When I Grow Old, I Want to Die Young
Everyone I’ve known young is getting old. I, too, will still get old.
When I get old, in my 80s/90s, I want to have a memory degenerative disease. The type that Anastasia grandmother (Anastasia Again by Lois Lowry) had.
I will get a nice revealing dress and put it on. Forgetting that my thighs are saggy and my boobs aren't standing any more.
I will put on make up as lightly as I usually do, not seeing the deep lines that have aged my face.
I won't bother contouring my nose 'cause I'd still think that it's small and pointed.
I'll do my normal lip combo and give a big smile at the reflection of a woman with smile lines, so deep you can fall into them. Yet, what I'll see would be a beautiful smile on a smooth face.
Then, I'll go downstairs to meet my husband, who would look well into his 30s.
His eyes are still dangerous
His smile is still arresting
His frame looking healthy and strong.
His stooping walk will look to me like a proud victorious soldier.
I'll have my eyes smile at him 'cause he makes me effortlessly happy.
If sadly, I outlived him.
I want to come out to the parlour, dressed and pretty.
Then, I'll sit waiting for him to come out and take me out like we agreed.
My grandchildren would ask me who I'm dressed for and I'll take a moment wondering why a family was living with me.
Why am I tolerating these people? And why are they showing me so much love and respect?
But because I'm kind to children, I'd politely answer, "My husband."
"But grandpa died years ago." The one with the sharp tongue will say.
Confusion will set into my head, 'cause who dafuq is grandpa and how does his death concerns me?
But I'll take a deep breath and tell them to leave me alone that I'm waiting for the love of my life.
I'll mutter under my breath, "children says the silliest things," glad that they have scurried away.
Then, I'll wait and wait and wait and wait untill it's dark and there's no sign of him.
The lady (my daughter) I live with, will get me ready for bed. She'll listen to me ask, "why are men like this? Today of all days! It's birthday! Today is about me. Yet, he chooses to do this to me? Why are men like this?" My eyes will flood the room.
Although he had never stood me up before, I'd still ask that question.
She'd squeeze my hand and agree with me that men are wicked. Then, I'd retire a heartbroken woman.
By morning, I'm up and happy, knowing that we have a date tonight for my birthday.
I'll get up to start my day but never see him anywhere. That will convince me that he's planning a special surprise for me.
Hopefully and happily, I'll slowly go on with my day.
By evening time, I'll start getting ready for our date. I'll giggle like a teenager, knowing that the surprise must be very huge for him to still not be home by then.
Then, I'll wait until the midnight to realize that I've been stood up.
Heartbroken and disappointed, I’ll go to bed to wake up excited because my brain had forgotten what happened yesterday... What had happened and that things have changed.
- I'm no longer young
- Infact, I'm old
- I'm living in an era different from mine.
- My hair has thinned out
- Everyday is not my birthday
This is cowardly thinking to escape my fear of old age. The same old age, I've lied to myself that I have embraced.
But it's so comforting to live in delulu while enjoying youth.
When old age comes, I trust it will be glorious and restive.
I'll be honest with you. I want to grow old but I don't want to age.
When I grow old, I want to see youth. When I grow old, I want to die young.
