Tag Archives: aging


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



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.


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.




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.


Art: Svyatogor_Masha-04

Things to Look Forward to About Growing Older


I watch myself getting uglier and uglier with each passing day, and I am not even beautiful to begin with.

The other day I tried to photoshop one of my pictures, I don’t like the result. It didn’t look right. Devoid of all the imperfections and the tell-tale signs of the passing of time, it wasn’t me anymore. So, I restored the photograph to its original state. I rather be ugly than be someone else. 

Photography by Nigel Tomm

Empty Nest

My nest has been empty for over ten years now. Before that I’ve been away from the nest most of the time. The chicks had grown big without me having to do with it. I used to feel guilty about that. Not anymore.

Now, sitting on the loo with the midday sun beating down on my back (I kind of like it. A luxury. My own infrared sauna right there in the toilet) I suddenly feel alone and lonely. Too much freedom and nothing to do. Nothing new I mean. Will I take up bungee jumping again? I can join one of those women’s (auxiliary) clubs and learn flower arranging while soaking up the latest gossips. But I can arrange flowers and I care nothing much about women. I have nothing in common with them (aside from the love for  shoes, and there is nothing much to go on from there) and men…

I still get looks from those who could be my grandchildren. Okay, I probably exaggerating but in any way younger than my children. Creepy. I should have been taller so, I look older not looking like an aging Pia Zadora or Sally Field. 

But I like men. I love hanging out with them. They are less complicated and more honest. They play open cards. No bitchiness and no jealousy. The only problem is: they don’t get much the idea of friendship between opposite sex. Sooner or later, they will try to elevate the relationship into something more complex. I don’t like that.

Back to empty nest again. 

I never thought there will come a time that I will long for company. Me who love solitude, quiet and peace. Me who is happy being alone and free. They say people tend to mellow when they age. That must be it. I’m mellowing. Sucks!



When I was young I thought that thirty is the end of your life. You cannot possibly want something more when you reached that number. You’re old, finished, done with; the only thing left to do is to wait for the inevitable. When I was young, I thought thirty is palliative. Literally.

Now that I am fast approaching the afternoon of my life, I found out (in a hard way) that you never stop feeling simply because you get older. Years don’t diminish the desire to be loved, to be wanted to feel beautiful; it doesn’t take away the urge to feel connected and the longing for intimacy. The only difference is you want quality instead of quantity. Taste improves with years of experience. Preferences change. You can compare and know what’s best; you know exactly what you want.

Funny thing is (not that I am in that situation already, but I know it will come, another one of those inevitable) beggars cannot be choosy (and so they say) the offers are a lot less than when you are in your prime. Magazines are full of articles that say women in their 40’s onwards are invisible. Must be or otherwise the titles won’t say: “How to still get noticed when you reached a certain age.” Or “How to turn back the years and get attention again.” Things like that. Very depressing. As if the only way to regain your rightful place in the hunting ground (or in any field for that matter) is to possessed a magic wand and let those accumulated years and its consequences disappear and be young again (no wonder cosmetics surgery is a booming business) which is impossible. No amount of power and money can turn back the time.

But enough of that. Let’s concentrate with what matters and that is: getting old in a relationship that saddled you with desire that never been fulfilled, expectations that never meet, longing that never been satisfied, emptiness that keeps getting bigger and bigger each day it is threatening to swallow you up. Another inevitable? The fact that no one can live like a ghost albeit your former self. The amount of nothing is nothing and sooner or later you will look for what you need elsewhere. Maybe you will never find it but it is better to try and failed than just sit there and wait for something to happen…



My Lovely

Peering into the looking glass searching for you my lovely

Oh, where have you gone my sweet?  Are you hiding from me?

I long to see you again, come back, stay! Be with me till my dying day!

Remember the times when we were fearless and merry

Together we dazzled, we captured, we conquered!

Now, you’re gone, they stole you from me.


You time, you’re the culprit you’re the thief!

How dare you take my lovely away from me!

Bring her back! Bring her back I need her by my side!

Like the flowers need the sun, the rain, the wind!

I’m lost without her, without her fragile beauty, I’m lost!

See this old woman shriveling? Time I beg you, take pity.


How I wish to be with you my lovely, how I wish

To be smooth and crinkled free this old hag face

To be daring and full of life like the olden days

To dance in the rain, to smile at the sun to sing and sing and sing…

But the twilight has come it’s just around the corner

Time to say goodbye to you my lovely, my sweet I know

My heart’s desire cannot be fulfilled I can’t be young again…


Time, you’re cruel and unkind…

Farewell my lovely…

 (An ode to youth)



I used to be more impulsive. I do things in spur of the moment and never care what happened next. I was known to put all on the line for the things I would like to do. I can lose everything, it never bothers me. At least, I’ve had the experience. Those people who know me can only watch in disbelief. Once upon a time, I used to be… daring.

It’s different lately. Before I even consider making a decision, I would lay awake whole night worrying and fretting; only to stand up the next day without reaching to any conclusion what is the best to do.  Lately, I am not so sure anymore about anything.

And I hate it! I hardly recognize myself these days. Where is the sassy, confident, let-the-devil-may-care, adventurous, funny, happy-go-lucky- brave girl I used to know?

Gone! Creeping in is this unknown middle aged insecure, over-sensitive, ghostly individual who worries about anything and everything. Hateful!

Without me even knowing where (the hell) it’s coming from; thoughts of: what if he leaves me – find someone younger – the gravity is winning – house fire – traffic accident – robbery – homicide – bankruptcy – wheelchair – what he will do when I am gone – so many strangers – bills to pay –  family to kill – are populating what’s left of my brain.

Now, why these thoughts are spooking me? They were none of my concern? A long, long time ago; I used to be ALIVE! I could feel current in the air, electricity between people, hear the plants talk; smell the earth and beyond! Now, I am just…Dead!

Where is the tingling feeling? The anticipation? The power of attraction? The glorious excitement! The warm, sensuous expectation of something new! I miss those lazy moments of feeling fulfilled, content, seduced and belong!

Forgotten hilarious situations, naughty playfulness, strong desires and sweet innocence!  Those where the days! Where are they now? What happened? I cannot understand! Why am I changing? What is happening to me?

When I mentioned these to my daughter (between her goings to the fridge to check for something to eat (again) in her room she looked at me with poor-woman- she’s- in- denial-phase- looks on her face and said matter-of-factly:

“Mama, it’s called getting old.”

Old Mirror Standing Against Wall



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…


images: rockgem and smth_fresh


Sometimes (?) if I see young women (early-late 20s) with their firm breasts and even firmer butts which (almost) probably untouched (yet) by cellulites and guaranteed stretch marks free, not to mention their flat stomachs and bellies and even tighter p***ies,  all of a sudden I think of D.

I wonder if it doesn’t cross his brain (duh?) to caress those fresh, young bodies rather than my own corpus delicti (I know, I know but I have my reason to use the term, time is the assassin, the culprit, the guilty party etc.) which is getting more and more decayed with each passing year.

Sometimes, I (idiotically) ask him if these thoughts cross his mind once in a while and he would answer: “Of course not.” (What did I expect he would say???) With matching big eyes and a whole range of emotions which varies from shock to disbelief to (I suspect) pretend injury to his feelings and seems genuine enough annoyance. And I thought: how long he practiced these expressions? He must have, because every time I brought up the subject, the emotions become more and more convincing and complex. Or maybe it’s just me…

But I have my doubts. If I can conjure it up, he must be having the same thoughts.  It’s difficult to believe otherwise. Men are visual. Sights turn them on, especially a panoramic (I have to add 3D to the list of criteria to choose from, said Mr Smarty Pants) vista of lush greenery and perfect peaks.

In good days I sometimes think what the heck, I am what I am and I’m getting old. He said he knew this before he asked me to marry him. He realized I will get older sooner/faster than him, and it doesn’t matter he said because: he loves me. It could be true but it matters to me.

I see my body (and my face) changing each day. Literally altering shapes before my eyes and it does something with my ego and self-confidence. Some days more than the other. I know I could sport, diet, live healthy, preserve myself as well as I can, stand on my head; but time catches up on everybody. There is no exception.

It’s a bit comforting to know that those firm breasts/butts, flat stomachs/bellies and tight p***ies will soon have thoughts like mine. But for the meantime, they can parade shamelessly in full confidence and I can do nothing but feel envious and sometimes think of my glory days and hope/ pray that D. won’t wake up soon/ever, or at least pretend he doesn’t really see what I’m seeing, or seeing them in a different perspective at least…

Old Mirror Standing Against Wall