It is said the only thing constant in life is change, and I guess with age that becomes truer.
As I begin my eighth decade, I should be facing some change. In terms of physical health, I’ve been rather lucky to have kept things at bay all this time. I’ve had no major surgeries and I still walk unaided—indeed I’m holding up better than expected.
I, of course, realize that I may have developed certain conditions that in time will have become preexisting once they surface, effects of bad habits and genetic predispositions, along with abuse and neglect over a lifetime. Dues are bound to be collected, although I don’t look forward to that; I’m more like hoping against hope.
In any case, just when I think I’ve known enough of life, aging comes to redefine everything. But how can one know really what’s exactly coming? This is for me, after all, uncharted territory, and the idea that physically this is as good as it gets or that things couldn’t get any better is not always easy to accept.
I used to feel consoled whenever I was warned that things were bound to get worse before they got better; not anymore. Things can get very bad, as I’ve seen around me.
Better alternative
Still, growing older is definitely, the better alternative to passing on, which rarely happens at a good time for anyone at any age. Health has become more important than money, and the worst thing for us is stress—and, may I add, heartaches.
Earlier this year, less than a month before my birthday, Taal volcano spewed smoke like a nuclear-bomb explosion. It gave me anxiety—and asthma, if it was that. Toxic ash was still in the air, clinging to roofs and trees, burying towns, erasing color from the landscape, wiping out stationary existence in its path. Its effects have been incredibly far and wide, and yet they have spared some nearby communities.
Going back home from Nasugbu, one of the lucky communities, via Tagaytay the other day, I saw the volcano for the first time after the explosion. It looked, well, ashen, and, if not for the thin trail of smoke it emitted, lifeless. I thought, I don’t want to end up like that, all spent with no proof of life, except breathing. The sight pained my sentimental heart. I’m only glad—as so many local and foreign tourists, are, too—to have enjoyed it in its time.
Speaking of travel, it has become even riskier, especially for us. Last September my husband and I, who discovered the real joys of travel much later in life—for him it was mostly work, for me as his companion—booked ourselves on a cruise eight months ahead, in May, on incredible promotional prices. We didn’t see the Wuhan virus coming, and it’s still not showing any signs of easing. And with Schengen visas given for just about as long as the quarantine period, traveling could prove not only dangerous, but all in all a great hustle.
Force majeure
The cruise company, at our travel agent’s request, agreed to hold our deposit for another cruise, but not after September this year. The airline has agreed as much. Everyone is presuming, of course, that by then the virus would have been controlled. I hope the cruise companies and the airlines realize that this constitutes force majeure and that we are in the highest-risk bracket. We may just ask for a refund. The travel industry will certainly take a hit, along with other related businesses, as countries begin to restrict people’s movement. It could also mean the end of the pleasures of travel as we’ve known them.
The good thing about the whole situation is people are seeing the close connection between good health and personal and public hygiene. This awareness is bound to change our behavior in shared public places, especially toilets. Here is where I take my hat off to the Japanese.
For some time now, they have been wearing masks in public when they have a cold. They also have the habit of bringing their own small towels to save on paper, to dry their hands in public toilets. Just when we’re slowing down we need to catch up in many ways with the Japanese and the rest of the civilized world.
Increasingly, this is becoming more and more a strange and disaster-prone world. I’ve seen too many disasters in my lifetime to not feel incumbent upon me to advise everyone, young or old, to be prepared; natural disasters are also getting harder and harder to predict.
Emergency measures
Every home should have an emergency survival bag for each member of the household containing water, batteries, flashlight, canned goods, dried foods and supplies, and, with this new virus, hand sanitizers, 70-percent alcohol. It is also best to have one such bag in the car. Of course, we may have to replace some items, from time to time. I never believed in doomsday predictions, never thought I’d advocate such emergency measures as to somehow incite fear. But better safe than sorry.
Preparing for disaster is one thing, but there are things one can never be prepared for, because they are difficult to come to terms with—the loss of a loved one, a life-changing surgery, dementia, a reversal of fortune, or a broken relationship. I do have role models to draw inspiration from, but that won’t make it any easier. I see myself described by William Arthur Ward: “The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts the sails.”
I can be all three, but end up adjusting my sails all the same.