I know i am a senior citizen when:
I forget to bring my senior citizen’s card. If I do bring my senior citizen’s card, it’s always a photocopy because I have already lost the original twice, and which fortunately had been found by good souls—like the radio dzRH “Operation Tulong” taxi driver who took it to my house after announcing the matter over the radio.
The cashier at the supermarket waits for me to extend my palm before she hands my change and then counts aloud as she gives it to me.
Young people tend to ignore me when I enter a restaurant, while customers with white hair notice me and even smile at me.
The order-takers at fast-food chains always ask me if I want orange, tea or light cola—not expecting me to order regular Coke, which I prefer.
Waiters stare worriedly at me across the buffet table when I partake of the “lechon” and the “kare-kare.”
Doctors tell me not to eat foods that are sweet, salty, oily, saucy, or those with seeds, and a lot of others that make life enjoyable—leaving me to wonder what on earth is there left for me to eat.
I encounter a lot of strange relatives when I go out. Vendors, taxi drivers and bus conductors for instance, call me “Lola” [Grandma] even though I have just dyed my hair medium brown.
The little boy who answers my telephone call to a friend’s house exclaims, “Lola! Where are you?” upon hearing my voice which probably sounds like his grandmother’s.
I am delighted whenever I get to read the nostalgic articles written by Behn Cervantes in the Inquirer.
I am regaled by Tia Dely’s late-night weekend radio programs where I get to hear such hits as “Lawiswis Kawayan,” “Ang Bakya Mo Neneng” and “Ang Pipit.” And I can listen for hours to the other radio programs that feature old-time hits such as “Bluebird of Happiness” and “Ramona.”
My housemates are wary about letting me put things away for fear that they would have to ransack several rooms should I fail to recall where I put them.
My little grandson refers to my makeup paraphernalia as “Lola’s disguise kit.”
People are surprised to see me texting skillfully (I developed the skill to economize on voice calls) and those who have not met me but receive my messages with the usual texting lingo—gud am or gud pm; bdw for by the way, “w8 for wait, 2moro for tomorrow, 4get for forget, syl as in see you later, smiley sign, “copy,” etc., are surprised when they see me afterwards in person.
I am able to easily fend off persistent credit card agents and other promo salespeople, such as those following shoppers around the mall, by declaring my age to them. (Septuagenarians are often no longer eligible.)
I get to call our maid by a different name.
I run the risk of taking my once-a-day pills twice, my twice-a-day pills once, or totally forget taking any of them unless I put them in the pillboxes (marked S M T W T F S, signifying the days of the week) sent to me by my sister in the United States.
I receive telephone calls in the wee hours of the morning from fellow insomniacs who have just had a snack or have just gone to the bathroom and can’t manage to go back to sleep.
After dialing somebody’s telephone number, I cannot recall who it is I’m calling.
First time visitors to our house ask me, “Who is that?” upon seeing my portrait on the living room wall.
Upon hearing a song, say “Tennessee Waltz,” I can picture in my mind the image of the singer but I cannot utter her name (Patti Page).
I receive calls from co-forty-niners who engage me in lengthy reminiscences about our high school days and then say “Thank you for calling” before putting down the phone, leaving me to wonder as to who initiated the call.
I find myself waiting anxiously (at times with a vague feeling of uncertainty) to be picked up by my son whom I used to fetch regularly after his kindergarten classes and who himself became anxious whenever I would be late.
My neighbors are not scandalized when friends drop me off at our gate late at night. (I hitch rides with friends occasionally after attending high school reunions, “balikbayan” parties, etc., where we sometimes have emotional goodbyes.)
When provoked, I am tempted to answer, “Tatanda rin kayo!” [You too will grow old!] (But I don’t, because that would be rubbing it in.)
I am in a hurry to get something in the kitchen but I can’t remember what it is when I get there.
There are times when the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.
I am getting to be an expert in getting 40 winks while sitting down anytime, anywhere.
I forget to follow Deepak Chopra’s advice never to say: “I’m too old for that!”
There’s one thing I never forget to do, however. It is to pray day and night to the Lord and thank Him for my bonus years.
Priscilla Gonzalez-Avenir, 77, is a retired teacher, textbook author and freelance writer.
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