, I will tell you anyway: there is no point in worrying about things you cannot control. You can certainly prepare yourself, but sometimes life throws a curveball, and even the best preparations come to naught.
During the Covid lockdown, I suffered from dyshidrosis on the sides of my fingers. It was incredibly itchy and, to say the least, hideous. I ruled out allergies because there was nothing in the house to trigger an attack, though I initially suspected the alcohol we were required to use when entering establishments. I could not blame the weather since I was in a controlled environment. Consequently, I ended up consulting "Dr. Google."
I typed in my symptoms, described the small, fluid-filled blisters, and, lo and behold, I discovered it was dyshidrosis. According to Dr. Google, a frequent trigger for a flare-up is stress. Now, what could be more stressful than a possible end-of-the-world scenario?
That was about the same time I started losing my hair, which made the whole situation even more frightening. I can manage Armageddon, but the prospect of going bald freezes me in my tracks.
Embracing the Inevitable: Aging
This brings me back to the topic of aging. Yes, I have come a long way, from a decade of denial to a full embrace of my "56-ness." That is why I take it as a personal affront when someone mistakes me for a senior citizen. I fought bravely for many years to hold back time before forcing myself to admit it was a war I could never win.
I guess that must have crossed Donald Trump's mind when he decided to go back on his threat to wipe out Iranian civilization earlier this week. Of course, there were many other factors the US president had to consider, such as the American economy. Never mind the global economy; I do not think he cares one bit unless he and his friends can profit from it. Or the potential loss of American lives if he deployed ground troops. Again, never mind the thousands of innocent Iranian civilians killed by the joint US-Israeli bombings since February 28.
But I digress. After all, this column is not about what is going on out there in the real world. It is about me.
A Humbling Bus Ride
A couple of weeks ago, I decided to take the bus from IT Park to work. There were plenty of empty seats, so I planted myself by the side door. A few minutes later, the conductor approached me.
"Regular?" he asked. I looked at him, not understanding. "Regular?" he asked again.
Then I understood, and I almost lost my bearings. "Tiguwang na gyud diay ko sa imong panan-aw, 'dong (So I am actually old to you now)?"
"Naa man guy uban bata pa og hitsura pero senior na diay (There are some who look young for their age, even though they are already seniors)," he said, without missing a beat.
I paid. Then I sat back, trying to regain my composure. I was looking out the window when I noticed the sign next to me: "This seat is reserved for PWDs, Senior Citizens and Pregnant Women."
