The elderly and the beautiful

When is it that we stop expecting our life to change anymore ? Is it the moment when the grey streaks in our hair go beyond counting? Or perhaps, when the wrinkles of age start getting denser than the illumination of being alive? Is it the time when we accumulate regrets faster than the blessings and our tears fall without rhyme or reason as we slowly begin to understand what it is to live; what it is to laugh and what it is to be free of illness?

I have wondered about my impending old age and what would the word elderly mean to me as I am approaching those years. It has always scared me a bit.  Will I give up procrastination as time will no longer be a luxury? Will I give up being judgmental as those never do any good except delaying the realization that each one of us is unique and equally alive? I hope I will realize that my wrinkles and an arched back are not a sign of giving up but of a humble and accepting attitude. I hope I will smile at the surprises of life and not worry about why my actual life does not match the graph I had planned and something positive has uprooted in the process.

In today’s world while everyone seems to be in a race of looking and feeling young; do we have any hope for the elderly, the old? Do we realize that one of these days, not far away – we’ll be lonely, ill and depressed because our society has a concept of beauty that only crawls at the surface?

I wish to feel beautiful even as I struggle to speak; pull out my dentures and eat only pills for my breakfast. I wish I am able to draw enough strength from my experiences and my self that I relish every moment of being alive. I wish I become aware of every little movement, every heartbeat, every breath before it all stops. I wish we all work towards it so that our society is cognizant of our essence as humans who are mindful; who prefer meaningful silence over noise or value experience and wisdom over outer beauty.

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