I found another gray hair today!
There I was looking at myself, bleary-eyed, in the mirror at half-six in the morning. My eyes slowly panned to the left and I spot it. Right there. Just over my ear! Another strand of silvery gray hair. And in my head I was screeching, “May uban na naman! (I have another gray hair!)” I’m not vain…well, not overly vain (I don’t know why but now I can hear the song I Enjoy Being A Girl from the Flower Drum Song in my head!). I have my fair share of healthy vanity but I also have no illusions about how attractive I am. I look okay, but I don’t think you’d pick me out of a crowd.
There’s nothing like a gray hair spotting to drive home the point that I am aging.
I was in bed battling a flu-ey bug during the long Christmas weekend when it suddenly occured to me that I was turning thirty-five (and mouthing words the way Miranda does doesn’t help! I will be 3 and a half decades old in a matter of months!) in 2011. I look at myself (figuratively, of course, as I was in bed) and wonder if I had any maturity to show? If my choice of TV shows is anything to go by, you might think I was stuck in arrested development (I love watching Gossip Girl, and Hilary Duff movies are a guilty pleasure!). But then again, I don’t feel like I’m down with the kids anymore because I don’t like Justin Bieber, I have no idea what songs the Jonas brothers have sung, I’ve never watched any of the High School Musical movies and I have no idea who the new Disney kids are!
On the other hand, I still use Johnson & Johnson baby cologne. I’d rather have something cutesy on my screen saver than anything too serious. I don’t know if people see me and think, “Oh there goes a mature young woman!” (I don’t even know if I am still in that age bracket that qualifies being labeled as a “young woman”! How sad is that?!?) because I don’t feel mature most times. In fact, I feel very immature in most circumstances. I always find myself wondering what my mom or my Tita Bing would do. Surely if one was mature, one would be more sure-footed?
There are days when I feel like Peter Pan, not wanting to grow old. There are days when I feel like an ornery old lady (being irritated by the noisy, shrieky kids on the train) and there are days when I wonder if I’m ever going to grow up.
Can I actually say that the baby is now a lady?