My first love turns 25

And it’s true. I think most people won’t find that surprising, but every time I get drunk, teary and emotional and in the middle of a made-up/for-real crisis, I always say that Marga is my first love. I grew up with her. I was immature with her.

But I think the past year had made her wiser than me. After all, she’s a mother now.

But that’s the new Marga. What I can clearly recall is the old Marga. Or rather, the young. The one who loves putting flowers in people’s hair.

I think she was the one who convinced me to stuff my breasts.

She also told me to jump. And bravely at that. I think it’s because she’s so used to it. Hahaha.

I don’t think she was ever hesitant or scared that she might fall or get hurt. I think we’ve made a pact to always be the first to each other’s aid when we get in trouble.

We dressed up together, got pretty together, cooky together. I pretty much did everything with her.

We slept together, woke up together, got wasted together.

I pretty much cannot imagine how my life would be like without her. She’s smart, strong, and stunning. Prolly the only S’s you will need in a woman. I’ve always known she’s all these… I think it’s about time she knows it too.