Thankful Thursday

I am so good at complaining. Sometimes. Okay, out with it - most of the times. I complain about how my back aches after I carry my kid. Or when I stoop low to lift my toddler. Or when I go about the household chores.

Some days, I complain about my seemingly lack of energy. And the torture is everyday, I get to see a kid who has the supply of energy equal to a hundred horses. Boundless, even. I wonder if I can get that from the drugstores.

There are times when I try hard to stifle a vain scream as I frantically rummage through my kikay kit for a cream... or a concealer or something, anything to help me cope with the new indentations on my face that I noticed in my reflection on the mirror.

I frown when my clothes suddenly feels tight and then blame my slower metabolism for the excess flabs.

I am getting old, I always say. I must ruefully admit that, at 30, indeed, I am so good at complaining about getting old. Me, getting old.

But one afternoon of late, on my way home, I heard someone over the airwaves say: Do not resent growing old because many are deprived of this privilege.

Although I did not resent growing old, I did not like it either. (But then the prospect of growing old leaves little to the appeal, ey?) So I felt that was meant for me.

That statement - it showed me the prospect of getting old in a different light and I just could not look at growing old the same way as before.

I'm not dumping out my prevarication tools but I thank God for giving me the chance to age gracefully. It's just great to be alive. And yes, I thank him for those tools, too.

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