We all grow old. As we grow older, we experience inevitable changes physically and mentally. For example, we feel deterioration of our minds and bodies, such as the gradual loss of memory and physical strength. Sadly, however, there is nothing much we can do about aging.

As we grow older, we develop a myriad of undesirable symptoms, such as being garrulous, stingy and oblivious. That is the reason for the maxim, “When you become old, zip up your mouth and open your purse instead.” Old people also tend to be shabby in appearance. Once again, there is a proverb, “When old, you should be dressed well.” 

There is another saying that disheartens old people: “An old man is pleased when a pretty girl sits beside him. But a pretty girl is not when an old man sits beside her.”

John Godfrey Saxe, a 19th-century poet, laments aging in his poem, “I’m Growing Old”:

“My growing talk of olden times/My growing hate of crowds and noise/My growing fear of taking cold/All whisper, in the plainest voice, I’m growing old!”

He goes on:

“I’m growing dimmer in the eyes/I am growing deeper in my sighs/I’m growing careless of my dress/I’m growing wise/I’m growing ― yes ― /I’m growing old.”

To the above poem, I would add one more line, “My growing loss of memory.” When I was younger, my memory was so acute that I could remember all the names and faces of my students in class. As I grow older, however, I am getting so oblivious that I can hardly recognize my students’ faces or memorize their names, whether current or former.

For this reason, I hate it when someone approaches me, asking, “Do you remember me, professor Kim?” I would like to retort, “How can I remember you?” Yet, how can I tell them I don’t remember them to their brightly smiling faces? So I often pretend to know the person, saying, “Of course, I do. It’s been such a long time. How have you been?”

But you cannot get away with such a trick forever. Once I was walking back to my office after school. Suddenly, a familiar-looking student greeted me, “Hi, professor Kim!” I automatically replied, “Hey, long time, no see, huh?” Then the student mischievously told me, “Sir, we just met in class a few minutes ago.” I was as embarrassed as it was possible for me to be.

I also hate it when someone simply tells me over the phone, “Hi, I’m Park Sun-young.” My brain, which is rapidly deteriorating, futilely tries to figure out which Park Sun-young she may be among a dozen of Park Sun-youngs I know. But how can I ask her which Park Sun-young she is? That would be rude.

She should have said, “Hi, I’m Park Sun-young, your former student from the class of 2004” or “I’m Park Sun-young from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.” But most people assume that I have photographic memory, which is far from the truth.

A few days ago, I met an old man who complained that these days he could no longer remember the names of people or places as well as he used to. He said with a sigh, “Proper nouns constantly tend to slip my mind.”

I sought to comfort him, saying, “It could be a blessing not to remember proper nouns because now you can see a person or a thing from a wider perspective, free from narrow definitions or designations.”

Indeed, I often find the loss of memory pleasurable rather than lamentable. For example, I love detective fiction so much that I read from a crime novel in bed every night before I fall asleep. Often I happen to reread a detective story without realizing that I have read it already.

Thanks to the loss of memory, every time I pick a detective fiction to read, it magically becomes a fresh new story even though I have read it before. Is memory loss not a blessing, then? Besides, think about all the unpleasant memories; it is better to be oblivious.

In the Hollywood movie, “50 First Dates,” a woman has short-term memory loss and forgets her boyfriend the very next day. Whenever she wakes up, therefore, she finds a new boyfriend beside her. Surely, she is blessed because she will never be bored or tired of her boyfriend.

When old, we become far-sighted, thereby having a wider perspective of the world and life. That is a blessing, too. Young people are so myopic that they cannot see a bigger picture and thus cling to immediacies only. As we grow old, we also lose hearing and become hearing-impaired. But is it not also a blessing not to hear all the noises, curses and hurting slurs? When we need to communicate with someone, we can use a hearing aid. Otherwise, we can pluck it out and enjoy silence and serenity.

Growing old may be a blessing, after all. 

By Kim Seong-kon

Kim Seong-kon is professor of English at Seoul National University and president of the Literature Translation Institute of Korea. ― Ed.