Yesterday, when I was young
I was on top of the world. I would wake up refreshed to welcome a new day full of energy which would last till I hit the sack and go into a deep restful slumber. It was a cycle repeated again and again, through many moons that lit the darkest nights as well as sunshine that brightened up the days. I was in perfect health, so strong and mobile I could climb the highest mountain with my heart, lungs, and muscles working in perfect harmony.
Indeed, the blessings of youth made me feel invincible, with confidence that turned into foolish pride and arrogance such that I made fun of old people—their appearance (wrinkles, sagging skin, loose muscles) and their awkward gait. But reality bites and the euphoria did not last. The fountain of youth has yet to be found if ever it really exists. Soon enough, the attrition of age dawned on me, with the realization making me feel depressed. As a physician, I’ve had to take a dose of my own medicine.
Yesterday is just a dream now, though it is more proper to call it yesteryears. As kids, we loved joking about old men and their bald pate. We would hide and shout, “kalbo!” gave them names like “arabo,” a corrupted term for “alang buhok,” “shaggy,” or BMW (buhok mo’y wig). Now the person in my mirror has a rather bigger face due to a receding hairline, sparse hairs at the top of his head, and a salt and pepper look in the hair just above the ears. Men in their 60s with prostate problems take medication to relieve urinary symptoms with the hope (and theoretical possibility) that the drugs could delay their baldness. Obviously, vanity is not the monopoly of women!
Another source of laughter in our childhood days were the false teeth or dentures placed in a glass of water by our lolo and lola before they go to bed. Fortunately, in this department, I have no problem except for the painful wisdom teeth that were removed which, my cousins jested, must have been responsible for the many 5s I got in University of the Philippines (UP) during my pre-med days. But gnawing corn cobs and crispy lechon are still possible for me, thanks to the training my teeth got in the province as I sank them into trunks of raw sugar cane.
Growing up wearing eyeglasses had meant being the butt of jokes of playmates who called you a nerd. For many years, my 20/20 vision afforded me the convenience to play a mean game of tennis, baseball, and volleyball. Perhaps my myopia was due to the many assigned readings in our literature classes at UP, with such books as “Crime and Punishment” and “Exodus.” There were more chapters to read in them than what I would read in one night in med school, particularly on anatomy. I had several prescription glasses, even contact lenses and finally, intra-ocular lenses that allowed me to see my feet while taking a shower. I fervently pray I won’t need a magnifying glass someday!
I am not a beach lover so a washboard abdomen has never been on top of my wish list. However, my tailor, who is also my patient, proved to be tactless and did not mince words when asked to do adjustment on my pants. Comparing my abdomen to a pear, orange, or apple, he would say, “BMW—bilbil mo, walo!”
Nobody can stop the passage of time, so there’s no point going against it. As the poet Maya Angelou emphasized, “If you can’t change it, change the way you think about it.”
So youth, be not proud, because that’s what I used to be. Now, rather than grieve for what I’ve lost, I rejoice for what I still have. As the Desiderata advised, “Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.” Yes, I did, a long time ago!
