Our columnist realises his eyes aren't as sharp as they used to be

Saeed Saeed comes to terms with the fact his eyes aren't what they used to be ... and that it's just one sign he's getting older.

I can't see clearly now...

The man sat me down in his office, his hands clasping the results.

Our half-hour appointment had whizzed by with all those tests and procedures.

"So," I began, "how bad is it?"

"Well...." he chuckled, "let's just say it was good you came to see me or it would have affected you gradually. At the moment you shouldn't drive without glasses."

I am not surprised at the confirmation I need spectacles.

My mother and two sisters wore glasses from a young age so I knew eventually it would somehow catch up, or be passed on, to me.

It first started three years ago when the freeway traffic sign pointing to the exit to my Melbourne neighbourhood became more blurry than normal.

Usually I could read it clearly as I turned the corner but it suddenly became stubbornly opaque. I shrugged it off as a bad paint job.

However it was in my weekly football-watching sessions with friends that it became alarming.

I couldn't read the timer at the top right of the screen counting the minutes till the final whistle. And I wouldn't consider moving from my usual viewing position in the corner to sit closer to the screen as it would have aroused suspicions.

However, it was last month in a coffee shop when it reached crisis point. Two visitors asked me what the Arabic writing on the television said.

Panicking at the blurry text I instinctively grabbed my friend's glasses and translated it.

I knew this couldn't go on and made my way to the optometrist. However it was not my imminent spectacle-hood which caused a deep bout of brooding; it was the realisation I was getting older.

The results confirmed I had crossed the line of freewheeling natural development and entered into the darker and murkier life stage of maintenance and repair.

So now it's the arduous task of searching for the right pair of glasses and getting used to regular visits to the eye doctor.

Sensing my despondent mood, a bespectacled friend consoled me with some comforting words. "A little wear and tear can be proof of a life well lived," she offered.

"You just have to view it through the right lenses."