An ode to the old

 

Your body can be younger than you are, believe it or not. There are ways of measuring your body’s biological age, though none of them are pleasant – think scans and probes and pricks and blood-letting and the like.

However, these same tests could also say that your body is older than what’s written on your birthday cake (assuming you are honest with that one).

Many years ago, I attended a management seminar overseas where they performed these medical tests as part of the programme. I came out pretty OK, with my biological age closely matching my chronological one.

But I remember a man whose body was much older than his IC would suggest. He smoked like a chimney and ate and drank without concern, clearly not taking care of himself despite working a highly stressful job.

I hope the findings provided the wake-up call he needed to start taking better care of himself lest he be headed for an early grave.

The desire to be younger, or at least look younger, is a very strong urge that so many of us share. It powers a huge economy all on its own, and even gave rise to gerontology, a new field of science focused on all things to do with ageing.

I haven’t seen a gerontologist at any of our hospitals yet, though that could be due to my bad eyesight or forgetfulness. It’s a shame it’ll take them a while to rake in the millions earned by their peers in cosmetology or plastic surgery – gerontology patients keep forgetting their appointments!

In America there’s a billionaire who’s spending millions trying to attain the body of an 18-year-old even though he’s pushing 45. He even went to the extent of having blood plasma from his teenage son injected into him to see if that would help his cause.

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Given that most teenagers are filled with attitude, vanity and out-of-control hormones, I doubt his son would have enjoyed that much. But good luck to him as he tries to un-geront himself.

The end of this year will mark 40 years since I last smoked a cigarette. It’s one of the best things I ever did, and came after many an unsuccessful new year resolution to give up the nasty habit.

On the eve of 1984 I gave up on these stupid new year resolutions – they never work anyway – and went out for the usual fun and merriment celebrating the coming year, Orwellian undertones and all.

But when I woke up in the new year and looked at myself in the mirror. I didn’t like what I saw, and decided to stop smoking, cold turkey, just like that. I haven’t touched a single stick since.

The reason it is so difficult to quit is that no matter what our heads think, our hearts disagree. Smoking can be nice at certain times, like evenings spent with friends or when there’s stress that needs to be soothed.

It was more difficult to quit in those days because cigarettes were so cheap and you could smoke everywhere! I smoked in my office and only occasionally put down the cigarettes when near something hazardous, which my place of work actually had lots of.

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Quitting smoking is just about impossible until one gets one’s head and heart on the same page. “Pry my cigarettes from my cold, dead fingers” you’ll shout defiantly, even if, sadly, that’s often how it works out.

I actually helped a friend named Kawan (I kid you not) quit smoking after decades of attempts. The money he saved after a year was enough to pay for him and his wife to go on pilgrimage to India. Decades later, I still get a reminder from him every December about that.

There are many pieces of research that say older people are at the happiest point in their lives, and I agree. For many of us, most of life’s challenges – our careers, taking care of family and saving for retirement – are over and done with.

We may not have been perfect and we still worry and stress about money and health regardless of how old or well off we are, but we’ve reached a stage of quiet acceptance, savouring our victories and at peace with the defeats.

We watch the young ones – and those pretending to be young – with amusement. We exaggerate how brilliant the good times were and overblow the lows.

And we laugh at ourselves a lot, too.

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I don’t want to be young again. The world today is messy, stressful and packed with surprises, many of which aren’t pleasant. There’s less optimism than in the fifties and sixties, when we actually looked forward to a better tomorrow.

I wouldn’t mind having younger bones, joints and (before I forget) a better memory. I’ll happily accept sharper eyes and stronger teeth, too, or a back that doesn’t need medical attention all the time.

But would I copy that American billionaire and chase eternal youth? No! Some things are just not worth it. Agonising about growing old and fussing about every sign of deterioration is worse than actually growing old.

I’d rather do what I’m well qualified for in my advancing years – grow old disgracefully!

Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead! - FMT

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The views expressed are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect those of MMKtT.