Tag Archives: age

Faded

I wonder if when Nature’s pen has sketched and lined my face,
Into a survey map reflective of some mountainous place,
With artful shading rendering the passing of each year:
My frame a faded ivory chart of well-explored frontier…

Will you still scale my mountains, will my valleys still amaze,
With all their once new secrets- and will you still spend your days,
Exploring hidden places like each time there is your first,
And dip your mouth into my drying ponds to slake your thirst?

When verdant fields grow sparser with the coming of the frost,
Will you forsake my landscape and despair for what is lost?
Or will you rediscover sheltered on a calm plateau,
My wildflower blooming beneath a blanket of soft snow.

With all the quirks of gravity and shifting sands of time-
I wonder, will I always be your most exciting climb?

~ A Question of Geography by Belladagio

couple-romance-on-autumn-seassion-with-black-and-white-photo

Fifty

That would be me next year.

An age I thought I will never reach. I still can’t believe it. Is it that long already since I made my first step? There was a time I thought thirty was old. That was when through my naivety and honesty the couple I was working for as a nanny found out that the thirty year old brother of the wife was having an affair with the nineteen year old housemaid.

I needed her for something and came looking for her upstairs. They always disappear there after lunch. Applying lotion on some skin disease they told me. I even heard her shouting sometimes. From the pain I thought. The master bedroom was locked and they didn’t want to open the door even though I was almost close to breaking it down. When they finally admitted me in I saw him on the front of the electric fan sweating and half naked. She was dressed and was sitting on the bed with the bath towel (of the wife) under her looking disheveled and strange.

I think nothing of it. The thoughts that normally accompany such situations were then still unknown to me. I grew up in the middle of nowhere isolated and secluded with only my family around me. Five sisters and one brother- the youngest. My father was hardly around. We had no close friends. I had no one to draw on carnal knowledge and everything surrounding it.

When the couple came home and the wife reached for the towel to take a bath I reacted strongly. When she asked why I said it was dirty. I didn’t know why I said that. Maybe because I believe even then that personal items are personal. If others used them, they automatically become dirty. One thing lead to another and all the hell broke lose. The maid had been sent away and the brother saw me as a replacement or potential victim. But that was for another blog post.

I remember thinking then that thirty was old. He was old. He had no business having sex. I thought when people are that old, they are palliative. Waiting for the inevitable. I realized later that we are all terminal since birth. There is only one sure thing for us sooner or later- the graves. No one can avoid death. Rich poor, ugly beautiful, famous and unknown. We will all die.

I was fifteen then. I will be fifty next year. This Friday I’m going to reach my forty-nine years of walking on this planet. Do I feel old? Emotionally, no. Physically… we will not go there. Too much to talk about.

Woman looking out of window.

Youth

Oh, youth… I envy their youth-ness.

I am not a jealous person but I wish I knew then what I know now. I will take better care of my physical being. I will broaden my horizons even farther, greater. I will wear my mistakes with pride and commit sins more often. I will taste life with more gusto, drink deeply and enjoy with abandon. I will live to the fullest.

Oh, youth… I envy them their future. The amount of time left to do what their hearts desire, to be what they want to be. I envy their courage, their enthusiasm, their energy. Why it is that we realize what matters the most when it’s (almost) already too late?

Oh, youth… I envy their smooth skin, tight little bodies and radiant smiles. I envy their ability to process everything quickly, to absorb and learn naturally. I envy their carelessness and total abandonment. The nonchalant manner they deal with the world. Their confidence and dreams.

I wish I can bring back the time.

I wish I can be young again.

 

Woman_in_the_mirror_by_nereidi2

WHY WOMEN SHOULDN’T FEAR MENOPAUSE

Every age can be enchanting, provided you live within it.
– Brigitte Bardot

Can a woman still find love in her fifties or sixties? Does age determine what path shall we take in our lives or is it as said just a number? Should women fear the menopause or should they on the contrary embrace it? When do you think life ends, when you stop breathing or when you stop having a dream for which you would long to breathe?

All these questions and more cross my mind almost daily and I know that their answers differ from one woman to another, certainly that’s what I see at least from women I encounter, and I as well see how women’s lives change majorly from one to another according to those beliefs and from the different experiences one have seen I’ve managed to compose my own answers that led me to one thing, we, women, should never fear menopause, at least don’t give it more than it deserves. Read the rest of the article here.

Here is another helpful article on beating menopausal weight gain. I like how the author make the topic short, simple and relatable.

When you’re stressed, you release the stress hormone cortisol, which puts the body into an emergency mode and it holds onto fat for dear life!

Do check it out. It is worthy of your time.

Masha_Svyatogor_03

Art: Svyatogor_Masha-04

Perfection

Leafing through a magazine, I saw an interesting article. This is the paragraph that caught my attention:

“I have an entire wardrobe of I am planning to lose weight. I have had this wardrobe for years and I continue to add to it. I am building a wardrobe for a life I do not have and will probably never have. For a theoretical life that does not really matter because nobody is telling me that if I do not lose weight, I will not be loved.”

At first I found this revelation hilarious. Maybe because it is somewhat recognizable even though I don’t reach (thank you Lord) that state yet and still fit in most of my clothes from 25 years ago (yes I keep clothes that long- fashion recycles itself, no?) but on second thought when the message really sinks its claws into my understanding I begun to realize that sooner or later we are going to get there (I know I held the time at bay for the longest period without really trying but lately…) whether we like it or not.

Either it is about weight, gravity winning or something else, time is everybody’s nemesis and deep down inside, if we are being honest to ourselves, we can all hear that little voice inside our heads telling us what we fear the most; that we are not going to be loved if we don’t look like a certain way…

Don__t_play_our_song____by_rockgem

images: rockgem and smth_fresh

Hour Glass

I am not the kind of person who is fond of mirror. I see it as a tool, a necessity; not an object of vanity.

I check once before I head for the door to avoid awkward moments, like when people look at you and keep looking, and you wonder why; only to learn much, much later that you still have a tiny grain of morning star in the inner corner of your eye.

I know for a fact that there is not one single person here on earth that didn’t experience some embarrassing moments regarding this matter, because you see… morning star has a nasty habit of forming even after you wash your face thoroughly. I just don’t want this to happen to me.

But lately, I noticed that whenever I pass a reflective surface, I cannot help but look. I do it in malls, in restaurants, shops windows, cars, trains, buses, everywhere! Heck, I even check myself in front of microwave/ovens.

I don’t simply look, I peer. As if I want to be sure that the image I am seeing is really me, that’s my reflection, that is how the world see me.

And what I see looking back at me varies from moments to moments, but seldom positive.

I often think: is my hair that long? Am I really this old? I look like a dishevelled kid! Why my face seems doesn’t belong to my body? As if they are two different halves glued together. There is no balance! There is no symmetry!

Two years ago, my eight year old nephew asked me why my face is so small but my body is too big? Kids tell the truth mostly, and his innocent comment really unsettled me. So, occasionally I ask D. if it is true, but of course you know already what his answer is going to be.

I am aware that my body is changing. That one of my best assets, my legs, acquired some saddle bags couple of years ago. That the small hump below my navel didn’t go away as I willed it to and I imagine it keeps on growing. That if I wake up in the morning, there are wrinkles between my breast and it takes longer and longer for them to disappear.  I don’t want to think what will happen one of these days. That if I run, some parts of me wobble, and I don’t look as fresh as I used to after a hard day’s work.

And I can still add a lot more to my whining and I don’t even begun to talk about other things that bother me like health for example, or indigestion, constipation and all the things that ended up in –tion.

Or slight incontinency which thank God only happens when I cough, laugh, vomit or nervous.  How about gas and bloating? There are still a lot of things, but I will stop right here.

 

Mirror, mirror, on the wall…

…who is this strange woman looking at me?

Where is the girl I used to know? Is she hiding?

Where did she go?

Sometimes I catch a glimpse of her

Beneath the mask I wear today

Her eyes look through behind my own

She seems so sad full of questions

The girl looks a bit like me

I can see the similarity

But there stops the resemblance

I am neither her, nor (is) she (is) I (?)…

 

© Bebong

10/20/2014

Thursday

3:02

hourglass

Remember Me?

The man said he is looking for me, putting a picture of my younger self on the table. Though it is my face who’s staring back , I don’t recognize the woman. I don’t remember owning such clothes. Never been to Paris, yet (there is a silhouette of the lighted Eiffel Tower in the background, the woman who supposed to be me is standing against a railing of a bridge) I want to visit there sometimes but something always comes in between. Maybe someday.

I look up and smile at him shaking my head. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.” I tell the gentleman. He has such a beautiful face. He reminds me of someone I knew from a very long time ago, only younger and darker and perhaps a little bit taller.

His expression becomes sad, for a moment I thought he’s going to cry; I wish I could  help him but I know nothing of the woman. After a while, he turns his back and walks away.

The young man crosses the street and get inside a café opposite where the older woman is sitting. He deliberately pick a table by the window so he can keep an eye on her. Physically she does not changed much. She still is the petite dark beauty who can turn heads whenever and wherever she walks by. Almost no wrinkles visible but what’s going on inside her is what worrying him these days. Every each day when she wakes up, she has to be reminded of who and where she is. She remembers bits and pieces of things in random, but never concrete; not anymore.

Sometimes she has rare lucid moments but they come and go, and they are few and far between. The only thing she can talk with great clarity is her childhood. Something he doesn’t care much to hear about. They are full of morbid ideas, grim memories, skeletons in the closet and shocking details. But she talks about them like they are the most normal natural things in the world.

And she wanders about. Disappearing longer and longer at times, like now; it took him a while to find her. If he’s not familiar with her habits he would not be able to locate her every time. He’s dreading the moment when he will not be able to do so anymore. That is something he is not ready yet to think right now. Sitting there, no one would suspect her real condition. She looks normal and talks normal. Even when strangers speak to her, she is able to hold a decent conversation without conveying the truth. Only those who know her well would notice the drastic changes that are happening to her. What a waste of a great mind and a remarkable person.

Lately it is getting harder and harder to come up with excuses to approach her in public without scaring the hell out of her. The last time he did that, he caused a scene worthy of a novel or a film. She always had been wary of strangers. Something in the past caused her to lost trust on people. Provoking her is not a good idea. Not then, not now. Their relationship is never been the ideal one, given the circumstances. But she is still his mother and he wants to take care of her despite of what had happened long ago.

For now he will sit here and wait till she is ready to leave, will watch her becoming confused, not remembering where she lives or where she supposed to be. Only then he will come to her, offering his help as a good citizen. But that’s for later. For the moment, he has to conjure up a mighty good excuse to approach her without causing unnecessary trouble, for both of them. Because of her he learned the art of patience…

Alzheimers-patient-007


This post is a response to today’s Daily Prompt.