true love

eating crabs is a metaphor for life. it is beautifully served on a plate in front of you, arranged beautifully on a bed of greens and swimming in oils and sauces. steam wafts up, carrying with it the scent of unearthly spices that drive your tastebuds into a frenzy. the anticipation of digging into this feast is almost too much to bear. but there is the challenge of getting the meat out of the shell.

shelling a crab is no easy feat. one must painstakingly dirty one's hands, as there is no other way to get the meat out. one uses all tools available -- the nutcracker, the long pointy forky-looking thing, one's fingers, one's teeth -- to get all the meat out. once in a while, one stubs one's fingers on the sipit's sharp points, but that is okay because there is still meat in the crevices.

the result is worth it -- a pile of slightly steamy, succulent, sweet crab meat that one will mix with the bagoong rice drenched in szechuan sauce, and which one will deliver to one's mouth with silent and almost reverent ecstacy, which will cause one to swoon over the sheer delight of it all.

bliss.

that is life.

and true love? it is seeing my dad, who loves eating crabs almost as much as he loves his kids, shell the biggest, fattest sipit, collect the fat from the crab's middle, and put it all on my mom's plate.

that is true love in this life -- getting the best parts of the crab and giving it to the one you love best.

happy birthday poppy. you're the best.