Ageing Ungracefully

“Cikgu Tina! Tua! Cikgu Tina! Tua! Hahaha!” The sound of laughter following the reference to my age invaded my ears that late morning. I was walking up the stairs from which I was visible to the students in this particular room. I picked up my jaw, went to the afternoon teachers’ staffroom, put my stuff on my desk and—with both my chins up—went to look for the person who had called my name.

In Form Four at sixteen

The students watched as I marched down the corridor to their classroom. It was obvious they hadn’t expected a banshee to go barging into their territory. There was no teacher there. All eyes were on me as I stood by the open door and asked calmly, “Who called me?” This was met with dead silence so to make it easier for them I added: “I heard a boy calling my name. Who was it?”  

Some of the boys started looking this way and that but no one had the guts to own up. I had a fair idea who the culprit was but throwing accusations would just be wasting my time and breath. I only wanted them to know that I heard and that I found the behaviour unacceptable. I think they got the message although it certainly wouldn’t turn them into angels or even stop them from mocking other old timers like me.

At 33 and mum of two

I also wanted to tell them that I was lucky to get to be as old as I was. How many in that roomful of young people would be as fortunate especially when today many lives are snuffed out prematurely by cancers, criminals and car crashes?

The humiliation was almost six years ago. It was on one of the last few days of my life as a teacher, a life dedicated to help improve the lives of others like these Form Four students (some of whom had been in my classes when they were in Form One and Two.)

With two chins at 55

I was so irked and offended by the boy’s insensitive remark that I mentioned it when I was asked to say ‘a few words’ during the year-end staff dinner. Some of my colleagues were appalled but some were hiding their smiles behind their hands. These could afford to snicker. They could still run up Mount Kinabalu. Their unblemished faces were still porcelain-smooth; their hair was still thick and luxuriant and decades away from turning silver.

My own hair was beginning to have a touch of white. The black that should have been on my scalp was now splattered on the face that used to be as clean as a boulder lying in the Tempasuk River. But, although I have never been pretty, a fact my mother repeatedly pointed out during my childhood, I have once been young—like you and those students, the students who must have thought I came into the world as old as their grandmothers.

At 61...BWGS community project 2012.  (Pic credit: Andrew)

Dear former student, how could you make a woman the source of your jokes just because she has lived much longer than you have? Isn’t old age something to be grateful for, to be appreciated, to be respected? We are all heading towards Old Age, even you! Look closely at your parents and grandparents because, if you’re lucky to survive middle-age, you’ll look just like them. Meanwhile, do good deeds, make your family proud, keep your nose clean and hope that when you get to be fifty-six you’ll look as good as I did when you laughed at me and called me Cikgu Tina tua. Oh, and pray that when you’re old and grey, younger people will not humiliate you just because you’re old. Yours sincerely, Cikgu Tina.

One Old Woman

Old Age: First you forget names, then you forget faces, then you forget to pull your zipper up, then you forget to pull your zipper down. LEO ROSENBERG

I’ve never been good at remembering names unless they’re very unusual but faces I never forget. I haven’t yet reached the age when one forgets to pull the zipper up or down.

I don’t really mind getting old. It’s getting old and fat I’m lamenting about. Since eating is one of the few pleasures I enjoy and moving around has slowed to snail-pace, I guess I’m stuck with the weight.

Pic from Google Images

Talk about moving and being physically active to keep off the kilos, even something as insignificant as weeding the garden is a problem. First, there’s the bending/squatting down to the ground and (when the little patch is clear of weeds,) the straightening up to standing position would take a while. The joints and muscles get locked in the squatting position and it takes ages for them to ‘unlock’ with minimal pain! Passers-by and neighbours who happen to see me weeding in the front yard might have even mistaken me for a stone sculpture, you know, like a garden gnome. No, not because of the physical resemblance—how could you!—but because I’d be ‘frozen’ while I wait for the joints to unlock. You might think I’m exaggerating but if you’ve never been old, you won’t know this until you’re my age.

Other than my stiff joints, and poor eyesight, I’ve been quite lucky health wise. No doubt I’d look better if I had my facial organs cut and pasted a little northwards. But that’s more for the benefit of the on-lookers who don’t appreciate reminders of how they’d look like in the not-so-distant future.

I still do all the housework and even mop upstairs and downstairs—when I feel like it! If I don’t fancy sweeping the floor, I won’t sweep. I prepare the meals too and if Mr. Hubby doesn’t find the food appetizing, that’s just too bad.

I leave you with a poem I found online. Enjoy it and if you care, leave a message for today’s my birthday and I feel really old! Cheers!

Pic from Google Images

WHEN I'M AN OLD LADY

When I'm an old lady, I'll live with each kid,

and bring so much happiness, just as they did.

I want to pay back all the joy they've provided.

Returning each deed! Oh, they'll be so excited!

(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

I'll write on the wall with reds, whites and blues,

and I'll bounce on the furniture wearing my shoes.

I'll drink from the carton and then leave it out.

I'll stuff all the toilets and oh, how they'll shout!

(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

When they're on the phone and just out of reach,

I'll get into things like sugar and bleach.

Oh, they'll snap their fingers and then shake their head,

and when that is done, I'll hide under the bed!

(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

When they cook dinner and call me to eat,

I'll not eat my green beans or salad or meat,

I'll gag on my okra, spill milk on the table,

And when they get angry. I'll run. if I'm able!

(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

I'll sit close to the TV, through the channels I'll click,

I'll cross both eyes just to see if they stick.

I'll take off my socks and throw one away,

and play in the mud till the end of the day!

(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

And later in bed, I'll lay back and sigh,

I'll thank God in prayer and then close my eyes.

My kids will look down with a smile slowly creeping,

and say with a groan, "She's so sweet when she's sleeping!"

 Author Joanne Bailey Baxter, Lorain, OH