#CulturePH - The Best Part of Growing Older Might Be the Thing We Stopped Talking About
A lot of us spend our working years chasing deadlines so hard that we forget what it feels like to belong to something outside of productivity.
You wake up, answer emails, survive traffic, pay bills, scroll until your eyes hurt, then repeat the cycle again tomorrow. Somewhere in between, we quietly absorb this idea that purpose has an expiration date. That once you hit a certain age — especially after retirement — life naturally becomes smaller, slower, and more predictable.
But reading about a group of senior citizen ushers at the Cultural Center of the Philippines completely challenged that idea for me.
Not because their story is dramatic. Honestly, that’s what makes it powerful.
These are ordinary Filipino seniors from Pasay City who joined the CCP’s Front-of-House Apprenticeship Program through a partnership with the Office of Senior Citizens Affairs. They trained as ushers for live performances and cultural events. On paper, it sounds simple: lectures, fieldwork, venue exposure, even first aid training. But underneath all that is something a lot deeper — a reminder that people don’t stop needing meaning just because they get older.
And maybe younger professionals need that reminder too.
One of the participants, 66-year-old Sarah Escosora, talked about how being part of the CCP gave her a sense of purpose again. That line stayed with me longer than expected because purpose is something we usually associate with ambition, careers, or youth. We rarely talk about it as a lifelong need.
Yet here were seniors showing up for rehearsals, assisting audiences, learning new systems, adapting to live event operations, and building friendships around the arts. Not because they had to. Because they wanted to remain engaged with the world.
That hits differently in a culture obsessed with staying “relevant.”
The apprenticeship program didn’t treat these seniors like passive beneficiaries needing charity. They were trained, trusted, and welcomed into the rhythm of cultural work. That distinction matters. Inclusivity becomes meaningful when people are allowed to contribute — not just observe from the sidelines.
One detail I especially loved was how much joy they found in simply experiencing live performances. Escosora admitted that many of the shows would’ve been financially out of reach otherwise because ticket prices can be expensive. Through the program, they were able to serve audiences while also immersing themselves in theater, music, and live storytelling.
That’s such an underrated part of adulthood: access.
A lot of working Filipinos slowly lose touch with the arts because life becomes practical. You stop attending performances because there are groceries to buy, tuition to think about, or work schedules to survive. Entertainment becomes whatever fits inside a phone screen during breaks. Efficient, convenient, disposable.
But live art asks something different from us. It asks us to be present.
And apparently, these senior ushers understood that better than most.
Another participant, retired export manager Marte Aragon, shared how the experience gave them something to look forward to. Not just the events themselves, but the conversations, the people, the shared memories. He even laughed about how a tribute event for Nora Aunor unexpectedly turned into a reunion with old friends he hadn’t seen in years.
That part felt painfully familiar in the best way.
As adults, we underestimate how much of happiness comes from anticipation. Having somewhere to go. Someone to meet. A reason to prepare for the day. Structure matters more than we admit, especially after major life transitions like retirement.
And honestly? You can feel how genuine the experience was because the participants barely talked about money.
Aragon openly said that even delayed salaries didn’t bother them much because what they valued most was the experience, the belongingness, and how cared for they felt by management. Escosora even mentioned how staff would insist they sit down once performances started so they wouldn’t get too tired.
That tenderness says a lot about what people remember from workplaces and communities. Not prestige. Not titles. Care.
What also stood out was how naturally the story pushed back against age stereotypes without sounding preachy. Nobody was trying to make these seniors “inspiring content.” They were simply active people continuing to grow, contribute, and participate in culture.
Maybe that’s the bigger lesson here.
We’ve become so obsessed with optimization that we sometimes forget humans are meant to keep evolving emotionally, creatively, and socially for their entire lives. Curiosity shouldn’t retire before we do.
The CCP’s apprenticeship program works because it recognizes something many institutions overlook: culture survives through participation. Not only through artists onstage, but through communities willing to protect, support, and experience the arts together.
And maybe that’s what makes this story resonate beyond the theater world.
Because whether you’re 26, 46, or 66, the fear is often the same — becoming invisible, disconnected, or no longer useful. These senior ushers quietly prove that relevance isn’t about age. It’s about remaining open to life.
That’s a version of growing older worth looking forward to.
Before you scroll past the next invitation to watch a play, attend a concert, or support local art, maybe take it. Not because it’s trendy or productive, but because being fully alive requires experiences that can’t be compressed into a screen.
The seniors at CCP already figured that out.
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