Two of my Facebook posts about recent visits to a mall made friends and acquaintances chuckle. My being addressed “Tay” — shorthand for Itay, Tatay or father — by a seller from hell and later by a guard at the entrance gave me goosebumps and stories to share.

Maybe I’m just used to being called “kuya” (brother) and “tito” (uncle). That for me has been what’s normal in my singlehood for the most part of 50 years and running. It is fun to be a tito to my “pamangkins”.

Many of my former classmates have had partners and built their own families. In our close-knit high school “barkada,” two eloped as soon as possible (like in college), and I’ve met their grown-up kid. Other friends’ kids are working now, or have their own families.

Some of my closest and dearest friends died quite soon. They are forever young. They missed the experience of getting old.

Those who know me are actually aware that my sister had become a “lola” about a decade ago. In 2023, she became a lola again. As a consequence, I’ve also become a lolo too. (I have been told that our firstborn nephew have two other sons. To see is to believe.) The firstborn grandson has never called me lolo, but tito. The secondborn granddaughter would most probably call me “unc”. I won’t complain but embrace these cutie “apos” calling me lolo.

My undyed salt-and-pepper hair for most of the year has served me well a number of times. Like being shown the special express queues for seniors solely because of my hair, or having the relatively younger ones giving me their seat on the trains again perhaps because they saw a silver fox fighting valiantly to keep standing.

Maybe the most profound realization of my bodily age happened in 2024, by way of a medical emergency. Consequently, I had a medical procedure, and had the beginnings of my “maintenance” era, lab affairs, and regular visits with the doctor. I was no longer the Tonyo who could walk for hours, eat anything, travel anytime, have no sleep for a night or two, and go out for most nights.

At the reunion and anniversary celebration of the College Editors Guild of the Philippines held recently, I was happy to be with titos and titas of my generation. I was happy to see today’s Guilders, young, cool and resplendent. I had to mention this event because I spent my younger days in this organization, and we always looked up in those days to our senior and alumni Guilders. We have joined their ranks.

Some of our generation’s best and brightest became our friends. Many became servant-leaders and heroes.

I’m not denying my age. I celebrated my 50th quite openly last February. I’m just surprised, saddened, bothered, and amused altogether by casually receiving the honorific “Tay”. I don’t know if they were serious but quite a number told me that’s an honor. I’m not so sure if I will ever be comfortable with it.

Perhaps because there’s something icky about “Tay” in our recent and contemporary time, when it was used and is still being used by some as a term of endearment for someone about to face trial for crimes against humanity. In that sense, methinks “Tay” is not father but short for “katay” or “to butcher”. In that sense, I would not accept being called “Tay”.

At the same time, my siblings and I miss being called “anak” by our mother. Who doesn’t? I will give up all titles for it. Our own titos and titas are also getting old, and we want more time to enjoy being called “pamangkin”. We’ve lost our grandparents, so no one is calling us “apo”. Yes, we were young once. A part of us misses those times a lot.

There you have the circle of life, in a column. What I could promise is to learn from and share the lessons of my own experiences, not be a Boomer, join other Gen Xers in doing our revolutionary, radical, questioning, and critical parts, and be enablers and cheerleaders to the new and next generations who are starting to call us their elders.

The real takeaway is not merely to accept aging, because it is just unstoppable. The real takeaway is not to figuratively rot while getting old. Resist cynicism, teach, listen, learn, not give up, honor friends-turned-heroes, and carry on the good fight. Live on. And find reasons to chuckle.