Dear Future Offspring,
I do not have a tall nose. I don’t have a set of perfect white teeth either. I don’t have a body (and a height at that) made for strutting on the runway. My talent bank is practically zero. But, I do have something.
I have stories — snippets from my humdrum existence, little tales of my life that I wish to share to you. Because one day, you will feel real emotions (much like the ones coming out of me as I type down) and you will find my dull and average stories to be more believable and relatable than the tiny animated story books you keep on your bedside table.
I write these stories now because when that day comes, I believe that I will be busy nagging you, and demanding for your complete obedience, while at the same time, praying for you a blissful career. When that day comes, I will be busy being your not-cool-mom. But don’t worry, not-cool-mom documented these not-so-awesome-stories for them to always be there for you, to accompany you with your adventure of coloring life outside the lines.
That being said, I will start off with today’s story.
Well, it’s 9:30AM. This particular Wednesday morning seems especially nippier than the past mornings. Your mom is blogging in a cozy couch at the corner of a cafe.
Oh, how she wishes she could say that this was a cafe in Tuscany, where she was enjoying a cup of gourmet Italian roast while on her coffee table were her chicken-scrawled notes, as she was basking the writer in her.
But she needs to be honest with you.
She was at Starbucks, Katipunan with Ham and Cheese croissant, a hot grande cup of non-fat White Chocolate Mocha without the whipped cream she got at a price of a tall cup, and her 192 hand-outs, scattered at her coffee table, for she was ripping her head off, trying to study for her Food Engineering exam tomorrow.
It’s not life-changing, oh no. But one day you will realize that, fluid flow in tanks and pipes and pumps and ducts will make a huge difference in the world’s sanitary food-handling disposition, and yes, your mom can compute the mean velocity of that.
She will write again to you soon. In the mean time, forgive her if she must go back to fooling around with Reynold’s number.