Grey Hair Slugfest

This may seem narcissistic, but I have been struggling with my protruding grey hair. It sticks up like a middle finger reminding me of my biological clock. Cutting the blasted things doesn’t vanquish the problem, for it comes back with vengeance like a bad Hollywood sequel. All I could do is stare at it and cry, groom it or avoid mirrors.

Grey hair is akin to white seedlings on a dandelion, it advertises to the world that you’re getting older. To fight against our mortality, we go through the crucible of employing chemicals. Skin needs to be tighter, breast needs to be augmented. Youth, with its perceived beauty and strength is the diadem we try to maintain. It’s always disheartening when you see a woman well past her prime in stilettos and tight jeans.

Throughout antiquity and in non Western cultures, grey hair has been the symbol of wisdom.

People sat at the feet of these sages for guidance. Today we exclude. seniors from intellectual quandaries and pretend they don’t exist. Their voices have been cut off by algorithms, Google searches and tweets. A lifetime of their trials and tribulations have been replaced by Wikipedia. To offload our guilt we ship them to expensive homes with manicured lawns, pay strangers to take them for walks and wipe their bums.

In most countries such systems are unheard of and at the most unthinkable.

I’m not saying we should abolish this system, since some people find it taxing to take care of their aging parents. However a modicum of honour should be bestowed on our grey haired sages. For as sure as the sun rises in the East, we’re all getting older. Now, get off my lawn.