Is that me?
34, an age, banished by Chinese to the female group of "no spring chicken".
Slender, svelte, sophisticated.
No track of innocent rather grown.
My hard drive is no longer spacious. A warning message often pops up "please delete some files so that your pc could work functionally."
To cooperate, my brain deletes files quite a bit, both right and left.
My motherhood is enlightened by watching my prince's growth. Doesn't time fly? My baby-prince is now seven, tall and strong. Surrounded by "mommy....."s, I feel the world is all mine.
I am a mother of my child.
Before long, my cloth's color switched from dark to bright. My hair style turned curvy to straight. My eyes sometimes are caught in girly fashion.
Middle crisis?
"Mom, I am jealous at you." I whined at my mother. Because I never carry on her eternal beauty -- "aging" is not a word in her dictionary.
I was such a loyal anti-cosmetic surgery supporter. From when, I start to take a peek on it. Perhaps it works?
"Oh, my god, there is a wrinkle around my eye."
"Geez, look at my dark circle."
"Sign, my skin looks so bad"......
After thousands of my morning routine fuss, hubby replaced his sweet assurance with silence.
I am no spring chicken, am I not?
Isn't it ironic? I always adore my purity, yet I am just unbearably vulgar.
Suddenly, I see a light. Who cares? The earth doesn't stop revolving just because a life on the earth changes. Nobody really notices my aging except myself. Nobody cares about it except myself. It is all what I think. And it is all I am fighting with myself for nothing.
Am I no spring chicken?
No, it's just blood from stone!
I am young because I feel young.
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