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By Rhetoric Date: 2002 Feb 10 Comment on this Work [[2002.02.10.20.14.14349]] |
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It is always so - that youth begins to fade slowly, then quickly gains speed, at the edge of the vast span that is your 30's. Similarly true speculations can be said for romantic endeavors toward members of the opposite (or same) sex. I doubt I will ever 'feel' love as physically as I did during the previous 10 years. However, I do reside (and find comfort) in the knowing that I will 'feel' those stirrings about anyone and anything, as my hormones circumvent menopause and dance gaily, at around age 32. Why does nature make it necessary to chronicle each stage of life for woman? Never are there 'lost years' - to be lumped together with so many other matter-of-fact ideas such as breakfast, the understanding of the concept of gravity (at what age one realizes gravity exists), and knowing why the caged bird sings. Each tender step taken by girl is marked with milestone and purpose. That is both good, and enormously bad, for those of us who are on the cusp of realizing that our milestones are numbered. I am 27 years of age. I was fortunate to be born into a time when women finally voted, made almost as much as their male counterparts (a whopping $0.75 per one dollar a man earns), could be trusted to balance marriage and career, and didn't have to bind their feet nor corset their waistline. Yet, I wonder why the circumstances regarding age and romance haunt us so cruelly? Is it not possible to embark (the key word, here) on romance, and all its trappings, after age 30? Such ideas are the subject of ridicule and embarrassment for many a fellow gal. At my tender age of 27, I am urged to have facial reconstruction at the mere hint of eyelid misplacement. I am confronted, and frankly bombarded, with the not so unique marketing ploys aimed to demonize the natural aging process. How could I ever dream to want a romance - a romance in this, the beginning of the most frenzied of sexual spurts I will ever encounter? The slow decay of youth takes far too long and simultaneously robs each of us the simple pleasures that one should view as an entitlement to surviving childhood. Where does all this fit into a romantic scheme? Plainly spoken - turning 27 forces you to accept many notions on blind faith. First, I will never be 21 again. Not assuming it was posed for serious consideration, I find it to be no massive loss of collateral. Second, my days of carefree folly are harshly numbered. I always held tight to the resolve that I would never 'act' my age. Now, I feel as if my age dictates how I act more than ever. Lastly, and saddest of all, romance is sought after more than it is discovered. I have been decided lucky to have romance land squarely in my path on many an uninvited occasion. I now must wear lace and burn dim candles to evoke the mystery of romance in my boudoir. On the other hand, maybe, that is to hide the crow's feet next to my eyes. Jennifer I. Kayrouz 2002 |