how to age well
Manila, 27 May—Earlier this week, I had a dream. It had Sarah Michelle Gellar on it, and she was supposedly starring in a Netflix reboot of her iconic Buffy the Vampire Slayer series. In it, she was already older—the Slayer called out of retirement, just as she was getting the hang of living her life out as a civilian, again.
The pilot's monster was one that stopped time, and I remember Buffy meditating on the passage of time, ageing, and death, and I thought it was perfect, how Buffy, the Chosen One who's had to stare death in the face for a living for the better part of her youth, now had to wrestle with her own mortality.
It made perfect sense in my dream, kind of like I was writing a thoroughly thought-out Buffy futurefic in my head (and hey, I wouldn't put this past myself), but THEN I realized that the series brought back RILEY as her boyfriend. It made perfect sense until that bit (haha) because what the fuck, it's 2018, hindi pa ba natin kaya ang pairing nila ni Faith? Hahaha.
Lately, I've been thinking about getting old, and I think this is a Good Thing, because just last year I was unable to see past the next few days or weeks. So definitely, being able to think about getting old is a good thing. It means I'm back to seeing the future again.
The other day, I got wind of Ed Lingao's callout post for Bobi Tiglao, and it delivered the harshest, most savage burn I have ever read:
"You have failed to age well."
Oh damn. Think about it: You're 60-something, approaching 70, and you're looking back at your storied life as a journalist or lawyer or politician or some other professional.
You start off the way most graduates do: Idealistic, hardworking, ready to be the change you want to see in the world.
And then, some years along the way you either get your footing, or get lost; either you are eaten up by the system, or maybe you forge your own path. Whichever way you choose, you just go that way and go that way for years and years—chipping away at life, one day at a time, until you realize you've hit retirement or some other professional end-point, and just like that, you realize that for better or for worse, you've come a long way. And you might as well be done.
Standing there, you think about whether the years have at least amounted to something. Some people count in terms of cars or houses or countries visited; some in terms of their children's accomplishments; still others evaluate in terms of postgraduate certificates, professional accolades, or some other similar metric.
I've been thinking about what metric to measure my life with when that time comes for me. In the absence of cars or real estate or children, I think I'm just going to stick with the basics:
I'm going to age well.
I'm not sure though how exactly to do this; I don't know if it's enough to do your best, or love really hard, or be kind. But for now that's how my list looks like.
When I was at my lowest, it felt a lot like I was swimming underwater with my eyes closed; these days it still feels like I'm swimming to keep afloat, but now I have my head above the water, the sun in my face, and my eyes on the shore.