Our First Meal



Cheryl Chia

8pm. I arrived late. But I had texted you prior that I was caught up with work. You said it was fine.

We were finally meeting, after endless texting since the beginning of October.

“How will he look like in real life?”

“Would he be tall?”

“Perhaps he might be crazy after all?”

My inner monologue ran at full speed. Question after silly question.

I arrive. I get lost. I make a round about. I am dripping in sweat. Let’s hope you’re not averse to human bodily fluid.

I strode in, with my Aerosoles booties, bought at a discounted price of only $80. Comfort and style. That’s how I roll.

There you were. In a red long sleeve top, seated. I walked to the table. You stood up. I gave you a hug.
Ah. Tall. Very nice. We exchanged niceties. We sat.

The maitre’d brought us the menu. We oo-ed and ahh-ed. Mostly me. My excitement got the better of me and my eyes widened as I looked at you and said, “Shall we order everything?!”

Hahaha. You laugh. I laugh. We both knew it was a joke. And so it was.

We mulled over the food descriptions a little more and finally decided on:

a pigeon

a salmon

a suckling pig

an octopus

Done and done.

Now that the chefs are firing up the stoves and scurrying around, we wait.

We chatted about our day. “So what did you do?” “Oh I did this and this and that and that.”

And we started sharing crazy first date stories. I laughed and stared at you.
Your voice sounded sexy. The way you enunciated your words. You didn’t sound Irish at all.

Conversation was smooth and comforting.

It certainly didn’t feel like a first date. You felt like an old friend.


Suddenly I asked, “Are you a Leo?”.


“When’s your birthday?”

“29 July.”

“No way, that’s my birthday. Show me your IC.”

You took out your E pass. I took out my IC. It both said 29 July.
I did not expect that.

The night progressed. The food came. You had ordered red wine for us. I was embarrassed to declare my low alcohol tolerance so I only took slow and small sips, hoping you wouldn’t notice that the glass always remained full.

4 hours passed, dinner ended. Time to go home. I wished the night was longer. I wanted to chat with you some more. But I was tired and so were you. And we both knew this wasn’t to be the first and last time we saw each other.

You walked me to the MRT underpass. We said our goodbyes. We hugged. It was a tight comforting hug. At that point, I thought, “I could do with more hugs like these.”

Cheryl is a very hungry person. She likes cake and truffle fries and words. She does CrossFit to offset the result of her hungry diet. She believes that it is in the feeding of one’s stomach and soul that we attain wisdom. Once in a while she writes to get her mind off fries. And sometimes it works!

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