Getting Old

Lately, I have been reading about brain power, how we can manifest the things we want, and, unconsciously, the things we don't want, with the use of our mind. For instance, our body reacts to what the mind dwells on. If we dwell on good health, that is what we'll mostly have. But if we dwell on being sick, although the cause may not be organic in nature, we'll often feel indisposed.

I rarely had any major colds last year. Once I feel that a cold is coming, I will immediately go into my meditative stance, and imagine all those anti-bodies attacking the viruses. And if that doesn't do the trick, I just take my ever-reliable Pey Pa Kua. I believe this is why I did not have the sniffles.

The other night, I helped my daughter on her homework. She was working on "the nose", its structure, functions, and ailments. I got our thick American Health Handbook, looked at the index, and turned to the page where all of the answers can be found. The book said that the common problem of the nose is the common cold (thus, the word "cold" Ű). I read that children are very susceptible to colds, but as one gets older, one gets it less often.

Diyosmiyo! So, that's the reason why I'm not getting the colds. It's not because I had the power to visualize, but it's because I am getting old. And I thought my hair is turning white because it's in our genes.

An email once circulated the Internet describing the different circumstances a man goes through his life. It said that as a young man, he had the time and the energy, but not the money. Once he is working, he has the money and the energy, but not the time. When he retires, he has the money and the time, but not the energy.

Now, I understand what mid-life crisis means: I don't have the time, the money, and the energy....AND I'M PANICKING!

I'm shocked when I learn that most of my co-employees were born when I was applying for a job. And I get depressed when I realize that the Math problem (In how many years will Danny be twice as old as Rose?) is actually happening to me.

Several years ago, I took a job of teaching grade school students. I almost accused one student of lying because he wrote '1990' as the year of his birth. I thought then that people born in the 90's were still drinking milk from the bottle. I couldn't imagine advising them about their problems on love. I met him recently, and he's now in second year college, taking up Computer Science. In a couple of years, we could become co-workers.

Of course, there are benefits of getting old. I'm easily forgiven if I tend to forget some things, like the name of a friend, my car keys, or wearing pants going to the office. I get to enter the elevator first. Co-workers respect me, not because of my position or my abilities, but because of the color of my hair. In fact, it becomes a conversation piece (Colleague: "Your have a lot of white hair." Me: "That's a sign of wisdom." Colleague: "I hope so.")

Then, there are the disadvantages. I hate it when some new employee hold me when we're crossing the street or kiss my hand during Christmas parties. And I'm not called Iho anymore, but Tito. I dread the day when they'll call me Lolo. That'll be the sign that I'm about to retire.

The other day, my daughter was watching the cartoon series "Totally Spies". I overheard one character say, "It's not how old you are, it's how you are when you're old." Sometimes, cartoons can be so educational.

There is a saying "Beautiful young people are acts of nature; beautiful old people are works of art." Nature was not good to me, but, at least, I can still be an art work. And with the life-expectancy of males pegged at 72 years, with the help of God, I still have almost thirty years to mold this person into one of His masterpieces.