As I sent my parents back home in the airport a few days ago at the airport, I thought to myself, why couldn't they bring their nail clipper on-board? Were the officials afraid that someone will be clipped to death?

And what was the reason that people can't bring their toiletries? Instead, I think they should let the passengers bring their hygienic items. Trust me who has been there and done that.
Yes. I have sat next to a stinky breather, who slept with his mouth open. Wide open. Snoring, blowing air from where no man has gone before. It was a thirteen hours flight.
Yup.

As always, I hated airports. Especially when I have to say good bye. And in this case, it was to my parents, who, after 5 weeks of lots of shopping sprees and dining out and inches of snow, were ready to embrace the warmth of Jakarta once more.
So, there.
That's why I had thoughts about the nail clippers and toothpaste, to keep my mind busy from thinking about how old my parents look, and that it would be, at the minimum, another year till I see them again, and so on.

So we said our goodbyes, they went in, and I smiled, hugged and kissed, trying not to get emotional. Then, after a few minutes still waiting at the gate, I saw that it's my mom & dad's turn to take off their shoes, belts and jackets to be scanned. I thought to myself, Okay, this is it, they'll be out of sight right after this. Savor this moment, and sight as I exhale heavily.

Then, my dad turned to me with his shoes in his hands and all of a sudden,...

He pretended like he was about to throw the shoes at me like that Iraqi reporter did Bush.

I laughed.
He grinned.
We waved at each other.

Then they were out of sight.

I stood there and I could feel the coldness of the airport creeping in like the shadow of a dark cloud.

I hate airports.

But maybe, it's not the airport. It's just me and my hollowness.

Conversing with Bandit

I remember a long time ago my boyfriend asked me, how come I talked to my dogs.
They don't understand any language.
Didn't you feel silly doing that?
Did you ask questions?
Why would you? Did you expect an answer?

And now that we have a dog, he talks, scolds, commands, and... guess what,... asks questions too.
Hah.

Bandit! Did you pee here?
Oh... no you did not. Good boy. Come here. Good boy.

Well, another surprising big Bandit lover is ChicagoDimCorner's mom.
The person who at first did not like her hands to be licked by dogs, or basically, just don't really care about pets.
She who asked: Where does he sleep? In the koi? With you? (Koi = bed in Menado).
Yes, auntie.
Oh, no, don't let him sleep there, put him downstairs.
Nope, that's fine, I have shared my bed with dogs practically all my life.

But then she warmed up bit by bit. She started asking where Bandit is if ChicagoDimCorner comes to their condo. They even rode together in one car and Bandit stepped all over her lap.

And the other day, I knew Bandit has won when I heard this: Come here you Bandit, come to Oma (and I thought: Huh? Oma?), let me give you some baked Salmon. Oh, you don't like it cold, do you, let me heat it up a bit. BlueCactus, can I give him some chicken?
Sure.
And of the Oma went to the kitchen.

Apparently No Biggie

The anticipated / awaited mom and dad finally arrived a couple of weeks ago and I was joyfully embraced them to my house.

Every time I see them, they always look like they age too fast. But I guess that is because I don't see them for a long time, so the next time I see them, it's like... whoa! Wait a second.

No really, wait a second and stop aging.

I'm not saying they look bad, it's just that they age.

So, after I got them to the house, and calmed the mortified Bandit, my first news was,... okay mom and dad, (inhale), I've been living with ChicagoDimcorner.
No,... not like that.
We do share expenses, but I know you concerns and everything that would make this conversation be very uncomfortable, but... I have my own room and so does he.
We have 3 bedrooms here. I'm thirty-one. He's a good handyman. Everything works out for the best.
It's just like Will And Grace. Except Will is not gay, and once he gets his green card, we'll get married.
But, I assure you, you won't have to worry about anything. I will not be the daughter who disgraces you.
Ever.

Then my dad looked at me and said: Oh... I know that. He paid for the house too, I think it's only natural if he lives here.

Whoa, I was the one who apparently ended up in silence at the end of the conversation.
That's it? Really? No struggle? No discussion? No threats?

Hm,... this might be the very few advantages of being a thirty- something. Your parents start to let you be what ever the heck it is you want to be, where you want to be, whatever.

Sweet.

I think I choose my being thirty-one with sagging skin problem than a confused seventeen year old who can't even drive and had not-so-wise boyfriend choices.