Ageing reveals itself in unusual ways. I vividly recall my youth, oh, how I used to be hip.
My mother was appalled at how I jigged around at discos (remember them?). She also disapproved when I wore miniskirts, sometimes teamed with boots in sweltering Singapore(!) and ate at restaurants that served bloody steaks, gamey lamb and raw fish.
She wouldn’t abide by any of it. And rigidly kept to her daily lunches of only Peranakan food and perhaps, an occasional blow-out on vaguely Western meals on Sundays when my father took over the kitchen.
She wore a cheongsam daily when she went to work and perhaps donned a sarong kebaya for festive occasions, birthdays and weddings.
I dismissed her habits as eccentricities and constantly lectured her on her wardrobe choices that made her look like a bible lady, I rudely told her!
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Ageing into my mother
Credit: Sylvia Tan
Now in my 70s, with my hair left to grey, I have grown into my mother.
I am called aunty by younger folks who give up their seats to me on public transport. Supermarket checkout staff automatically ask me for my Pioneer card when I check out at the counter. And I go for regular medical checkups to confirm that I am fit enough to drive. Yes, I am now officially a senior.
And, ageing has its “benefits”.
I have to slowly unfold my limbs when I get up from sitting or sleeping, as it is no longer an easy painless effort, thanks to the loss of muscle mass and strength.
I encounter an increasing number of senior moments, reaching back into my brain for that name I know I know or a particular word that I am searching for to use.
And yes, I yearn for a time less demanding when cash was still king, instead of hassling with passwords, clicking and flicking screens in my effort to do online payments.
I look back to the good old days when I was in better control of things. I didn’t have to peer to read the instructions of anything!
Ageing tastebuds gravitates back to comfort
A good day now often starts sitting down to a meal of local comfort food, a bowl of noodles perhaps, chye tow kway (fried carrot cake) or freshly deep fried yu tiao (dough sticks).
And I am not the only one: my 81-year-old brother will now only eat at Asian restaurants. A girl friend complains that her husband declares that his best meal is plain porridge with fried whitebait fish. He will even cook it himself. He will not go out. She is forced to settle for meals at home, cooked by the helper.
Speaking of rice, some are rigid about their rice choices. I have friends worrying about increasing levels of blood sugar as they age but still refusing to cut their rice intake or even change their bowl of jasmine rice for low glycemic basmati rice.
For some of us, eating a meal cannot go on without at least a mouthful of rice. Years of being brought up in an Asian household leaves indelible marks and that’s not just in predictable food choices.
The implications of firmly-held food preferences are enormous if you are married. Those rooted comfortably in a long marriage, may complain of partners who just will not go out for any reason. They refuse to even try out a new dish.
Those with other-race partners find that they now must cope almost daily with different, even alien diets from the partners’ childhood as both grow older. Those with Caucasian spouses, for example, find themselves facing regular meals of mash, sausages, baked beans, creamed soups, or pates and smelly cheeses if the spouses are French!
We forget how difficult it can be to adapt to new eating habits if we were not brought up on them.
I also noticed that I am reverting to established Asian norms in other ways. I find it hard to dine in someone else’s home these days, for example, without bringing a door gift. And it cannot be a bunch of flowers, because they do not last. What a waste!
Credit: Sylvia Tan
Diminishing physical abilities inevitably also restrict the choices we make, like it or not.
We all know of peers who do not drive at night. They either can’t see, confused by the bright headlights and flashing traffic lights on the road or can’t be bothered to locate new places, finding the GPS too complicated.
Or else, they may even disagree with the GPS routes suggested as they drive through neighbourhoods that have become completely unrecognisable as familiar landmarks disappear and new roads appear.
Creative solutions for household peace
Like old slippers, old habits are comfortable to slip into. Which is why many older couples revert to early nights, eating dinner in front of the TV set instead of making conversation as the danger of arguments may arise.
Worse, some even watch their own programmes in their own space: in the bedroom for one and in the living room for the other. No quarrel over the choice of show. One friend came up with a novel way of spending their nights together: they read up and then discuss a current affairs topic after dinner, though that may not be everyone’s cup of tea.
Yet not all is dire: there is real comfort in routine. There is nothing more comfortable than settling back into daily, weekly or monthly routines. No need to crack your heads on what to do or eat. And if you make it a point to catch up with friends, you can, like others I know, organise bridge or gin rummy games regularly. Social contact is after all supposed to ward off dementia.
The other day, some cousins marked the death anniversary of their dear dad with his favourite foods, which included fried eggs with dark soya sauce and babi tauyu (braised pork in dark soya sauce). How heartwarming and how homespun can you get?
And how many of us would opt for it if we were really honest with ourselves?
