Today, I got to pick the restau­rant. I chose one that’s always bustling on the week­ends, even when there isn’t a wed­ding recep­tion being host­ed, named after the Yangtze River in China. There was a mix­ture of lan­guage in the air, due to the fact that I was sur­round­ed by large Chinese fam­i­lies, catch­ing up on each oth­ers lives, and young Caucasian cou­ples, on their Friday night dates. The fam­i­lies were all famil­iar. I could relate to every young boy in them, try­ing to fin­ish his deep fried crab claw balls while con­cen­trat­ing on the game in his GameBoy. The cou­ples…

I thought about the time we walked around those long, ster­ile aisles that only you could take me to. There were small plants of basil next to a mis­cel­la­neous food item sam­ple stand, and it was my first time smelling the aro­ma of a live stalk. What a dras­tic dif­fer­ence it was from the basil I bought in a con­tain­er, or labelled as “FRESH” when they were ripped from the roots before trans­porta­tion.

For some rea­son, I feel like steak”.

Someone from anoth­er cou­ple over­heard and could­n’t help laugh­ing.

I know exact­ly what you mean”, the man jovial­ly said.

We looked for a steak­house after­ward. On the high­way, I asked for a sug­ges­tion. Your knowl­edge of the local restau­rants was always wider than mine. I gave rea­sons against your first two pro­pos­als, and you refused to con­tin­ue, frus­trat­ed. I thought about the time we tried to find a game we could both get into, and you reject­ed the first eight. How dif­fi­cult it was to not kick that Gamecube into the wall, and yet I did­n’t say a word, some­thing I could only con­trol because of how much I still cared at that point. I put my foot down to make a deci­sion (much bet­ter than the alter­na­tive), and we set off for a tep­pa­nya­ki steak­house.

It was a place that I saved for cel­e­bra­tions. We were seat­ed alone at a table usu­al­ly reserved for eight, along with a lone per­former, twirling his knife and flip­ping his flip­per. A cel­e­bra­tion of us we agreed.

And I decid­ed that those cou­ples around me weren’t so unfa­mil­iar either.


  1. fun­ny how peo­ple dont remem­ber some things but vivid­ly recall neg­a­tiv­i­ties.

    what about the times she did sit and play games for what felt like hours to her, what about the times she pulled over ‑con­cerned- and not will­ing to dri­ve for­ward until you talked about it, so con­cerned because you were cry­ing after a frus­trat­ing day at work.

    it was rose­mary, and at that point, i thought “we” were enough to cel­e­brate “sans” occa­sion.

    now who’s being pas­sive agres­sive.

  2. First of all, I nev­er for­got the efforts that she did make to enjoy the same things as me. Unfortunately, such a point did­n’t fit any­where in the sto­ry, which is why it was nev­er men­tioned. (She’s point­ed out my cons many times before, but I nev­er said any­thing because I keep this in mind). And real­ly, the issue was my frus­tra­tion at the hypocrisy, not my appre­ci­a­tion (or accused lack there­of) of the effort she put forth.

    Secondly, she may remem­ber her­self as being so con­cerned that she refused to dri­ve until I shared my prob­lems. As I explained, I nev­er spoke because I did­n’t want to bring her down with the things that were wor­ry­ing me. However, I remem­ber her quick­ly start­ing the car and dri­ving towards the high­way, angry at me, because she did­n’t like to be “ignored” in her car. Perhaps this is some­thing I should have been more sen­si­tive about; being ignored can be such a ter­ri­ble thing, even if it’s to pro­tect oth­ers from unhap­py thoughts. Crying just isn’t good enough an excuse.

    And we were enough to cel­e­brate at that point. That’s the whole point of the entry. The fact that I saw these oth­er cou­ples, so hap­py with each oth­er, sit­ting in adja­cent seats, and I could share in their mirth because of the night in that steak­house, even past that aggra­vat­ing moment in the car. Like you, she would inter­pret com­pli­ments as insults, see the best of inten­tions as hate­ful deeds (keep an eye out for an entry enti­tled “Gag”, for clar­i­fi­ca­tion).

    In any case, I think this is where I’m sup­posed to say some­thing about this being my blog, and how I’m sup­posed to get to talk about what­ev­er I want, but I think she knows this already (she used that one to get upset at me before, too).

    But I think you’re right about the rose­mary.

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