I don’t hide my ‘old’ age, but I refuse to be defined by it
The last decades of our lives may see inevitable physical decline, but can also be a period of joyous discovery.
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The writer undertook her first real hiking and camping trip at the age of 57, where she kept pace with younger hikers.
ST PHOTOS: CHUA MUI HOONG
My mother was 40 when she had me. When I was growing up, I always saw her dressed in what I identified as “ah ma” clothes – long polyester trousers and blouses in dark-coloured prints, with a collar, short sleeves, and pockets on both sides, one for her handkerchief, the other for her purse.
She never wore capri pants, let alone bermudas, and I never saw her in shorts, a swimsuit or exercise gear. To me back then, 50 was old, the age when life has passed you by; your own needs and desires have faded and you live largely for your children, or family, or God or some other Big Purpose.
