Tales Of The Wisp ~AYU INDAH

PART 1~ TWO WEEKS AGO

The morning sun flooded the dining room in  a mesmerizing radiance as I came down the stairs. Its golden beams poured through the tall windows lining the walls, creating a kaleidoscope of dancing lights.

But the delightful display couldn't erase the whisper of melancholy shadowing my heart; the weight of time pressed upon me, and I couldn't help but let out a sigh.

"I feel old," I blurted aloud, slumping my tiny frame into the seat for breakfast.

Surprised by my sudden outburst, my husband looked up with a half-amused, bewildered smile.

"Why, good morning, my beautiful sunshine!" he greeted me with a playful grin.

"Pa!" I pouted, jutting out my lower lip.

Since our son was born, "Pa"—a simple word that held so much love and meaning—had been my term of endearment for him. Using it now meant I needed his full attention.

"Why, Hun, what's wrong?" he asked, concerned, keeping his gaze on my face as he took a seat.

"I have white hair!" I confessed, sounding alarmed. "Last night, I pulled some out! Is it true that if you pull out one white hair, more will grow in its place?"

"Oh, my gud knees!" he exclaimed with a mock-Filipino accent, dismissing my 'foolishness' as he tried to make me laugh, standing up and wobbling like an old man. "I thought it was something serious!"

"Wait! Hun, this is serious!" I insisted.

"And where did you learn that?" he asked as he busied himself at the kitchen counter, flipping over the French toast he was frying while making my coffee.

"Online! I looked it up on the internet. Do you believe it?"

"Ahhhh!" he said, handing me my coffee as he sat down at the table.

I stared down at my chai coffee, frothy with coconut cream and sprinkled with cinnamon. "This is delicious..." I muttered with a wan smile, and he grinned back.

"It'll make you feel better," he assured me as I took my first sip.

"I'm still waiting for you to say something to disprove me and make it better," I replied.

He pursed his lips, tapping his nose thoughtfully. After a pause, he asked, "How many did you pull?"

"Maybe three or four?" I replied.

He nodded, squinting a little, and raised one eyebrow like a question mark, as if he were trying to figure out something profound.

I watched him as I sipped my coffee, waiting for him. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, but noticing a fleeting, troubled expression on his face made me tense up.

"What? Jun!" I asked, concerned, "What is it?"

He didn't reply. Instead, his face cracked into a grimace before he hurriedly turned around.

"Hey, what was that about? Did you just smile?"

"Nooo, NO, of course not! I wouldn't," he denied.

"Then why'd you turn your back on me, Jun?"

"Your shoulders are shaking, Jun."

"Wa...wait, I'm ch...check...in' the toast," he replied with an inaudible snort, trying to escape the conversation.

Then I noticed his belly jiggle. Then he squealed, giggling like a ticklish pickle.

"You're laughing at me!" I yelled accusingly.

I rose to my feet, setting my cup down with a thump. Truth be told, I'm a little over a decade older than my husband, and this is a touchy subject.

"So now you think I'm old!"

"No! Nope!" he protested, with a cheeky grin still on his face. "You're just being silly, my sunshine!"

I smirked. "Well, let me tell you," I said, blurting out the first thing that came to mind, "I'm so old my birth certificate is written in hieroglyphics! And I remember riding on dinosaurs!"

My attempt at sarcasm fell flat as Jun doubled over with laughter.

My face burned as I glanced at the floor.

Why do I even care? Here I am, in my fabulous forties, having mastered the world and learned to appreciate its many follies. And yet, amidst the grand tapestry of my existence, the cosmic battle of a few rebellious white hairs takes center stage! Ugh, middle-aged blues are the worst!

Jun came over and hugged me like a teddy bear on a hot date with a blanket. I tried to resist, but I fell limp, surrendering.

"I'm old," I said meekly.

"Old? You silly girl!" he exclaimed, giving my head a playful boop. "You, old? Pfft, never!"

In the vast expanse of time, age is but a fleeting concept, residing only within one's thoughts. I understand this logically, but his opinion matters deeply to me.

"You're only as old as you feel," he went on, trying to lift my spirits. "Look at you! You're as young as you can be. Even at your age, you've embraced your inner youth and proven it to the world. But seriously, Hun, what's eating you up? You look fantastic, and you know it. Honestly, you look way younger than some girls half your age. So, what's really bugging you?"

I should have been thrilled by his praise, but I was silent. Avoiding his gaze, I sat down again, nervously toying with a strand of hair—a telltale sign of my inner turmoil.

When he spoke again, his eyes shone with affection. "You're my everything," he said softly, "my ravishing, precious, beloved wife." His words were full of love and respect, as always.

I caught his mischievous expression as he turned back to the stove. Then, with a dramatic pose like a knight-errant brandishing a spatula, he declared, "For thee, my adorable lady wife!"

"Tadahhh!" he said, placing a perfectly crisp piece of French toast on my plate.

I almost laughed.

"Ugh, stop it, Jun!" I protested.

Normally, his loving words and goofy antics would tickle me, making me giggle helplessly, kilig to the bones. But today, they only seemed to highlight my insecurities.

My spirits sank further when I caught my reflection in the dining room mirror: a pale oval face with eyes as large as saucers, looking utterly disenchanted, with a wild mess of auburn waves piled on top of my head. I looked like a cross between a startled Bambi and a poodle having a bad hair day.

Oh, my, I am a sight to behold! But I just woke up, I reasoned.

Could it be that the passing years have stolen not only my youth but also my once-vibrant sense of humor? Why do his attempts to amuse me only make me feel self-conscious? I wanted to cry. I lost my appetite.

Ignoring my husband, I began frantically tapping my forehead like a bongo drum.

"Gotta keep this face smooth like a baby's bottom!" I muttered. Launching into some facial yoga moves, I stretched my neck side to side, extended my chin forward, flapped my mouth open and shut, and blinked like a maniac.

Jun stopped, staring at me, momentarily aghast.

I must have looked like a grouper fish, but I didn't care. "Keep those wrinkles at bay!" I chanted under my breath, determined.

Jun tried to hold it in, but a laugh burst out, and he doubled over.

I stopped, glaring as he continued to laugh.

Frustrated, I stuck my tongue out at him and fled the dining room without a word, my face flushed.

Hmph. He's lucky I didn't throw that French toast at him.

His laughter faded behind me, but not before I heard him call out between breaths, "I love you, Ryn!" as I stepped outside into the bright sunlight.