I know it’s hard to believe that I’m 50 — let alone 56. Really.
I know some of you are shaking your heads and saying to yourselves, “That can’t be right,” or “That’s impossible.” I feel you. I apologize for putting you in such a quandary. With everything going on in the world — the “ceasefire” in the Middle East, the Trump administration’s continuing crackdown on illegal immigration and Malacañang’s territorial tensions with China — I don’t want to add to your already frayed nerves.
Even I get frazzled when I look at my reflection. It’s unnerving not being able to pinpoint exactly how many years I’ve been on this earth. Obviously, not all mirrors are created equal. The one in our newsroom men’s room has that certain je ne sais quoi that draws me to it.
Actually, it makes me look 10 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. I know; many wondered how I managed it. But I did, until I realized I could not hold on to 36 forever. I guess I’m just trying to explain why I’m in the men’s room so much.
That’s all. I don’t have a bladder problem. I don’t have a compulsive need to wash my hands. You see, it’s nothing out of the ordinary, so you can lower the eyebrow.
You might be wondering why I’m rambling about my age in such uncertain times. Or not. But I will tell you anyway: there’s no point in worrying about things you cannot control. You can prepare yourself, certainly, 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 itchy, to say the least, not to mention 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 couldn’t very well blame the weather since I was in a controlled environment. So, I ended up consulting “Dr. Google.”
I typed in my symptoms, described the small, fluid-filled blisters and, lo and behold: 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’s about the same time I started losing my hair, which made the whole thing even more frightening. Armageddon I can manage, but going bald freezes me in my tracks.
Which brings me back to aging. Yes, I have come a long way — from a decade of denial to a full embrace of my “56-ness.” That’s why I take it as a personal affront when someone mistakes me for a senior. 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 — like the American economy. Never mind the global economy; I don’t 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 Feb. 28.
But I digress. Again. After all, this column is not about what’s going on out there in the real world. It’s about me.
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’m 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’re 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.”
