differentials

what is presbycusis?

Back in the Philippine General Hospital, I have had an affinity to geriatric patients. I just get too lucky to always pick them amongst the lot that lines up to be seen. And they do have a long lot of problems… and side stories… and shaking… and rambling… and shuffling… and pauses. Basically, they’ll eat your time. On one hand, I say with spite: I got another geria. I know by then, my efficiency is doomed. Yet, I just can’t stop the seeping compassion to take time to be there for them–healing in its purest sense. You know those delicate girls who suddenly fold at the site of a poor kitten in distress? That’s very much what my heart turns into with them… if I just uncover the impatient front. I can’t deny. They are special to me.

Here in Dublin, I chuckle quietly to myself as I get more and more exposed to the schema of my neighborhood as geriatrics land. Well, at least these are the people who I see hop on and off the bus near my hostel. Um… I meant shuffle and shake on and off the bus. They are a sight to behold. Irish oldies look more classically old. The men, in particular, have a leprechaunish touch with plump cheeks and brown curly beards or mustache often matched with darkly-framed glasses. They seem to be more laid back. They walk amongst the young in a busy street as if they are walking across a field of tulips amidst the crispy breeze. In contrast, the Filipino oldies seem to be toned with either poignant anxiety or a paradoxically quiet and helpless agony… with the air of musty oil blend amongst the men. What we are through colors are aging, I think. And here, it shows that tranquility about the Irish is probably the difference welfare makes. Hahaha. Or maybe, I just can see through and feel for the Filipino old and their struggles more that I tend to read more through the lines of their face.

Bah. Just the same. The old are old. And my affinity to them rings through even here. They are my bestfriends along O’ Connell Street, the main thoroughfare of Dublin. You see, I am a lost person and my poor sense of direction has literally brought me to places. I have a map… and a lot of guesswork to go with it… and a lot of asking about. I am alone and I have to be at least wary of the people who I ask. It’s enough that I am a bit wishywashy about my tourist look carrying around a map and hovering about for the street names. So I am picky about who to ask. My favorite targets… the geriatrics amongst the busy crowd. They are not in a hurry. They are less likely to muster force to hurt you. They just care and take more time to explain. They are the best navigators I must say.

I love oldies. I don’t know if they can hear me. They’re great to listen to, though.

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