Messy, Magic, and a Little Bit of Gin

Some days, the universe gifts you the kind of moments that feel like warm hugs—messy, unexpected, but perfect in their own way. Stephy’s 26th birthday was one of those days. No over-the-top plans, no crazy itineraries, just a quiet, chaotic, beautiful kind of celebration that felt exactly like us.

It started with food, obviously. Because what’s a birthday without stuffing ourselves silly? We opted for Japanese, but no sushi this time—just warm bowls of comfort, rich flavors, and dishes that made us pause mid-conversation just to appreciate how good life can taste. The ambiance of the restaurant was just right—soft lighting, cozy seating, the comforting hum of laughter from other tables mixing into our own little world. Jay, being Jay, kept things effortlessly funny, throwing in a mix of dry humor and deep, unintentional wisdom that only he can deliver. Stephy, our birthday girl, was glowing—her laugh filling the air, her happiness spilling onto all of us like confetti.

And me? I was feeling myself a little more than usual. New heels, new energy. There’s something about walking in heels that makes the world feel just a little more conquerable, like I was writing my own movie scene, even if that scene involved slight wobbling and calculating every step on uneven pavement. Every confident step felt like a declaration of celebration, of stepping into a night filled with possibilities.

Lunch wrapped up, but the day was far from over. Next stop: Florentine, Chow Kit—my favorite little escape. If there’s one place that understands the magic of pairing wine with pasta and dessert, it’s this one. The dimly lit corners, the smooth sound of jazz humming in the background, the clinking of glasses, the swirl of deep red wine catching the candlelight (none btw)—everything about this place felt like a stolen moment from an old romance film.

We toasted to Stephy, to growth, to surviving our mid-20s with as much grace as possible (which, let’s be real, isn’t much). Plates were shared, forks clashed mid-air, and there was this effortless rhythm to it all—laughter, teasing, quiet moments in between bites, the kind of atmosphere you wish you could bottle up and keep forever. Dessert arrived like the grand finale, sweet and decadent, each bite a little love letter to our taste buds.

But the night had one more layer waiting for us—a hidden world behind an unmarked door. A speakeasy, specializing in gin. Now, if you know Stephy, you know this was her place. The kind of place where mystery lingers in the dim lights, where the drinks are smooth but dangerous, where you find yourself sinking deeper into the moment, into conversation, into something softer. The scent of botanicals and citrus filled the air, mixing with the soft chatter of patrons and the occasional clink of ice against glass. The atmosphere was intimate, inviting, laced with a sense of secrecy that made it feel like we had stepped into another world.

The three of us took our time—slow sips, stolen glances at other tables, giggling over things we’d forget in the morning but somehow still mattered in that moment. Conversations got deeper, a little unfiltered, the way they do when the world outside feels like a distant dream. Everything felt fluid, from the way the bartender crafted each drink like an artist to the way we let the night pull us deeper into its embrace.

And then—cats. Yes, actual cats. This bar, as if the universe knew exactly what we needed, had cats just casually existing, weaving between bar stools, claiming seats that weren’t theirs, stealing attention effortlessly. It was ridiculous and perfect. One minute we were deep in conversation, the next we were full-on distracted, melting into baby voices and gentle scritches, completely under their spell.

Hours passed without us realizing. That’s the thing about nights like these—you don’t watch the time, you just feel it. It stretches and bends, it holds you in place, it reminds you that some nights are meant to be fully lived, not measured. We let ourselves be carried by it, by the easy laughter, the quiet reflections, the simple joy of existing in the same space with people who make life feel lighter.

As the night came to a slow, sleepy end, I couldn’t help but feel grateful. Words had been heard. Hearts had been touched. Thoughts had been shared. There was nothing grand about the way we celebrated, but there was something undeniably special about it. A kind of quiet magic, the kind that exists between friends who just get each other, who make life feel a little less lonely, who remind you why being here—being present—matters.

So here’s to you, Stephy. Thank you for existing in my life. 💌