I’m sick on a gloomy Saturday. Everybody’s out. Everybody’s mingling. I’m at the flat, feeling bad, wishing I could hug someone to reassure me that everything’s going to be fine. I can’t believe that a tall glass of tiramisu coffee could poison me and have me bedridden the entire day.
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Earlier in the evening, Belle’s friend, Ma’am Stella invited us for a post wedding celebration. When we arrived at the flat, we saw multi-racial visitors. Three weeks later, after living in Singapore, it just sunk in, I am really in Singapore. Teehee.
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With Stella and Eric’s multi racial friends, most of them were couples and having babies. They talk about parenting stuff, something that mature people talk about. It sunk into me again that I am no longer 23 but rather 27. People my age talk about marriage instead of boyfriends. They talk about kids instead of toys. They talk about work instead of school. The Filipino guys grew vertically not horizontally, anymore. I am old. Really, really old. Really. Well, I guess it’s all in the mind.
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