Asna was hanging out in my room. A conversation we had made me reach out to the time capsule (a plastic, semi-transparent, yellow storage box with a blue lid my mom had gotten me a very long time ago) that I’ve been keeping since I was young. On top of it was a thick ring album filled with pages and pages of photos of the smaller version of myself.
The largest picture was a less flattering photo of yours truly as a baby. I blurted out:
“Hish, so ugly!”
Asna, who was flipping and reading pages of yet another edition of Pengantin, didn’t notice that I was referring to the picture. She’d assumed that it’s one of those days when I tell her that I look ugly, so being the nice kid that she is, she just said in a reassuring manner:
“No, you’re not.”
Realizing that I wasn’t talking about my current state but the picture, she put the magazine aside, squatted on the floor beside me to take a better look at it.
She was analyzing. She was silent.
“Uhm. Yeah, you looked ugly when you were a baby.”
What to do? My nose bridge only developed when my limbs started becoming stronger HAHAHA.