(h)old

I know I am getting old. And not because of my cholesterol or blood pressure—I’m quite lucky that way (for now).

I know because when the person sitting behind me in the plane started pushing my seat with what I could only assume to be his knees, I breathed deeply, relaxed more and thought this is more taxing to him that it is to me, there is no way he could keep it up till touchdown. True enough, he gave up after less than five minutes—five minutes that probably felt like forever to him.

I know because I have sleepless nights thinking about retirement—even when I’m not even middle age. Maybe this is not old age but paranoia, but this concern did not keep me up during my teens—or twenties.

I know because I’d rather stay home and hang out with my sister than go to the mall and people watch. I still like doing that, but I’d rather get to know the person my sister is becoming—a patient mother, devoted wife and a very mature woman while remaining a thoughtful daughter and kind and generous sister.

I know because I catch myself saying that’s too sweet not only to dessert, but also drinks.

I know because when going out of town, I had become interested in bringing back local produce.

I know because the term open house sounds fun to me.

I know because more and more, I want to spend time with my loved ones because I now truly recognise that nothing lasts forever.