My feelings about passing the age of fifty are so variegated that it is difficult to put them into words. Day after day at dusk I sit in front of the computer desk scanning one by one the bright smiles of my childhood, youth, and middle age into the Apple computer. The setting sun sinks slowly in my protective glasses and in the deep of the computer monitor a gloomy and bewildered face is mirrored. The eraser function of Photoshop wipes out wrinkles on the face of the person in the photos, but cannot obliterate the blotches of real life. Optimism, to my surprise, actually co-exists with insomnia! Insomnia can actually be closely correlated with gaining weight. Weight strangely increases together with wrinkles. And wrinkles ironically accompany a benign face. Faced with all these bizarre contra-dictions, a woman after fifty sluggishly and powerlessly plays a tug-of-war with time and is destined to lean all the way through the aging process, regardless of how people around her solemnly swear that she still looks very young.
    After fifty, one’s state of mind takes an intriguing turn. Many issues over which one used to haggle meticulously in the past become negligible now, such as friendship or love. Some matters of which one could care less in the old days become alarmingly disturbing now, such as wrinkles or excessive fat. While marking exam papers, what I hate most is seeing the random use of “an old woman of fifty” or “an old man of half a century” in students’ essays. While watching television, what I resent most is the re-broadcasted scene of a lonely old man who has been dead in his house for days without anyone knowing. At the age of eighteen, I once swore not to live long because of my disgust at the loss of beauty in old age. I decided that once reaching thirty I would immediately commit self-immolation or hara-kiri, following the spirit of Japanese bushido, in order to keep my still youthful, though not necessarily glamorous, looks. For this reason, I had the most prolonged and sentimental thirty, unwilling to part with it. It was not until approaching thirty-five that I changed my tune indignantly, “Glamour does not only belong to youth; maturity often has more charm.” After forty, I was still able to have laughing conversations with friends and relatives about the gradually flabby muscles and blurring memories. After passing fifty, I have clearly started to avoid topics having to do with old age and simply insist on showing off my inductive and analytical abilities. However, there is a constant uneasiness in my heart. Although I have always had a habit of losing things since childhood, I now nervously suspect the sudden onset of Alzheimer every time I look for something.
    After age fifty, one’s heart becomes as hard as steel, yet at the same time as brittle as transparent crystal. The principles of life are mostly established. Although one is not willing to be treated unfairly, neither has one contemplated taking advantage of others. At summer breaks in the past, I used to feel sorry for the students who couldn’t get a passing grade. But, in recent years, I no longer attend the meetings of student affairs to rescue these students by declaring a miscalculation of their marks. I have steeled my heart and regard the earlier discharge of these students as an alternative direction for their future. Although I do not cut off students’ pleas by unplugging or refusing to answer the phone, I have freed myself from all the tangled arguments over marks and immediately shift the focus by encouraging them to turn crisis into opportunity so as to not provide any avenue for exploitation. However, after the stern refusal, whenever I think about the worries of parents and the regrets of students, my heart often becomes so entangled that I lose either appetite or sleep. A little warmth in life is often magnified to be the greatest kindness, while interpersonal conflicts are often reduced to unintended accidents. When a student who is emotionally hurt comes to my office with red eyes seeking support, my tears always flow more copiously than tap water. I am not only unable to fulfill my duty in providing counsel but also become more inconsolable than the student. In the end the student has to be the one consoling and supporting me, while solemnly promising to be strong and self-uplifting so that I won’t cry any more.
    After fifty, one completely understands the theories of individual independence and boastfully declares non-interference with the activities of one’s children, intentionally keeping a false facade of open-mindedness. Yet, whenever the children are home late, one is beside oneself with worries and nearly goes mad should they fail the university entrance exam. Only at this time does one suddenly realize that the expression “grannies and moms” used to describe mawkish and nagging behaviors is not intended to insult women, but merely derived from experience. Very few women who used to be gentle and graceful can still maintain the same composure after fifty. To raise children is no longer for the security of old age. Its chief function is to cultivate parental self-restraint and endurance. Most women at fifty have children who have already reached adulthood yet behave like children.    This adaptability to be either old or young is exploited by the children to the fullest extent. When they are not willing to submit to restraint, they will immediately use the definition of “adult” in civil law to strive for their freedom. Yet,....