G e t t i n g O l d
“Dad, you’re getting a lot of grey hair now,” my elder daughter pronounced one day, with uncalled-for excitement. She was rubbing my hair like dough, a habit she loves and I hate.
“Yes, I’m getting old.” I said dryly and ducked my head away.
The moment I uttered the word “old”, I had a weird taste in my mouth, as if I just swallowed a glass of milk ten days passed its “Drink before…” date.
Last month I turned 44, a number doubly distained by the Chinese. But I’m now living in Bangkok where 4 is a lucky number for the Thais. So 44 should bring me double happiness.
Of course I didn’t mean what I said. It’s just like my younger daughter saying “I don’t feel good today” when she tries not to get up early enough to catch the school bus. There are also better ways to describe older ages. Like ‘advancing in age’, or simply, ‘aging’. When we bought our 30-year old house in Long Island, New York, an engineer came to do an inspection and wrote: House in good condition, and aging.
I guess that’s what I am now.
In that sense, forty-something may not be too early a time to take a hard look at ourselves physically and psychologically. Many people aross this level have observed various signs of aging but not that many want to face them squarely.
Waist Not, Fuss Not.
The first sign appears in the part that joins the upper torso and lower limbs, the waistline.
One morning I got up to put on my dress pants but just managed to walk up the zipper three inches short of the top. I also had to pass my old belt hole by two stops outward. So I glanced at the mirror and saw a protruding stomach, and rolls of fat on each side, which actually have a name: love handles. Do they have anything to do with love, or the making of it? It was when I bent down to examine the layers of flesh around the waist that I truly ascertained the meaning of “overlapping”, a favorite word within the UN. It was then that I decided next time I go to the beach I would get into a loose beachwear to properly cover myself in front of bikini sun bathers.
My colleagues have other ways to deal with their not-so-perfect silhouettes. One refuses to go to the pool until darkness falls. Another remembers to keep a T-shirt on at all times. Still another, from New York, tries to defy aging by painstaking, excessive workout, especially during missions, where hotel staffs often take him for a trainee readying for the next Olympics.
Hair, Or the Lack of It
First hairstyle. It appears that at this stage of our life, we become unbashfully pragmatic and stress functions over style, convenience over appearance. Cars are getting bigger, like a 7-seat minivan or SUV, so that three generations could squeeze in the mobile home. Hair is cut shorter and thinner, for the obvious reason of easy cleaning but at the expense of any styling. This is how I look now. Gone are the days when my thick, shiny hair at full length was sculptured in styles from parting in the middle, split on either side to all brushed-back like a movie star.
Then the color of hair. Yes, I’m getting streaks of grey ones. The other day I went to the barber’s, they recommended highlighting, probably into partial golden brown. I might have been taken for a twenty-something. Maybe I should indeed try it someday, when there’s a discount for people advancing in age.
Actually I am counting my blessings because my father had his hair all turned white in his 30’s. I used to dread so much that the same fate would befall on me at the time when I minded most about my appearance. Now I’m pretty content with my head status. Some of my colleagues are not that lucky. They either look like getting white paint all over their head from house whitewashing over the weekend, or are busy with various hair-growing experiments.
A point on my face. It has now as many wrinkles drawn on it as the dry season cracks on the ground. But I’m not concerned about it, not as obsessive as my wife is. The rolls and rolls of skincare bottles of different shapes and heights that she has been collecting remind me of the warrior-horse figures in Qinshihuang’s tomb. The descriptions on the labels truly defy my knowledge of English.
Memories Are Not Forever
Now moving to the interior parts.
On the top, my brain is not working well as I’m losing my memory. To be fair, I have never been known for commanding camera-like memory power as far back as I could remember. Probably that’s why I love playing with a real camera. But nowadays things are evolving from bad to worse. For instance, I often forget people’s name, even if it is right at the tip of my tongue. I have to give descriptions instead. Like “That tall man, you know, the only one using an Apple laptop?” Or “The lady, loves English literature, yes, and goes all the way to England for summer programs. That’s she.”
I have not turned into a legally old person who remembers more things of twenty years ago but fewer things from yesterday. But the truth is that I spend longer times on my Sony pda to keep track my daily trivia. As a result the memory nerves become even lazier. Modern technology surly has its share of blame here.
To Eat, Or Not To Eat?
Further down the body.
I’m paying, or being reminded to pay more attention to what I put into my stomach. It all began when my wife started asking me to take Vitamin supplements. I resent it because it makes me feel like a used car. You know, a car that once passes its warranty, all problems shoot up. Regular tune-up, a jump-star from time to time, and the like. The Chinese people are known for their nutrition and health enhancement secrets. My mother forced me to swallow a pot of chicken soup cooked with mysterious herbs on the first night I got married. “Your body needs it now,” she said matter-of-factly. Now it’s my wife’s turn.
But the worst part is what I should eat as food.
It appears that people at my age start to worry about cholesterol level as much as sex life. There is such a long list of eating’s dos and don’ts that literally takes the pleasure off dining. Skimmed milk, skinned chicken, skipped breakfast. You name it. If you check the nutrition content and calorie number before you eat anything, it’s a sign.
But I love eating. I especially love the greasy, fully loaded Chinese food. In Bangkok there is so much to eat for so little. My recent favorite restaurant is called “Liaoning Dumplins”, across the Rama VIII Bridge. The foods are good. The prices are great. It’s an all-you-can-eat for 98 bhat.
I know I’m almost impossible and I’m going to stay in Bangkok for a while. So I come up with a balanced solution: I’ll still enjoy delicious food but eat less, and less frequently. I’ll also buy a Nordic treadmill to burn the extra calories. Bingo!
Words Speak Louder
In addition to the physical and mental transformation along with the aging process, there’s a psychological evolution going on. One sign is that we are reading and sharing more jokes and humors that would earn a NC-17 rating. Regions vary in terms of acceptance level. New York is more open as they are often brought up on the cafeteria table while Geneva and Bangkok are more or less content with enjoying them quietly. No parental discretions are advised here since we all are responsible parents ourselves.
I’m not quite sure of the reasons behind this phenomenon. It’s true that such stuff is all-time, all-age best seller. Internet helps wet the appetite and fuel the spread, too. But I guess that at this stage of life when making a living is out of question, it looks like we feel increasingly bored and empty, both at home and at work.
This is especially the case among colleagues within the language circle. At work there’s little inspiration or expectation to begin with. At home there seems to be less stimulation, or interaction, between husband and wife. The sad thing is you can hardly complain or protest when the better half appears to be devoted to the kids. In despair and loneliness we turn to ‘colored’ jokes for comfort, compensation and companionship, and love to share them with our comrades. After all we’re language professionals.
However, on a positive note, those jokes could also be turned into a much-needed love potion, if and when you forward or read them to your better half. I’ve tried it at home and it worked.
For the first few times at least.
A Word in Perspective
When I finished this article and sent it out to my friends and colleagues, tagged along some NG-13 jokes, one of them returned with a question:
What would you be doing if you were 10 years, or twenty years younger?
Well, if I were in the 20’s, I would most likely be locked again in a trial-and-error expedition to search fanatically for an “ideal” domestic partner, spending numerous sleepless nights;
If I were around 30’s, I would be desperately seeking to make enough money to support a family during the day and be ready to get up in the middle of the night to change baby’s diaper.
Neither of them seems to offer enough appeal to bring me back in the time machine.
Maybe I am indeed getting old.
July 2003, Bangkok
