It was one fine night when our parents took us for dinner in the finest restaurant in hometown. It was Manokwari, a house-like eatery that stood quietly by Gembong River, the biggest river dividing the town into two.

Everything is still vivid in mind. The dim room with huge dining tables and tall chairs, classic chandeliers and thick smell of jasmine mixed with fragrant cooked meals from the kitchen.

I remember climbing up the chair, sitting nervously as the table was almost touching my jaw, and my feet hanging a couple of inches from the floor. The large white porcelain plate in front of me seemed intimidating.

Years after, we came again to dine there. It was still a lively restaurant with dim light and classic decoration. The tables seemed in an “okay” size, the chairs also not as big and tall as years before. I could then put my feet down and had a perfect level to my plate on the table. I smiled. Everything seemed smaller than I used to remember. But apparently, it was just that I grew older and taller.

It was another lovely family dinner. The sweetness of growing older.


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