I don’t see why there should be a point where everyone decides you’re too old. I’m not too old, and until I decide I’m too old I’ll never be too f**king old. – Lemmy Kilmister
I am 28. Indian. Female. I am called Amrita. I don’t know what that means to you. I am not quite sure what it means to me either. I presume it will take me a lifetime to find out. And even then, I might not have a clue.
I have visual aids below to help you in forming an opinion. Of course, you don’t need to form an opinion. You are free to think what you think, and not think at all, if that’s what you choose. Nobody can tell you what to do. Nevertheless, here are two recent photographs. One is when I was made up for a wedding, the other when I felt tired and a little bit ill at the end of the day.
Made up your mind yet? I’ll let you take your time. Although, I must point out that your opinion might be corrupted if you’ve been a reader of this blog. You may not have known the above details. You might have read the thoughts of someone, and pictured them completely different in your head. You may even find it hard to associate these details with that previous impression you had of this Of Opinions blogger. Even if the two sets of information may appear jarring, incongruent, you’re still leagues ahead of most humans that come in contact with this blogger who is called Amrita. Most humans already make up their mind about her as an entity even before she gets to share half the details she has shared with you today.
There is no need to beat around the bush anymore – women cease to be relevant after a certain age. It depends more on how you look than how old you actually are, but you are old when society decides you are old. I suppose there is an explanation for this based on the theory of evolution. My unscientific conclusion is, no matter what you have to offer as a human being, if you haven’t procreated roughly by the age of twenty-five, you haven’t done enough for our species. Even though you have ten years or more left to able to do so, and the choice not to contribute at all (which should be acceptable in an overpopulated planet), your fertility is of subliminal concern to anybody you come in contact with.
I went to a five-year-old’s birthday party recently. We played with toy cars, had cake, wore party hats. Other adults were also involved, who took my innocuous participation as an opportunity to point out I am a “big baby” and that the party hat makes me look younger. Ladies, I am not about to suggest kids’ party hats as an anti-aging product. But, while I am used to such ageism and sexism, from both men and women, on a daily basis, this particular instance made me really mad.
I’ve never been a misanthrope. I care about people. I like to spend time with them, to know their likes and dislikes, dreams and concerns. And I am great. With people. I’ll risk saying it even if it sounds like bragging. But, they’ve been getting at me for a while now. Every f**king person it seems has to point out I am running out of something. Of what? Of time? Aren’t they? Am I the only one getting older, the only one who hasn’t ticked all the boxes society expects them to tick? Is the rest of the world filled with highly accomplished foetuses?
It’s not easy. When you suffer from asthma, hypothyroidism, chronic joint pain, anxiety and depression. It’s a struggle everyday to keep your chin up. And it really doesn’t take me much to be happy. I can be under the spell of a song for days. Watching a sunset. Cracking jokes with a friend. Ordinary things, not climbing Mount Everest or winning the lottery. I can be happy, and it appears there isn’t a sight more unbearable to humanity, which is why they take it upon themselves to do something about it.
And I know it’s not going to get any easier. There will be new reasons everyday, every year, for as long as I live, for people to find fault with my existence. I cannot decide to not let it bother me. It will bother me, especially when I have to deal with the physiological changes related to aging as a female human (currently, it’s slow metabolism). However, in a world where there are already such atrocities and unpleasantness on a vast scale, how can I logically offend with a double chin?
How has aging been treating you?