33 I had some Hope and Now I’m 49

 

A few weeks ago, I got reminded that in November of 2007, I wrote a piece called “17 I HAD A BETTER DREAM, NOW I'M 33,” in which I tried to talk about how I had moved from being a dreamy 17-year-old to a slightly more cynical adult at 33. It then occurred to me that quite a few years had passed since then and I in a matter of year, I’ll be turning 50 and one can legally call me “middle-aged.”

It's potentially a scary milestone particularly if you haven’t stashed away any money (which I haven’t really) and you might have a few health issues coming up. I use the word “scary” because as much as Singapore claims to be an “Asian Society” that respects the elderly, we actually dispose of the elderly. If you’re patient enough to wait till office hours are over and the beautiful people have gone home, you’re bound to see the elderly collecting tin-cans so that they can earn a few cents to buy a cup of coffee (apparently, some clever minister called it “exercise”). Whilst 50 is not “elderly” per se (as in you can still move), it’s the age where employers start thinking of you as an inconvenience whatever your productivity and healthcare insurers try to price you out of a life (as a reference point, my hospitalization plan was $100 a year and then jumped to $500 a year the day I turned 40).  

The more the government talks about its generosity towards the “Pioneer,” “Merdeka” and other generations, the reality for most of us is that old age in Singapore equates to a glorious career in cardboard box collecting.

So, what can you do about it? I guess the options are simple. Deny the fact that you’ve reached a certain age and encourage Singapore’s legion of Mummy’s Boys and Daddy’s girls who have the physical presence and energy of a 90-year-old (which is actually unfair to 90-year-olds, if my stepdad is anything to go by) and contain the worldly knowledge of a five-year-old (which is unfair to five-year-old's – I remember Christopher at that age) to look like their genuinely attracted to you in return for you pushing buttons on the washing machine when the maid hired by Mummy or Daddy gets that one day of legislated rest.

Alternatively, you can enjoy being a certain age and revel in it. Much to the horror of one of my newest (within the last year) and better friends, I actually take enough pride to splash all over social media, the fact that I spent my Sunday night moving close to a hundred boxes of documents from one storage room to another on my own. His reaction was “Dude – shouldn’t you want to move up.” He has however, supported by Facebook page called “ObeseMiddle-Aged Man” where my delusions of being active are posted.

 

 Me in a warehouse on a Sunday night.

He’s a young man with ambition and I get what he’s saying. I get that money is important and so I persevere in my corporate job whilst looking for hustles. Like it or not, I need a “Kill” or two if I am to avoid a career in cardboard box collection. Yes, as I push 50, I understand that money is important and I understand I’m out of the “high-flyer” corporate or civil service career. So, since the accepted path of success is out for me, I need to find different ways. Ironically, it was my 27-year-old godson and intern who reminded me that Colonel Sanders was in his 60s when KFC came about.

Whilst pushing into “Middle-Age” can be scary, its also exciting. On the physical front, I’m actually OK and ironically, being told that some form of daily exercise was medically non-negotiable, pushed me into taking my personal fitness seriously. At 49, nobody thinks I’m pregnant, which was what a 7-year-old kiddo once thought when I was 32 (she patted my tummy and said “32 babies.”). Probably not going to achieve my personal goal of being shredded by 50 because I do fall into temptation (I’ve had beer nights after sprint nights) but I actually feel better at 49 than I did at 39 or even 29 where beer night was limited by finances and sprint nights didn’t exist.

The other “exciting” thing about pushing into middle-age, is that I have something I never had – clarity. I have a better idea of what I want and don’t want. It’s clear to me that I detest sitting at a desk and staring at a screen. I don’t want to get excited by spreadsheets. So, I gladly accept assignments that take me away from the desk and heavy lifting at work saves me the need to carve out time to work out. I don’t want to give up time for friends and family to work on senseless things or for people I know to be evil.

More importantly, this clarity gets especially clear when it comes to the people I want in my life. With the exception of an angel with a host psychosis, I have a pretty clear idea of what certain people in my life can and cannot do. I have a better idea of the people I want in my life and with the exception of a neurotic angel (someone who is disruptive in every sense of the word but at the same time miraculously creates happy coincidences). I have a young man who actually gives me guidance. I have someone around my age who shares my passion for food and brings out the softer side of me.

So, as I push 50, I’m actually feeling more confident about things. Yes, many things could go wrong. The world is volatile but I believe I’m better prepared to accept it. So, while I had hope at 33, I’m now 49 and actually clearer about things.