Every birthday brings an end to a year of events. The memory scrapbook becomes thicker. The blank pages seem to lessen. When really young, a birthday is a celebration of growing older; when older, it is the dread of growing older.
Each year, a number begins to subtly suggest expected behaviour; a social norm of how we ought to. Most of us are often trapped in this norm and make conscious changes in all that we do. Dress, talk, smile, laugh, sit, walk, food, drink, and such. More often than not, when we see a stranger and for whatever reason we need to guess the stranger’s age, we will, without obviously knowing it, determine age using factors beyond the sagging skin or the white hair. The make-up as it were. There is more than just taut skin which gives away (or hides) true age.
Age, the wise have said, is what is in your head and what you want it to be. If you want to be 25, you can be 25 all your life if you choose to be. The body may slowly choose to grow old faster than your mind, yet your true age will be only a factor of how old you really want to be.
I have seen people getting older faster than they should; young, lively people full of energy, sapped because they need to grow old. Sober, it is also called (not related to sobriety related to the drink).
Some are friends
Some are old
I feel left behind
A few are younger
I feel old
We are all the same age
We are generations apart
Separated by a few years
What will happen on your next birthday? Will you succumb the question of, “how old are you?”