What age makes us

by Yas Jayson Sunday, March 25, 2012 8 palagay amor ordinem nescit he says mulat' may alam people are people what matters most

There is this group that visits retired priests around the country that I joined when I was in highschool. Our group fondly calls these priests Lolo Monsi, Lolo Bishop, or Lolo Father. We would often visit them in hospitals and convents where nuns take care of them. We would ask them how they are doing, what keeps them busy, occasionally we would sing with them, and most of the time, listen to them.

It was a beautiful experience of my early teen years. Once I was asked to write about my experience about the visits. I felt honored.  

Looking back, I could remember how joy and pain could impress on an old man’s face - from sick bed to their coffin, I have seen them. 

 

When do we start to grow old? Is it when we begin to be crippled and weighed down by aging bones? Is it, when all the love and all passion seem to consumed and given away, we feel exhausted and betrayed? Amos Alcott said in one of her short stories. The surest sign of age is loneliness. And upon the passing of age in our faces, loneliness is our constant visitor.

I wonder, how often loneliness will visit an old gay man. I do not have a clue. But for me, if I will be alive enough to be toothless and bald, I will always make sure that the tea is warm and the cookie jar full.

And to memories, what kinds of memories will we remember when we become toothless? Or is the most fitting question is, what memories will we forget? What qualifies the memory to be forgotten? I cannot answer. For one, I have seen many old people who remember all things that are painful.

There's a story I know about a woman who brought up four generations of children.

Now in her eighties, she is forgetful. When my cousins would get annoyed by her frequent asking, I would try to answer her again in a gentle voice. Once very recently, she got very sick and hyperventilated. I embraced her tight, that little bundle of bony figure, to keep her warm. We were like that for five minutes. She asked who I am. I said my name and held my tears. I remember you now she said.

I felt the fear of losing her. Fear of losing the woman I shared my childhood with more than anyone. The memory of a childhood she shaped and may not be able to remember.

There in my arms was the woman who cuddled me to sleep when I was a small child. I will not cry in front of her just because she forgot my name. She remembers who I am. I remember you now.

Despite all sorrows, pains and loneliness she bears, a memory of me remains in her mind. The child me. And she was glad that I was there.

Enter you. Days after that, I asked you what will happen if we have grown old and the children we brought up have their own families. Raise them well, give them what they need, teach them things that they should know. Then it will be up to them.

Beyond the fear of becoming toothless and bald, your promise of growing old together. There will be loneliness, yes. But you are a clear manifestation of inspiration. You make me believe age doesn't make us fearful but hopeful. There will be forgetting and constant complain, but in hearts that truly love, all is remembered. Aging becomes a definition of looking forward, of milestone.

I am twenty and you are nineteen. But by life and experience, we learn like from thousand years. Thus we understand. Thus we feel.

So what age makes us? It makes us love.