Volume 2, Issue No. 3
OPINION/COMMENTARY
/ News That Fears None, Views That Favor Nobody /
. . . . . A community service of The Filipino Web Channel (TheFilipinoWebChannel@gmail. com) and the Philippine Village Voice (PhilVoiceNews@gmail.com) for the information and understanding of Filipinos and the diverse communities in North America . . .
Our latest as of Thursday, July 30, 2020
~ It's cultural, the fear of aging, to paraphrase American author Ashton Applewhite. That comes to mind upon seeing members of the Philippine Senate suddenly turned older than when last seen before the novel coronavirus struck. For example, the well-coiffed Senator Vicente Sotto III, age 71, and Migz Zubiri, 51, presumably were in their natural state, except for this crown of white hair, when they attended the SONA. Prior to the pandemic and their evidently-dyed black hair then, they looked robust. Black hair rejuvenates and white hair depresses?
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GROWING YOUNG, GROWING OLD
Aging by Hair in the Time of COVID-19
By ROMEO P. MARQUEZ
Editor, The Filipino Web Channel
“It is not true that people stop pursuing dreams because they grow old, they grow old because they stop pursuing dreams.” ―
At the State of the Nation address by President Rodrigo Duterte a few days ago, I saw videos of now white-haired Philippine senators Vicente Sotto III and Mike Zubiri looking so unlike themselves before the arrival of the coronavirus. I have yet to see Mr. Duterte in that same situation.
Hair, specifically white hair, does make a lot of difference in perception. Generally, a man (or woman) with greying hair is regarded as an old fogey, a grandpa or grandma, a person deserving priority in transit seating, a person entitled to senior discounts, etc.
As a boomer, I have experienced being offered a seat a few times while commuting during the rush hours, and I'm truly thankful for those who did so, even though I felt there were others more deserving than I.
I realized later at home that the culprit, or the cause of the burst of seat offerings, was not so much my physical appearance as my lengthy white mane. That countenance has conveyed the visual impression that since my hair was already silvery, and therefore old, I was entitled to one of the priority seats on the bus.
Right now, my salt-and-pepper hair appears to be thinning faster than I could grow a beard. This mixture of black, grey, and white is actually a return to its natural condition. I mean I started dying my hair black or brown only in Toronto for reasons other than vanity.
From the time the coronavirus struck, I've gone back to growing a ponytail. It's now eleven inches long from scalp to the tip of the hair. The length is twice shorter than when I first had it almost to the waist in my former hometown of San Diego, California. There I braided it sometimes.
Having a ponytail then was a political - not fashion - statement to indicate my journalism independence. I also wanted to show my non-conformity to the accepted and unchallenged norms which I thought hindered free and fearless expression of ideas.
I started to grow it in June 1998, the month and year I quit being editor-in-chief of the popular and most-read community newspaper, the Philippine Mabuhay News, after its owners had refused to publish my story critical of its main advertiser. (Full story at: https://www.sandiegoreader.com/news/2001/jun/14/cover-sinister-hero/?page=1&).
That same month, I published my own broadsheet paper, Diario Veritas, in time with the celebration of the centennial of Philippine independence on June 12, 1998. From that time on, people identified me as the journalist with the ponytail. (Video at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q9vcuamfGCI).
Not once was I mistaken for a covert operative, a detective, an undercover, and journalism was supposedly my screen. I was also thought of as a member of one of the Indigenous tribes, the First Nations people, who inhabited Canada before the Europeans packed them off to reservations. All those misconceptions because of a ponytail.
In 2014 in Toronto, I gave in to constant ribbing by friends and had my hair cut and dyed dark brown. Why not? I was starting a new life away from the antagonism that my investigative journalism had engendered in California.
So, after so much back and forth I finally succumbed to the kindly pressure. My friends then said tongue-in-cheek that the shorter hair and the disappearance of salt-and-pepper had made me look younger by ten years.
Well, I must have believed that for whatever comfort it gave me because in the years that followed until 2019, I was having a regular hair treatment courtesy of a close friend whose family I consider my own.
That changed, however, when one other friendship had gone sour because of professional and personal differences. Grow the ponytail back! I told myself. Make that statement again.
And so, I made the decision to free myself from the yoke of non-professionals who barely knew anything about journalism.
I didn't hesitate to uphold my journalism and gave up its practice in an environment that was selective and beholden to friends. I wanted my freedom back, detached, and untethered to selfish interests.
As of this moment, there's no better expression of this than in my lengthening ponytail, still abundant, and returning to its old salt-and-pepper self.
When I came to the US in the mid-1990s, I had pitch-black hair. As I became more engaged in community journalism, first in San Diego and now in Toronto, the plastic comb I use to groom myself catches more strands of hair every time.
Undoubtedly, age is catching up. Thinning, whitening hair says so. But the ponytail is back! (Copyright 2020. All Rights Reserved).
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