Beijing has made me old - or should I say, elderly. And I'm not upset at all. Indeed, if anything, I feel a bit chuffed about it, especially in crowded buses and on subways.

But I don't feel ancient or aged, nor am I decrepit. True, I'm well into my 50s but I still feel young, and believe I'm fit, still more than capable of indulging in my favorite pastime, golf, walking briskly between shots and on all the 18 fairways. So being old or elderly in China has nothing to do with my fitness or appearance. Instead, it has everything to do with how other people react to me, especially on those modes of transport.

In the few weeks I've been in Beijing, I've been catching buses regularly and have on occasions taken the subway. Several times now, young women - and sometimes men - have stood up and offered me their seat.

The first time it happened, I was quite surprised, to put it mildly. But I smiled at the young, stylishly dressed woman and uttered one of the few Mandarin phrases I could speak: "Xiexie." I thought then that she was about to get off the bus at the next stop and had given me her seat because I had just boarded and perhaps looked a bit lost (it was during my first week in Beijing).

But this was not the case. She continued standing all through the time I was on board, and in fact when I got off, she was still standing, holding tightly onto the rails as the bus rattled off.

It happened again, and again, not only on the buses but also in the subway.

Then it dawned on me that it might be the Chinese, and Asian, way of respecting elders - something I grew up with. Those young women and men saw me as an older guy, a person who in their mind should be respected - and totally deserving of their seat. This is something I can live with, especially coming to China from a Western country.

I was born in Malaysia of Chinese parents, was educated in an English-language system and started journalism with the New Straits Times, a Malaysian newspaper. Some years later, I migrated to Australia where I had been living for more than 30 years, with most of the time working at The Sydney Morning Herald, before coming to Beijing earlier this month to work.

So I've seen how the younger generation in Asian and Western cultures treat folks who are older.

In Australia, there is an egalitarian attitude toward everyone. It doesn't seem to matter what you do, or how you're dressed, or how old you are. You'll get the same treatment at most places.

There are exceptions, of course, where people who are really old, or those with walking sticks and walking frames, will be offered seats on buses and trains. And often, it would come from middle-aged men and women. Otherwise, it's every man for himself.

I once saw a bus driver berating a teenage girl for not giving up her seat to a man who looked to be in his 70s. I've seen many a man being chivalrous and giving up his seat for a lady, perhaps not much older. But even this seems to be more an exception nowadays.

Growing up in Malaysia, I was taught to respect my elders, especially friends of my parents and elderly relatives. During the Chinese New Year celebrations, family visits would reflect ranking and seniority: my mother would have to call to pay respects on an elderly aunt first, before visiting, say, a younger uncle.

I was taught to "call", or greet, anyone - especially friends of my parents - when I met them, using the respectful "uncle" or "aunty" as a prefix to their name. And if it were someone whose name I wasn't too sure of, addressing him or her as "uncle" or "aunty" would do.

When I was in my late 30s and on a visit to Kuala Lumpur, I walked into a shop and a young assistant approached and said: "Yes, uncle, can I help you?" To me, it was a sign I was then old enough to be given respect by the younger folk, instead of being thought of as that "silly old duffer".

Now, with a couple more decades under my belt, that is something I cherish - and I gracefully accept the seats offered to me.