the Taste of Life

These days if I have anything to write about, it’s got to come from the e-mails.
A high school friend shot me an e-mail, saying that she missed me and she dreamed about me the other night. This was a big deal for me. I immediately gave her a call.
She was at work, but she said it was ok to talk to me. She worked at a private company and her boss showed up at most once a month. I knew she was living with her fiancé and they were going to marry soon. So I asked her if she was planning to have baby, and she said she would make it happen as soon as she had her wedding around the end of the year. Then our topic went to house. She talked about how expensive it was to buy a house in the city where she lived and where rich people were all around. Then I told her it was the same in the U.S. and people were blowing the real estate bubbles all over.
Then she said, ok, I’ll save you some money on your phone bill and talk to you late. I knew she had to go back to work. So we stopped there.
I realized that our topic has been revolving around having baby and buying houses in quite a few calls. I remember once when I called a graduate school friend who got married before her graduation, she talked with me about shopping an apartment in Beijing for about one hour over the phone, and then apologized for wasting my long-distance phone bill on such a trivial and “lack-of-taste” topic.
“Don’t laugh at me.” She said.
I know what was on her mind. We used to sit in the coffee house and talked about the-meaning-of-life stuff for hours.
But as time goes on, people get there where you come to believe that the real taste of life is indeed about children, house and things alike. That happens to very one I know (except people I know from TV), and I guess it is going to happen to me sooner or later. But since I have not got there yet (very close though), I insist on keeping my hope for a life with some more tastes.