In the Philippines, it’s still common to bow one’s head and lift an elder’s hand to the forehead in a gesture of deep respect (mano po). It’s a simple and beautiful act that says, ‘I see you, I value you, I ask for your blessing.’
In many Western societies, this kind of respect is fading. Older people are often viewed as burdens, obstacles to progress, or reminders of something we’d rather forget: our own aging. In a culture that idolizes youth, age becomes something to hide. However, in my view, this is one of the most fundamental weaknesses of Western civilization.
In the East, age is not weakness; it’s still wisdom. It’s endurance. It’s the quiet strength that no status, beauty, or ambition can surpass.
We’re often told that the future belongs to the young. But if the new world we hope to build is to be wiser, fairer, and more human, it cannot be built on brute ambition alone. It must be guided by those who have seen the rise and fall of many things, who have learned patience, and who have grown naturally wiser.
In Japan, respectful forms of address for elders are still commonly used in daily life. In small villages, aging farmers still pass down knowledge of soil and seasons not found in any textbook. In South Korea, elders continue to play a significant role in family decisions, and Confucian values confer upon them a natural authority.
In the Philippines, grandparents often live under the same roof as their children and grandchildren (not just for practical reasons, but because their presence is viewed as a moral anchor). Lola and Lolo are not sidelined; they are part of the center.
In many Western countries, the reality is very different. Many elderly people spend their final years in care homes or in isolation. Multi-generational households are the exception, not the rule. In the media, aging is either invisible or portrayed as a problem to “fix.” Anti-aging sells. But what if aging is not the enemy? What if what we’re losing is our connection to what truly matters?
There are bright spots. In some Scandinavian preschools, elderly volunteers come in to read to children (they’re called “visiting grandparents”). In some communities, retirees are invited to take part in critical civic conversations. But these initiatives stand out precisely because they go against the grain. They remind us that a different way is possible.
It’s time to reclaim a new narrative (or perhaps a very old one): that age is not a decline but a deepening.
Imagine if the quiet grandmother, the retired teacher, and the old fisherman were the ones we asked for advice when rebuilding our societies. Imagine if we designed our spaces not just for speed and efficiency but also for reflection. Imagine if we saw those with decades of lived experience as guides, not as fading shadows.
Because wisdom doesn’t live in the newest app, it lives in the hands that planted trees before we were born. It lives in the eyes that have wept over history repeating itself. It lives in the voice that says, “This too shall pass,” and truly means it.
Let’s begin again.
Let’s find new ways to say mano po. Let’s stop chasing the illusion of eternal youth and start listening to the calm, enduring strength of those who have lived long enough to see through the noise.
Honor age. Respect the elders. In their silence may lie the wisdom our world needs most.
Featured image © Eldar Einarson
