Delapan Februari

Delapan Februari. suamiku ulang tahun. Pastinya aku tak lupa. Jauh-jauh hari sudah kupikirkan apa yang akan kuberikan. Tahun lalu aku membuatkan kue ulang tahun dari mbak Betty. haha.... bolu standar banget... tapi biar kelihatan meriah, ditempelinlah dengan krim macem2. Anyway, he loved it (I guess). Oya, aku juga memberinya coklat yang kotaknya bergambar Daffy Duck berbentuk hati. Hati? ya, karena hari ulang tahunnya kan dekat dengan hari Valentine. Dijual dimana-mana, US$1.49 saja..... He kept it untill now (I mean the box).

Tahun ini? Apa kira2 aku kehabisan ide ya? Dari bulan Desember aku sudah punya ide yang kayaknya ok, krn ada unsur surprising nya. Tapi entah kenapa aku tu koooooo comel banget. Masa hadiah ulang tahunnya aku bocorin di bulan Januari. soo silly............... I hate me.

Delapan Februari. Dua hari yang lalu. Aku membuatkan kue yang lebih canggih dan lebih enak dari tahun lalu. TIRAMISU. hehe..... till now, I can't imagine that this Juli can make it such complicated cake. and it actually isn't complicated at all. very easy, fun and fast! not that pretty but delicious enough. Tapi ini engga surprise sama sekali. Habis gimana, kitchen dan meja belajar Ari jadi satu. He knew that I made it for him, for the celebration at 12. Yes, off course he loved it.

Aku sembunyikan hadiah kecil untuknya di balik bantal. Hurrah.... I think it's surprising him. even though the present was the one that I told him before.

Tahun depan, depannya lagi... lagi... lagi.... apa ya? do we really need to prepare a present? I think yes..... because it's fun!

This is for you my dear Ari from Shakespeare (Sonnet 116)

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds
Or bends with the remover to remove
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken
It is the star to every wandering bark
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks
But bears it out even to the edge of doom
If this be error and upon me proved
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.