On Getting Older

I am getting older and I do not mind. I have embraced my age. I do not want to be a tottering teenager again, watching my father scrutinize my list of provisions and wondering what his response “okay, I’ve seen it,” means.

I am pragmatic. A few years ago, I folded my wedding gown and put it in my bottom box. It seems like a small thing now, but it was not at the time. My dream of slimming down enough to wear my wedding dress after life and children, died that day—I embraced the truth about getting older and weight. I have a sister who can probably still fit into her wedding dress; she distorts my theory. Are we not sisters, from the same mother, no less? Why did she have to have all the slim genes? I digress; this is about getting older! All my highs and lows have made me the woman I am and am becoming. Yes, I embrace my age. It is the greying that I have not fully understood.

When a few years ago I asked my hairdresser for a shampoo to tackle the dandruff that caused the persistent itching in the middle of my hair, she told me that dandruff was not the culprit. “You have so much grey hair there; that’s what causes the itching.” Information overload (amebo); who asked her?

Nevertheless, when I got home, I parted my crown of glory in the middle. And there, standing tall like irokos, streaks of lightning amid my black sky. I pulled a handful, twirling them around my fingers. When and how did they get there? Thankfully, they did not march forward from their hideaway; however, their strategy to gain new territory caught me unawares. Stealthy warriors, overnight, they appeared at the hairline around my temples. Aha, my hairdresser styled my hair with side parting and we won that war. The last time I was in the salon, we struggled to decide which “side” to part the hair. “We will soon have to resort to centre-parting,” she said after grave contemplation.

When the first few grey strands appeared on my eyebrows, my tweezers came to the rescue. And so it was that I was plucking a strand or two from my eyebrows the Saturday before Easter, when I saw it. Grey hair had sprung up in places I did not know they would or could grow—in crevices that my mother did not tell me about! But this? Haba! How far? A grey eyelash? You’ve got to be kidding!

I moved my mirror to catch the natural light from the sun. There it was—not ashamed of standing out in the row of black and as long as its fellow lashes. Is this what it means to get older? Accepting with equanimity the things you can’t control? I went to the shops to find a solution.  I smiled when I saw jet-black mascara. Who knew that black had different shades? I am older, and I will change the things I can, one grey eyelash at a time!

shades of black

©Timi Yeseibo 2013

images ©Timi Yeseibo 2013; photography: Sam Bird & Timi Yeseibo

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Timi Yeseibo and livelytwist.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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20 thoughts on “On Getting Older

  1. I love my waterproof very black Maybelline mascara and have put it on every day since 1974. This and a red lip gloss are my staples. I have dyed my hait since my brother counted over 20 white hairs on my head at age 29. I was in line for a roller coaster, mother of 3 kids. I started buying a hair dye which is under $5 and feel my 30 years with it have created quite an illusion. My dad had hair like Steve Martin so I had to start early. Mom still has hardly any gray hairs. A handful which makes me envious. Timi, I love your new Home Page.
    Now, I have to say I hate the hairs trying to creep out of my nose, on my chin and out of every mole 😦

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Reading this seemed like watching a movie. It must have been the cumulative effect of your words rolling in my mind as Evanescence’s ‘Hello’ played from the speakers in my room.

    Enjoyed this very much, Timi. The images will stay with me.

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      1. I think you worry too much. 🙂 If you or any other woman has children, then no need to hide how old they are… it is a denial of self. Seriously.

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      1. Hehehe. This is about you really; ’cause by ‘diadem’ I was actually referring to your ‘crown (of wisdom and glory)’

        [Sorry, I’m commenting thrice already on a single post]

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  3. Some things just can’t be helped. In all, life is also about adjusting to the changes that come; fighting them mightn’t amount to much…or anything.

    They should be a bunch by now, the white-uniformed strands. LOL.

    Nice one, Timi.

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    1. Oh, don’t remind me about the white-uniformed strands 🙂 On second thoughts, they are my crown of wisdom & glory! Bunmi, I shall go down fighting, up black mascara!

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  4. Nice one, very funny. About fiting into your wedding gown you could have been smart like and purchased a ball wedding gown that was sleeveless that way with a few minor adjustments you would still fit into it with almost any increase in size !

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