Buds of Spring and the Fading Glory

When I was a child, I loved to walk with my mother because she was the embodiment of what a wonderful mother should be – nurturing, encouraging and supportive. But most of all I felt proud because she looked young for her age and friends and strangers would always admire her and the secret to her youthful countenance was well kept. She would sometimes fear the day when she would look very old and she told me she intended to hide away in a small town so that people would always  remember her as the one who had consumed the elixir of youth.

Wrinkles and sagging skin are not welcomed friends but like it or not, they are here to stay. Since the beginning of time the race against ageing and the effects of gravity on the body seem to preoccupy the human brain. This has resulted in the widespread use of  miracle creams, botox, quick-fix formulas and cosmetic surgery when we are no longer comfortable in our own skin.

I overheard a man who had just turned 40 lamenting that the end of his youth had arrived and I wondered how he would react when he turned 50. The last time I was in Kuala Lumpur, I was amused to see that the young were everywhere – in the shopping malls, amusement parks, on the roads and in colleges. I wondered what happened to the not-so-young and the responses to my query were: the not so young were out working hard for the young or were staying at home minding the children of the young.

Having lived in the Irish countryside for a while now I find that the demographic profile is certainly very different. We have young parents, school children and a huge matured crowd of people within the age range of 40 – 99. The interesting thing is that there is a plethora of  activities and clubs that cater for the more matured crowd. There are singing, acting, voice training and painting classes. There are clubs for trekking, knitting, sewing, cooking and reading. Then there are ladies clubs that organise movie trips and outings while the men go fishing.

As women have the tendency to outlive men, I see elderly ladies hobbling along to supermarkets and to parks all very independently with minds as sound as a bell. Every time I talk to them I am amazed at their memory power and their keenness for details! The men who have retired offer their services in the DIY department for a fee. So it is not surprising to see a former fireman turn chimney sweep and a former manager turn electrician.

So why are we upset about the ageing process when it happens the moment we are born?

One of the first instances when we realise that we have crossed over to the more senior side is when others start calling us uncle or aunty or mak cik or pak cik. It is when our nieces and nephews have shot up and we seem to have shrunk in comparison.

Sure, it is a nuisance to have to constantly touch up the annoying grey hair roots. It is unpleasant to have diminished eyesight, aches and pains and  temporary amnesia which we call ‘senior moments’. It is embarrassing to not being able to find the things that you could have sworn you did keep them safely away. It’s all a bit sad, isn’t it?

Hilary Clinton in dealing with ageing says, ‘ I feel so  relieved to be at the stage I’m at in my life right now. Because you know if I want to wear my glasses I’m wearing my glasses. If I want to wear my hair back I’m pulling my hair back. You know at some point it’s just not something that deserves a lot of time and attention. And if others want to worry about it, I let them do the worrying for a change.’

We can learn much from the seasons. Winter is almost gone now and the buds of spring are starting to show. Ageing is like winter, another season of our lives. Ageing in the wisdom of our experiences and achievements is an earned privilege which is more than a glowing complexion or a body that makes heads turn. It is waking up knowing that despite an increasing waist line or droopy bat wings, I am still alive and  my brain is ticking.

And as I celebrate my birthday next week I know this is the springtime of my life.

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/buds-of-spring-and-the-fading-glory-1.260462

The rewards of delayed gratification

For the whole of March, I enjoyed looking at the confectionery aisle in any supermarket. Why? Because the shelves were literally filled with chocolate bunnies, chocolate chicks and chocolate eggs in anticipation of the mad rush to purchase them for the Easter celebration. There were chocolate eggs of various sizes, all prettily wrapped in foil. Some were filled with marzipan or crème. I could not take my eyes off a giant 10kg chocolate egg that was the ultimate prize for a raffle draw. Truth be told, I never saw or tasted huge chocolate eggs or chicks till I was well into adulthood, mainly because there were none sold during those days. I could only read about them in Enid Blyton’s books and they sounded scrumptious.

The earliest memory of a chicken and egg experience was when I was seven. I remember my father coming back from a night market and telling me excitedly that he had seen this toy chicken that clucked, pushed a pram of chicks and laid eggs simultaneously. Talk about the female sex multi tasking even in those days.

The metal chicken was run by batteries and once activated it could go round and round or walked in a straight line. The way my father described the RM6.00 toy was as if it was the greatest invention that had finally landed in clockwork town.

The next day, my father brought me to the same peddler. I had to see it for myself and I knew I must have the chicken. My father said the chicken was too expensive and I could have a packet of ‘kuaci’ (dried melon seeds eaten as a snack) instead.  However, he went on to say that if I could secure any of the top three positions in the upcoming final exam, then the chicken would be mine. If I achieved the fourth or fifth position, then the reward would be a RM2 story book from Radin Bookstore on Jalan Rahmat in Batu Pahat. There would be no rewards for any other position after that.

Thinking back, what my father had inculcated in me was a semblance of delayed gratification. Delayed gratification is the ability to resist the temptation for an immediate reward and to wait for a later and usually better reward. I was basically brought up to live within my means, to buy only with cash for all items except a house and a car, to buy first hand goods because they last longer and finally whatever I yearned for but could not afford was not necessary.

Interestingly enough, a growing body of literature has linked the ability to delay gratification to a host of other positive outcomes, including academic success, physical health, psychological health and social competence.

The Stanford Marshmallow experiment (1972) led by psychologist Walter Mischel found that children who were able to wait 15 minutes for two small rewards (a marshmallow and a pretzel or cookie) rather than taking one small reward (a marshmallow) immediately tended to have better life outcomes as measured by SAT scores, academic success, body mass index and other life measures. The ability to delay gratification also relates to other similar skills like patience, impulse control, determination and will power.

Yet, when I look around me now, I see scores of children and teenagers with I-phones, I-pads and the latest gizmos. The order of the day seems to be: ‘I want this, get it for me now’ and before long you will see doting parents or guardians rushing to buy the latest gadget in the market for the child even though his birthday is months away. The irony is some of these parents had an impoverished childhood themselves but not wanting to see the child suffer like they did, begin to over-indulge instead, and pander to the child’s every whim and fancy. I know a father who lives a simple life as a security guard with two good shirts but his son wears designer shirts and shoes.

To me, nothing beats the satisfaction of delayed gratification. Knowing that you want something very badly, working towards achieving it and finally getting it is great fulfilment. When someone buys something for you, you get a gift. When you work hard for a gift, you get character and a gift.

So I remember very well those evenings where I would just lie flat with my tummy on the linoleum covered floor for a good many hour and watch my chicken push her pram, lay eggs and cluck merrily in the process.

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/the-rewards-of-delayed-gratification-1.249926