Gurang-gutang

Somewhere in between the lines of common sense and the undeniable realities of the world, Argee Guevarra has finally faced up to one of the many truths in life that all mortals indeed, get old. And although he does admit that the good olÕ number 33 is a fine, round, wholesome and seemingly youthful age (give or take, say, a few decades), he has begun to notice that the dark circles underneath his eyes, the razor-thin lines in his skin, and that tiny (great emphasis on tiny) bulge in his waist is more than just a mere bi-product of early 21st-century physical lapsing (layfolk usually call it stress).

But maybe it’s just the tides of a post-post-modern capitalist society catching up on him. Maybe the burden of a machine-like seven-day workweek is indeed a bit too demanding on an attorney of one. Maybe the idea of having a girlfriend a couple of centuries younger does have the tendency to blow the "damn, I’m old" bit a little too much out of proportion. And maybe Argee is just proud of having beat Honey’s own biological clock by a few millennia at least, realizing that she’s more antique than woman, more relic than person ("Nagsalita ang senior citizen ng U.P. Law!" -- Honey).

Still, there’s that impending threat of slowly fading into life’s own anachronistic background, of merely receding into the tide of time, then being swept wickedly away by the undertow -- and only to surface every Friday in this space. A terrifying thought indeed that the combine years between Honey and Argee qualifies both to be addressed as Lolo or Lola by their Young Star colleagues.

It’s an expected, understandable and relevant musing Argee thinks having recalled his father mulling over the very same thing long ago, complete with an aging hand draped cautiously over his aching back. Thankfully enough, Argee hasn’t been elevated to "hand draped over aching back" status just yet, and hopes he never will be. But Grandfather Time does have a way of leaving breadcrumbs by the doorstep, signaling his warranted (though uninvited) arrival; thus scaring the very daylights out of the resident.

And it just so happens that this time, Argee is the resident. Then who is to blame for such relentless batterings of mind and soul, cascades of sleep-deprived nights and recurring bouts of paranoia and fatalistic visions of withering in melancholic solitude? In other words, a scapegoat is definitely in order. And with the fear of old age creeping vividly at the back of our minds (most especially Argee’s) it’s just fair that we pin all the blame on the youth. It’s only human nature to smite the more fortunate of our species, and in this case, it just happens to be everyone below 30.

Argee does find it ironic, however, that he’s jotting all this down for the reading pleasure of a younger audience, when in fact, his own age falls a few decades short of the standard definition of "younger." (And hopefully, after his editor realizes this she will still allow him to stick around for the next issue.)

But returning to the case in point, maybe Argee isn’t necessarily growing older, but in retrospect, it is that society is getting younger ("Which includes me, right?" -- Honey). In progression of recent years, the youth is no longer a statistical minority, but a vocal majority culturally, socially and economically. More products, advertisements and propaganda have been aimed at the world’s youth market than ever before, and with the establishing of a mushroom farm of new youth-benefiting charities, it’s almost a wonder that the world can still take time out to consider those who don’t fall under that 30ish age demographic (Argee included, sniff, sniff).

So maybe the world is spoiling the youth, the boom of the teeny-bopper and Generation Y industry considering, and all the thirtysomething-plus-plus who just want a piece of that over-iced chocolate cake of youth as well. "Jologs Rules!!!" but Argee and Honey have been reduced to snickering serfs.

A rather common middle-aged complaint/observation is that the "youth has so much more options that we ever had," and the youth are not ashamed to admit it. Teenagers and yuppies now have the widest selection of telecommunication mediums, sources of information, universities, clothes, recreational activities and gimmick places ever, with just the right amount of free-time and gung-ho liberal morals to enjoy them all. This definitely puts a muddy foot down on the Court magistrates’ schoolday memories, wherein happiness was a mere stick of isaw in either the corner of Katipunan and beside the Shopping Center in UP.

Nowadays, happiness is an 8210 somewhere along Makati, with everyone dressed to the nines raving to get into Star Wars Episode XXII: Give Us More Money, with a trip down to the nearest high-cost coffee or club soon after.

For today’s youth, happiness isn’t so much an emotion anymore, but a seven-digit market suffering from attention deficit disorder. Personal conversations have been tastelessly swapped for forwarded text messages of smileys and parenthetical teddy bears. Late night at the political rally has been half-wittedly traded for Late Night with Conan O’ Brien. Pet Rocks for Tamagochis. One hundred percent Filipino bus transit for easy-down-Edsa-MRT. Brooke Shields and Scott Baio for Freddie Prinze Jr. and Britney Spears.

Argee was even ridiculed on one occasion ("And I thought ridicule was a daily experience for you" -- Honey) when, during a campus party where Britney’s latest album was the hot topic of discussion and where Argee was completely out of track, your aging attorney cracked: "WHO THE HELL IS BRITNEY SPEARS!!??"

But it could just be Argee’s repressed longing for a second childhood getting the best of him. Surely the youth of the Õ80s were definitely just as strange, bizarre and spoiled to the ‘60s troupe (though it must be admitted, hands down, that the ‘80s was by far the most colorful decade in recorded history... MABUHAY ANG MGA BAGETS!!!). Besides, it’s only natural to want to be young again. Unfortunately, the innate stubbornness of humanity has led to many to believe that youth can actually be brought back, repackaged, synthesized and faked. To be young is no longer truthfully scribbling down a number less than 30 under the box marked "age," but an artful mixture of physical appearance, mannerism, personal style and pure aura.

The 21st century is the fast and exciting era of wanna-be-young-agains. Fifty-year-old mothers still opt for the tube top/spaghetti strap look, while the fathers have no qualms about donning their own pair of muscle shirts. Hours at the gym and at the plastic surgeon have gone on a steep, almost vertical increase, with modern slang being smoothly absorbed into colloquial Taglish lingo as if it were there all along.

Modern-day parents not only know what their children are into; but also know why. And though this may not disturb the socks out of the veterans, it sure as hell does for the kids. With all the oldies trying to be young, the young are trying to be younger. For the first time in history, peer pressure has actual application to "peers" a lot more mature than you are.

But then again, real youth can never be faked. Argee will still be 33 years old, and in the next few weeks; he would’ve ended it at 34. And considering that he isn’t necessarily the muscle shirt, tight-fit kind of guy, he’s quite happy with his buttoned-down long sleeves and his Eighties collection of mixed New Wave music spun by Audio Venture and Top Spin International. He still enjoys reruns of Bagets 1 and 2 over the hyped premier of Jologs and would never trade off his times at UP for any of those times in Makati (give or take, some exceptions) while Honey will still rap his back for being old aware that she’s just looking for kadamay.

After looking back at all the trips, stumbles, twists and turns that youth had to bring, Argee understands that getting old just happens once -- a year. And for one reason or another, he’s quite happy that it does. As for the youth of today, he just wishes them a lot of luck, a lot of reason to enjoy the ride, and absolutely no reason to fear the breadcrumbs of Grandfather Time. Getting older is like nibbling on a bitching biscuit, yet every year, you take another bite.