My Teenage Señorita was teenage no more about a couple of years ago. Last month, she gave birth to an amazing baby boy. Making me a Lolo already even before I reach the golden age of 50.
Time is so much like a dream. A lot of events unfold in just one slumber.
Is it crucial to act like a granpappy now? Or is it cool not to.
I remember when:
I used to mark walls to keep track of my height; the years coated them all.
I used to ask silly life questions; now I have practical death questions.
I used to fear speaking on the phone; now I just don’t like talking.
I used to love MTV. Now I despise television.
I believe, then, the future is not real. The future is here and now.
To measure the speed of time, one only needs to see how quick things have turned from mundane to reminiscent. The sound of dial-up internet, for example.
A dial-up tone from someone’s mobile phone caught my attention one day. It brought me ten years back, to 2008. When connection speed was at snail’s pace; when internet seemed a rare special privilege; when I started “Malate” on Day One with this first ever shameless post.
From travel blog to informative to travel cum street photography. Ten blogging years is a long time.
Ten in dog years is a lifetime.
Ten years is longer than The Beatles’ lifespan.
Ten years is harmless when — like age — it does not matter. If age is time travel, what matters is how slow or fast one takes the trip.
As to how fast I have time-traveled, I turn to this Pinoy tradition of kissing hands:
When I was a little boy, we used to kiss the hands of our elders, Lolo and Lola, Titos and Titas. As customary show of respect. We greet “Mano po.”
This time, it’s my turn to hold out my hand to the young!
In Iriga city, this practice is very much alive. And regularly observed even to old folks outside the family. So that at the kiddie school where my Cereal Killer goes to, his classmates would — as expected — reach up to make the traditional gesture.
Trouble is, today, even the teachers would walk up to me and do the same. Dios mio.
I hold my hair responsible for this confusion. They have misrepresented my age. While the black ones recede, the rest turns to gray.
Ten more years and I’d look like Gollum.