Age is JUST a number

I say I'm 27. Seriously.

I say I’m 27. Seriously.

When I was young(er), I used to think that people who were in their 30’s or 40’s were already old.

I grew up in the generation where the young ones realize and acknowledge the authority of elders, may they be parents, aunts or uncles, or parents’ friends.  As a teenager, I was close to my aunts, we tell stories and we laugh a lot, but never did I see them as my equal.  They were always “up there.”  They were older and I gave them all the respect that they deserved.  Though honestly, there were times when I didn’t want to hang out with them because it felt “uncool” hanging out with older people…

I was never really close to my mom when I was growing up because she was more of a figure of authority than anything else.  I followed and obeyed.  I never saw her as a “friend.”  Provider, yes.  Parent, yes.  But, buddy? Chum? Friend?!  As Tyra Banks would have said it, “Hell to the no!”

Besides, the age gap made it difficult for me to see her differently.  My parents — and their siblings — will always be older.  When I was a teenager, I had this thinking that they were already ancient.  Gosh.

I am in my late thirties now.  To be more precise, I am pushing forty.  Just saying that is making my heart palpitate.  In my young self’s eyes, I AM ANCIENT!  Panic time.  Gulp.  I. can’t. breathe. too. well. 

Thinking about it, I don’t feel too different.  I mean, I feel like I’m the same ME that I was as a teenager.  I have the same friends…  I dislike the same people (oh, grow up, girl!)…  I still like the colors pink and purple and all shades of violet…  I still like the same kind of music — or at least, I still DON’T like the heavy metal kind (gives me headaches), while classical music still makes me sleep…  I am still conscious of my weight — like I have been when I was infact 20lbs lighter… I still think my arms and thighs are big…

So, maybe I have matured a bit.  Maybe I look at life differently now, meaning I am not after the drama anymore.  I don’t get stressed easily now… though come to think of it, I was never really the ‘easily-stressed’  type.  I know for a fact that my personal experiences, both good and bad, have shaped me into who I am today… But somehow, for some reason, I still FEEL like I am the same person — same girl– that I was years back.  Twenty or so years back, to be precise.

I don’t really feel old.  Or ancient.  I am in my late thirties, but I feel young. I am the same Me that I have always been.

Now I realize that 30 or 40 is NOT old or ancient.  Gosh, I’m taking back the perception I had of my aunts when I was young.  I am there now… and I wouldn’t want my son or my son’s friends to think that I am not cool because I an older.

Age is JUST a number.  It’s who you are inside that truly matters in the end.

Uhm, can you please remind me of all these before I actually turn forty…  In case, you know, I start panicking and begin having my midlife crisis…  Sigh…

Maybe it’s about time that I accept — and admit– my real age.

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photo via google images

Staying 27

It never used to bother me when people ask how old I am.  My friends are mostly of the same age so we understand each other’s language, i dress appropriately that people won’t think i’m from another era (say ’60s or 70’s), nor would they think i’m trying hard to look young… and i am surrounded by young kids a lot of times that i feel young, too.  Believe me, laughter begets laughter.  Try surrounding yourself with grumpy old people and see how long your light spirits will last.

My age used to be just a number.  It didn’t feel like such a big deal when i turned a quarter of a century.  I still felt young and alive and had so much to look forward to.   And then when i had my child, i was a happy young mom.  I had friends who went on a hiatus when they turned thirty.  They felt they were too old to stay single.  I remember being a joyful thirty year old “young” mom.   

But then lately, as i watch my son turn into a fine lad, warning bells seem to be ringing relentlessly inside my head.  Okay, so maybe it’s more of a gong that i am hearing.  That nagging sound that keeps reminding me that well, i am not so young, after all.     And that unless i stick to my make up story that i had my son at a very young age (say 16), well people who ask my age are bound to know that I am not in my late twenties — nor am i just thirty (where my age stopped.  but press release has always been 27).  Of course I can always hope that they suck at math and can’t make mental computations.

So, does this age thing bother me now?  Yes, it’s starting to.  Getting old scares me.  I don’t want to turn out old and wrinkly with gray hair.  Worse, old AND grumpy.  A hag in every sense of the word.  I am afraid of getting old without knowing my purpose in life. 

Can i do something about it? Maybe.  I can accept the fact that everybody grows older everyday. It’s a sign of life, so I should be thankful.  Perhaps embrace the idea that wisdom comes with age (… thus, i am wiser than well, my son and his friends).  I am more experienced, more knowledgeable, and i should be proud of my personal successes, big or small. 

 And yes, if i wish to age with grace, daily use of moisturizer and body lotion will help, too.  Have a strict beauty regimen.  I can dye my hair brown (or even magenta) if i feel like it.  Smiling helps a lot, too.  So maybe i should always flash my mega watt smile at friends and strangers alike.

Age is not just a number when you really think about it.  It signifies the years you have been blessed with this gift called life.    Instead of being in denial, i guess I should be grateful i have reached this far… and look forward to having more.

Of course I can always say that my son is really JUST my younger brother… but who am I kidding??

 

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watch out for: Signs that I’m Getting Old (or I’m Not as Young as I  Say I Am)