Her movements, familiar. Her hair, lustrous. Her body, slim. Her face, recognisable, yet not. There were traces of a pretty young girl whom I thought I knew from years ago. I was doing my prayers in the temple, as I do every Tuesday, when I noticed this not so young lady prostrating outside one of the inner sanctums. The immediate thought that crossed my mind was she must have been pretty once. A head turner, but no more.

This is the rather sad but true fact. And, it happens to all of us.  Age. Yes. Age. It has a way of creeping up on us, slowly but surely. Despite the proverbial ticking clock, it’s still a bit of jolt to one day wake up, and be that older person. Familiar, yet not. 

I was young once. It may not be immediately apparent, but honestly I was. Young, that is. I used to have a hard time picturing old and older people including my parents and grandparents being young, attractive and vibrant. Now, it’s come full circle, and it’s biting me with a vengeance.

I remember I had dewy, soft skin. I was also bright eyed and wrinkle free. I hardly wore make-up, not even a touch of lipstick. And, hand combed my hair. An aspect of my ‘getting ready routine’ that my mum reminds me to this day. She used to marvel at how little time and care I invested in my appearance. Before, it didn’t take much to look reasonably alright. Or to be noticed. It was all quite effortless. A young face is an easy canvas to start and work with. Being young is an advantage, and a nice place to be. Truth to be told, I had my share of the clichéd 15 minutes of fame. No complaints. And, no desires for a re-run.

Then, age happens. And, gravity joins in and has a long, mocking laugh. Together they are a brutal combination. Particularly to the face. Meghan Trainor’s ‘All about the bass’ keeps playing on my mind. My version screams, ‘It’s all about the face.’ It changes. It’s different. And, not in a nice way. No longer young. No longer youthful. 

In its place, an older person with dry, tired and wrinkly skin. Unfortunately, this is the new-old face that looks back at me in the mirror. Nasolabial folds, jowls and crepey skin have taken over. A downturned mouth has developed making for a less than approachable and grumpier façade. That’s not all. Eye bags, dark circles and heavy hoods add to the less than friendly, dour mask. That said, south-facing is not necessarily everyone’s destiny. There are always some – the more fortunate – with the right genes, perfect diet, good skincare practice and a little help from cosmetic surgery, who manage to look pert and younger. Not youthful, but certainly younger than their biological age. Good for them.

I am now an Aunty in the Malaysian context. In my country, Aunty is a term not limited to a female relative. In fact, it’s a courteous way to address older women. Women, who are no longer young but not yet relics. It’s not gender biased at all. Older men, who are somewhat in the same age group as their female counterparts, are called Uncles. Quite interestingly, in many Indian sundry and saree shops, retail assistants make a call, usually spot on, on how to politely address female and male customers.  Based on appearance and demeanour, they would either call a customer – a younger sister or brother (thangachi or tambhi), an older sister or brother (aka or ana), an aunty or uncle (aunty or uncle – ironically, in English), mother (ama) and finally grandmother or grandfather (pati or tata).  I am an aunty, in the true sense of the word, as I have seven nieces and four nephews. I am also a grand aunt with four grandnieces and one grandnephew. My fate is pretty much sealed. Pati. Ouch.

Still, it’s laudable to eat healthier, exercise regularly and endeavour to remain fit and look young. The first three, I find slightly more doable with some effort but looking young or younger is less easy. Only because age literally stares me in my face, and worse, tells on me. Mirror… mirror…