When I was young, I never thought much beyond the here and now. Father had to be obeyed or else...Mother told us what to do....eat, study, sleep. Going to Grandma's was a treat for she always welcomed me with my favorite, pulut hitam topped with fresh santan ( black glutinous rice porridge with a tablespoon of thick fresh coconut milk ) and told me bedtime stories of ancient Chinese legends, including the one associated with my name, "Chang Er", the Lady in the Moon.Lying down on her cool cement floor was a welcome respite from the harsh heat of the afternoon, deaf to her warnings about the dire consequences in my old age.
Huh! Old age was something inconceivable when you are a pubescent teenager.
Whatever my age as the wheels of time turned inexorably, the innermost sanctum of my mind stopped at sweet sixteen. Sweet sixteen was the sweetest period in my life, tasting the honey of first love amid the many beaux that came a-calling.
However, age has a way of creeping up on you. One day you are beautiful with a good head of lovely hair, expressive eyes, an indelible dimple that dances in and out when speaking or smiling but all too soon you suddenly realise the face in the mirror looking back at you is but a shadow of that quick silver sylph.
The head of hair has thinned considerably, the eyelids droopy, making the eyes so much smaller and the complexion a testimony to the ravages of time. Yet, I still feel sixteen. I don't behave like a sixteen year old, Heaven forbid!
I am not what I think, but I feel what I think. Feeling 16 gives me the energy, the joie de vivre, but the body betrays the mind. The engine is winding down, the knees protest with sharp stabs of pain as I descend the stairs. The milestone of seventy will be the new sweet sixteen, a little slower but the flame of sweet sixteen will still be undiminished.
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