I feel like a proud mom. A mother who is proud of her babies. A mom who saw her babies grow up to become men. A mother who beams with joy everytime she sees them. A mother who is happy with their achievements… well, not really. They are fish. They are not mine. They are my friend’s.

I was first introduced to them a few years ago when they were these itty-bitty. No, I didn’t change their diapers but if feeding them liken to that, then I did it.

They were cute and bubbly “nemos”, yeah some resembled it, at times when Finding Nemo was in vogue. They exuded tranquility, peacefulness.

My friend built an exquisite pond for his “babies” just outside of the entrance door instead of piling them up in a fish tank and anyone coming to house could not steer clear but see them. They were there greeting anyone with their “smile” and free spirit.

That was his thing, feeding them. His zen moment. His time of great joy. His inner peace.

They knew it was time and would swim at once at the sound of the first drop of food in the water. They were hungry and fed they were.

I didn’t know what would become of the fishes once my friend moved to the new house but he quietly relocated the pond, fish included.  Perhaps, some died but in my wildest dreams, never thought they would grow this big and survive this long. I wish they had names!