I Don't Want To Grow Old

There is a tingling little worry in my heart.

Forget about the meltdown of global economic weather, slash the occasional grunt of not having a boyfriend (irony me. I need one, please), put away all the gloomy tales I have been telling you all this while.

Simply because there is a bigger problem sits on my head right now.

My hair is receding. Depleting. Getting thinner and sooner, there is nothing more except a giant shiny scalp spreads on my head.

The Totler said, I shouldn't let the worry entangle because the serum I bought should do the math on how to figure out to make my hair grow stronger again.

Oh, we've got a long, long way to go
To get there
We'll get there
But oh, if there's one thing that we know
It's that we will not grow old

I listen to this Lenka for more than a week now. Trying to restraint the thought that the age worn on my body right now does not reflect the look I wear everyday. Because reality pinches you on the part you hate to have. But gulping the reality though how soar it can get is far better than lying comfortably in a bluff you made yourself.

Looking forward, apart from this heart-wrenching hair depletion, or world mass retrenchment, or super old spinster I am getting right now, I still have a long way to go. Say for the next forty to fifty good years, if God permits. And along the way, how weary I will be, or how worn out I look from outside, the younger I will be within. Sometimes its hard to see but not to be seen, and sometimes its hard to speak but not to be heard and sometimes its hard to perceive on our on expectations.

Totler : I hate to tell you this but yes, that awful stylist is correct. I can see your scalp
Me : You know what, I should grab that guy I see everyday. The one I told you walks beside me and doesn't have the guts to tell me that he needs me, too? Remember?
Totler: You are just getting old.

Oh, how could we know that day, it came with age
That oh, the feeling would fade...


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