Forever Young.

People have hallmarks of adulthood - some associate it with twenty one, others with careers and responsibilities. In my opinion, Aaliyah - may she rest in peace - had it right. Age ain't nothin' but a number. Twenty one felt suspiciously like eighteen, except you could legally drink.

Seeing as how the last book I read was the fourth installment of the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants and the fact that I still have difficulty coloring within the lines, I am a kid at heart and perpetually feel light years behind. Like the eight year old rummaging through her mother's costume jewelry or getting into the whiskey (it looked like orange juice!) in the punch bowl at her parents' company function, at twenty-four, I still find myself masquerading in a role that has supposedly come to pass. Instead, I have created my own definition: the moment I would enter adulthood was the day I would finally order fish at a restaurant.

The thing is, I have always been a picky eater. Correction: I was once a picky eater but have since reformed. It's not that I wanted to be demanding - I simply had my preferences, and being a creature of habit in the gastronomical sense, when faced with a decision, I invariably would opt for (a) chicken or (b) pasta, or when the stars were properly aligned, (c) chicken pasta.

Growing up, this proved to be problematic, as it cut out one entire food group. With my eating habits, the food pyramid would resemble more an hourglass - you had your bread base as a solid foundation, fruit at the narrowing, and your fats/oils/sugars teetering precariously on top. And the itty-bitty space where the sand would sieve through - that was occupied by the likes of leafy greens, carrots, and ick - celery. It wasn't that I was never exposed to these foods, but rather, that I had selective sight. I simply did not notice the dishes that were on the dinner table, unless they directly pertained to me. Case in point: I never had kimchi chigae until my freshman year of college. I'm sure it was there, I just never saw it.

Recently, upon a visit to House - an Asian fusion restaurant in North Beach - the unthinkable happened. I ordered the sea bass and savored every. last. bite. I thought it would be more ceremonious, marked by the likes of fanfare and clinking champagne glasses. Adulthood kind of snuck up on me.