Una here looks like the model flower girl — hair all nice and shiny, shoes are all white, the dress in the exact fold and flow but don’t be misled… she threw 3 fits that day, screamed that her dress was ugly, refused the make-up artist, cried out of the van that would take the entourage to church, murdered the flowers on the aisle and many other things that only a 3 year old can do.

My friends have complained to me that they have not seen any pictures of Irdykin published. So here, take a glimpse of the little darling. He’s all grown and big and you can ask him any questions and he will answer you in the affirmative.

He’s my garfield and my puppy BUT he loves Barney more than me.

We went to Jude’s new favorite Thai restaurant to celebrate our 7th year of togetherness. He surprised me at lunch today with a bouquet of flowers – something that is so not him. My husband has a weird sense of romance and giving flowers is not his style. I am afraid to think that this ‘flower giving’ is partly due to my telling him about the slew of flowers that an officemate has received. Hmm… I do hope that I am not giving mixed signals.

The bouquet is a fine collection of local and imported variety and it came from the pricey florist but I am not so thrilled with it. I don’t know… real flowers are so ephemeral. I’d rather have the artificial silk flowers. Call me crazy but I do want to see them last for a long time.

Anyway, we chose a corner table where we can spy on other patrons. From our vantage point, we can see a group of old women, a number of couples that look too common to mention and then this old Chinese couple.

I motioned Jude to look at the ladies who are obviously friends from a long bygone era. They were chatting amiably and audibly rating the foods served to them. They are diet-watchers and seemed picky in their food choices: vegetables and lean meat and no sugar in the beverages. I think that I and my friends would be like them when we hit our 50s. I hope all of us would age gracefully, survive the heartbreaks and tolls of being an adult. I made a silent wish.

The old couple next to us was another story. They ordered water and the woman opened the bottle for the husband. She was pushing food on his plate… like a mother bird feeding her young. The husband obediently spooned all those bits and pieces off his plate. When paying time came, both of them fished out their senior citizen’s discount card together. Jude and I smiled and I told him that I do want us to spend our old age together. I would like him to be the one sitting across me on the table.

Life speeds so fast and more often than not, we don’t get to appreciate the present. When I complain a lot about my blah existence, please remind me of Madamme Bovary.

Same goes for the hot cup of cocoa or the cold sliver of dark chocolate…

This thing that we are feeling right now is just one of the many symptoms of growing pains. We will be turning 30 soon and it means a lot. It’s the day of reckoning:
1) have I accomplished what I have set to accomplish?
2) possessed what I am supposed to own?
3) have I perfected that vital skill?
4) polished that one asset?

And millions of other downright evil and not to mention self-debilitating thoughts and yardsticks we concocted to torment ourselves with. Right? Right.

It’s all in our head. Fuck the Capitalists, screw the Romanticists! I am but a frail human being, perfectly flawed and as important as the unfolding universe, as large as the tiniest star in the sky tonight.

Forget ‘grace of an adult,’ let’s get soaked under the rain, our tears mingling with mother earth’s own.

I am not on drugs. Come to my kitchen, I’ll feed you chocolate cake (homemade, moist, bad for your diet, good for your well-being) and we’ll swap stories. I’ll tell you about how I poured boiling water on my hand while preparing the batter and how ice water miraculously healed it. We will talk some more and sing some Barney songs and maybe it will stop that pinching in your rib cage.