Choices

"Amma, remember how, whenever we went to a restaurant for dinner I would always insist on chocolate mousse for dinnerdessert? Remember? And everytime you'd say, "But kanna, if you never try any other kind how can you know that this is your favourite? You have to try everything at least once, da." I never listened then. It didn't make sense. Or maybe it made too much sense. I was only 5. But amma, now I understand. Now, I think of all the tattoos I never got etched on my skin, the lost testaments to idiocy, all the clothes I never bought because they made me look fat, or they weren't my colour. Now, All the places I never visited because they were too far away, or too noisy, or too dusty.

I seized my second chance, amma. To redeem myself. A second chance for that 5 year old mousse-worshipping kid to grow into someone who isn't scared to grab opportunities by the scruff of the neck and shake the newness out of them. Someone who can order tiramasu and gulp it down without a flinch. Can you imagine, amma? This new me? I'm glad I carpe-ed the diem (see, I've even learnt foreign expressions). You would be proud of me.

Would I be less worthy of that pride if I confessed, amma? Don't despise me, but sometimes I worry. And I wish I could ask you what you think. Did I do the right thing? Because he is married. I think of the other 5 year old girl. His daughter. What would she think of me? But, no. As a far more confused man than me said, that way madness lies. I know I did the right thing. I'm experiencing life, like you always wanted me to and it's turning out to be like nothing I ever imagined. So I'm happy. I must be. Even you would say so if you saw me now.

But one thing, amma. I've tried strudels, sorbets, cointreau melts, caramelized fruits in alcoholic concoctions, meringues, pandan rice cake even. I liked them all but I still like chocolate mousse the best."

Apology: So many dashed typos! This is what happens when you type a post out in 15 minutes when you actually ought to be doing something else *hangs head in shame*.