Creating Sentimentality

I sat with my friends for dinner.
Dinner included a congealed mass of chicken 65,
Orange and brown, spicy and doused with sufficient garlic and MSG,
Only tasty because it was laden with nostalgia.
We slurped our soups, drowned our hakka noodles in the excess manchurian gravy.
The manchurian balls were previously allocated in a systematic fashion amongst us friends,
Unlike when siblings serve themselves food.
And in the midst of the laughing, slurping and eating chunks of a congealed mass of chicken, we caught up on our lives.
Three of us lamented about our careers – that we were grateful for where we are but it was not enough.
Three of us lamented about our significant others – that we were grateful for whom we were with but what now?
We mused over our problems, came to the standard realisation: our problems are not real problems, you know?
There’s poverty, hunger, terminal illnesses, abusive households out there,
Those are real problems, we surmised.
We moved to dessert – generous helpings of ice cream –
Some of us staying partial to chocolate,
Others wanting to change things up with the likes of papaya and musk melon.
Between mouthfuls of ice creaam and miniscule brain freeze moments,
We jabbered on without spirits to keep us company,
We jabbered on, unbeknownst to us that
At that time we were creating sentimentality for our futures.

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