During the first century of our marriage, my wife would serve me for breakfast 𝙩𝙪𝙮𝙤̂ (dried fish), 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙖́𝙜 (garlic fried rice) and fried tomatoes on the side. ¡𝘌𝘴 𝘮𝘪 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘰! Whenever this was served, I’d tell her, "𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘳, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦’𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭." We are no millionaires yet, breakfast has evolved, still with my favorito, but I’ve been exposed to the luxury of the rich and the famous.

Such as this story:

A millionaire friend of mine took me out for a spin in his yellow Lamborghini, not to simply brag but to really brag about it. To start with, in the basement, the roar of the engine shook the foundation of the building. Then, when I got in, I can’t really say that I was seated because it felt like I was reclining in an over-lazy Lazy Boy. In a moving vehicle, somehow that didn’t feel right. Then when we finally hit the road, we zoomed from zero to 5G in negative 3 seconds. The motion sickness that was sleeping in me got madly awaken and throughout the ride, I was praying for kingdom come. When the world finally stopped spinning, I was resigned to the fact that a Lambo is just ain’t my ride. That I would settle for a Volvo or a Lexus instead. Simple, right?

I am a simple man with a simple song to sing. I choose 𝙠𝙖𝙡𝙖𝙢𝙖𝙮 (rice cake) over caviar, 𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙤𝙣 (banana roll with something-something) over 𝑀𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑢𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒 𝑎𝑢𝑥 𝑓𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑟𝑜̂𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑒. In my life, I have been with and I have been without. But black or white, salt or pepper, I prefer simple with and simple without. Less headaches. Less frowns. Less hair fall. Shouldn’t life be that always? Why complicate?

Here’s to a simple life. Cheers! #MyCafeNotes