My feet keep me moving to forget about the birthday dated in the past century
The relationship with age is not easy to establish. In my own life, I have been too busy at keeping myself so vibrantly alive that the question of my own mortality rarely occurred to me. It is normally about my birthday, which is on the 23rd of May, I look into the calendar and notice that I was born in 1975.
When you say nineteen-something in the relationship to the birth year now, it is literarily associated with a different century. My daughter, referring to something ancient would say that it is dated to the nineteen hundred. Well, so am I obviously, which explains the wrinkles, pain the joints when it is too cold, thinning hair and dry skin. Beauty after "certain age" is more of an asset that you deserve rather than an asset that nature gave you, as Coco Chanel honestly observed, and what I can unfortunately confirm.
This is only the outside. The inside wants to avoid, escape and completely ignore the age dated all the way back to the nineteen seventy five. My body follows. Slowly and steadily it gives in. But my mind does not. My brain is still spinning with the new ideas, my feet want to run, jump and dance and my hands want to create. Diametrically opposite of my head are my feet, and they also l urge to move faster, jump higher and run quicker. I am just a human. I am just an aging woman who does not give up, and my feet do not age.
This is when I think of beauty, or rather, of what becomes of it. This why I treat it like pet and when trained regularly, fed with nurturing ingredients, given enough water, fresh air and exercise - it responds in a healthy way. My imaginary feet move me freely in time and space while my real ones are planted firmly on the ground. Each of its zones is bound to a place inside me bringing the beauty back to life and letting my mind to forget about the birthday dated in the past century.
When you say nineteen-something in the relationship to the birth year now, it is literarily associated with a different century. My daughter, referring to something ancient would say that it is dated to the nineteen hundred. Well, so am I obviously, which explains the wrinkles, pain the joints when it is too cold, thinning hair and dry skin. Beauty after "certain age" is more of an asset that you deserve rather than an asset that nature gave you, as Coco Chanel honestly observed, and what I can unfortunately confirm.
This is only the outside. The inside wants to avoid, escape and completely ignore the age dated all the way back to the nineteen seventy five. My body follows. Slowly and steadily it gives in. But my mind does not. My brain is still spinning with the new ideas, my feet want to run, jump and dance and my hands want to create. Diametrically opposite of my head are my feet, and they also l urge to move faster, jump higher and run quicker. I am just a human. I am just an aging woman who does not give up, and my feet do not age.
This is when I think of beauty, or rather, of what becomes of it. This why I treat it like pet and when trained regularly, fed with nurturing ingredients, given enough water, fresh air and exercise - it responds in a healthy way. My imaginary feet move me freely in time and space while my real ones are planted firmly on the ground. Each of its zones is bound to a place inside me bringing the beauty back to life and letting my mind to forget about the birthday dated in the past century.
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