Not in so many words.
It may be the vegetable vendor, not exactly looking as fresh as the spring onions she hawks, addressing you as Nana -- and you wonder if by chance she meant to say (your real name) Anna.
Or an acquaintance you haven't met for a while, fussing loudly as she meets you, all dressed up, lugging a brief case, "My goodness, you still work?"
Or young men -- and God forbid, women -- scrambling to rise in a crowded bus or train to offer their seat to you, just as you drop your lunch box to the floor and start reaching for the estribo.
Or the supermarket kahera , intently looking to and from your (credit card) picture and your face -- one time too many -- before irrepressibly gushing: "Ma'am ang bata mo pa dito."
So, that is how we grow old. In the eyes of other people first. And then, ever so slowly and reluctantly, we finally agree with their verdict.
From Necessary Losses by Judith Viorst
"Now that you're older," I once asked my friend Irene, 68, "don't you miss the men who used to look at you so lustfully? "
She stared at me for a moment, then responded indignantly with: "Used to? What are you saying -- used to?"
Remembered from Gifts of Age (author forgotten)
She watched the salesman's eyebrow shoot up as she asked for "tap shoes, my size -- size 5." She explained: "My feet haven't grown for 40 years." "You've been tap dancing that long?" he asked. "No, I began last month," she beamed.
As he was about to wrap the pair she fitted and liked, she asked him: "You find that unusual -- an old woman tap dancing? " "Unusual but cool," he answered, quickly adding: "Say, what about a demonstration."
She waited as he pushed aside some stools to clear the floor.