Take a look at this fabulous 6-minute video on Disability Justice, created by Candice Kwok
and Pallavi Kurakula, our undergrad interns, who made it as a final project for
their Wayne State University Community Writing class, taught by Rachel Dortin.
This summer, they worked with Advocates for Baba Baxter and the Collectivefor Disability Justice.
As much as I love the video and the message, and
appreciate their hard work, it took me a minute (ie several days) to get past
my appearance on the video. I had no idea post-menopause had given me jowls,
loose facial skin hanging from my jaw. I had no idea I looked so oooold. When I look in the bathroom
mirror, I’m happy enough with my appearance. But I never check out my profile!
I was always one of those girls who looked way too young.
Petite and round cheeked and high energy, when I was 18, I looked 14. When I
was a mother of 3 at 27, I looked 20, and got treated like a kid. As an Asian
American woman, I tend to be seen as a perpetual outsider, a service worker,
lower class, and child-like. I never felt like I got my due respect, even when
I was running households and organizations and projects. I always lied about my
age, in the other direction. When I
was 27, I’d say I was “almost 30.” I couldn’t wait to turn 40, and maybe,
finally, be treated as an adult.
No one ever believed me when I corrected them about my age.
One way white supremacy works is disrespecting seniority and status of people
of color, like calling grown men “boy.” Because I looked youthful, white folks
felt free to dismiss me and talk down to me, or treat me like a mascot or a
little doll. It’s dehumanizing, hurtful, and insulting. Folks meant well
enough, but it didn’t soften the effects.
Sometime around menopause, at age 50 or so, people stopped
remarking on my youthful apprearance. At long last, I was “looking my age.” I
spotted little crinkles at the outer corners of my eyes as I was brushing my
teeth, saying “eeee.” I rubbed my face, thinking it was dirt, until I realized they
were permanent lines on my face! My hair was finally getting a peppering of
white hairs, my tanned arms were getting saggy near the elbows.
Ageism runs deep through the generations. I recall my mother
and aunties asking me as a child to pull out their white hairs while they sat
and talked story. They slathered themselves with all manner of expensive
products to prevent wrinkles. But I proudly sport my white hairs, framing my
aging face, grateful for my signs of seniority. My mother would be rolling in
her grave.
Back in my birthplace, South Korea, you don’t even see white
hair. Even halmonis and even some harabojis (grandmas and grandpas) dye their
hair jet black. It’s considered rude to show up otherwise. What was the norm
before Western domination and the American Empire established themselves on the
Korean peninsula? I can’t help associating ageism with racism, capitalism and
the colonized mind. South Koreans have a love/hate relationship with all things
American. While most claim to be proudly and distinctly Korean, their
economy is dependent on the USA, as America’s 6th largest trading
partner. This comes after American-backed genocide, family separations, dictatorships,
and decades of military presence, still ongoing.
The colonized mind shows up as internalized shame, wanting
to do better, look better, and compete for higher status. I recognize this
as my family legacy. Nothing’s wrong with excellence. But when excellence comes
at the expense of one’s heart and soul, and one’s community, it’s time to step
back, look at the bigger picture, as well as bravely gaze within.
Same with beauty. We all crave beauty, which is closely tied
to pleasure. We celebrate the beautiful sunset, a magnificent lake, a
gorgeously presented meal. But who defines physical beauty? Who defines femme
beauty? What does the the pursuit of personal beauty cost?
I am a militant anti-ageist, as opposed to being anti-aging.
When people used to tell me, with the kindest of intentions, “You look so young
for your age.” I would tell them that there was nothing wrong with looking
one’s age, that aging wasn’t something to avoid, but rather to embrace, and
that I looked forward to looking old. I swore up and down that aging IS
beautiful, and that society was wrong to idolize youthful appearance.
But the jowls.
I admit I am casual about my appearance. Mostly I DGAF. I
don’t wear makeup, or even own any. I’m not even one of those super consistent
moisturizing people. I rub some extra virgin olive oil into my skin after my
shower, and that is it. I’ve always loved the sun, and do not use skin
protection.
Could I have prevented getting jowls?
I came across a hilarious ad on Facebook that I could not
resist clicking. It was an older Japanese woman teaching something she calls
“Face Yoga.” She is selling a series of facial exercises designed to prevent
wrinkles and sagging. Apparently the one that would help me involves opening my
mouth very very wide, then wrapping my lips around my teeth and holding it
several seconds. I’m supposed to do it every time I’m peeing. Not because it
has anything to do with the urinary system, but because it’s a convenient and
private time.
It seems harmless and maybe it could help… but for me, it
plays the edge between self-help and self-hate. I mean, does this do anything
for me besides make my face more muscular? Does it affect my health, my mind,
my overall well-being? Maybe so, if my well-being is based on looking youthful.
Instead, I choose to take the radical stance of letting
myself get old, and look old. Amidst the pressure, especially on women, of
“preserving” their youth and lying about their age, I choose to let it all hang
out. My task is not to fit in and succeed within a status quo which is
patriarchal, misogynist, racist, and ableist. My task is to subvert the dominant
paradigm, and build something revolutionary that is affirming to me and my
people.
As a longtime Iyengar Yoga practitioner, 5 years
post-menopause, I am noticing changes in my body. I’m losing muscle, my joints
are looser, and I am more prone to injury. I am invested in staying strong,
healthy, and active in the coming decades. After all, I have grandchildren to
play with and care for. I am committed to maintaining or intensifying my yoga
practice so my body, inside and out, will last another 20-30 years at least,
and I can be present for my babies.
But my grandchildren DGAF about wrinkles, gray hair, or
jowls. They just want me to play with them, climb trees with them, and follow
them down the slide. My appearance is of no consequence.
Essentially, I believe the preoccupation with looking
youthful, for all genders, has to do with ableism and abhinivesha (fear of
death). We’re scared of the very elderly, just as we’re frightened by people
with disabilities. Just about everyone is afraid of losing their independence
and the process of losing their abilities. If we live long enough, we will all
become disabled: our sight and hearing will become weaker, we will lose
physical strength, we will lose cognitive function, and we will become less
mobile. Who will take care of me? we
wonder, and anxiously lay in bed worrying.
We need a structural
overhaul of society to accommodate the disabled of all ages. Every city
should have dozens of intergenerational ecovillages with a mix of abilities.
These villages should have land for growing food, their own windmills, solar
panels, and water cisterns, with universally designed facilities to accommodate
both the very young and the very old, and everyone in between. We need to
cultivate interdependence. The concept of independence, so treasured in our
society, doesn’t exist anywhere in nature, and feeds into the mythology and
narrative of self-sufficiency. No. What
is much more realistic and sustainable are societies where all abilities are
welcomed and embraced, and the temporarily-abled gladly support the disabled,
knowing they will take their turn soon enough. Each and every one of us evolves
from being totally dependent, as infants, to increasing independence as we grow
up, then return to dependence once we are aged.
What happens after that? I would like to go back to the
earth in a burlap sack, let my body feed the earthworms, and have a fruit tree
growing over my grave. I hope I will be remembered by at least a few folks, and
maybe have some of these essays read and re-read. Meanwhile, I will return to
spirit, where I came from before this incarnation, and my work and evolution
will continue from that realm. When it’s my time, I want to leave with no fear
and no regrets.
I refuse to fear aging. I’m learning to look at my jowls and
not be afraid. I am entering the years of my second Saturn
return, as I turn 56 on October 31, 2019. I am entering my 9th
7-year cycle on earth. On the cusp of my 8th 7-year cycle and my
Jupiter
return, turning 49, I moved to Detroit, and I will never look back. What
will age 56 and up bring? Let’s face it: I’m no longer in the ego-busting
throes of being middle-aged. Fuck that shit. I am entering my elder years. I
have no doubt it will be more glorious than ever.
