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Category Archives: Creative writing

My Maid of Honor Speech

26 Sunday Jun 2016

Posted by Barneys Girl in Creative writing

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best friends, maid of honor, wedding speech, wedding toast

In two weeks time, I am going to be the maid of honor at my childhood BFF’s wedding in Durham. I just spent the last week working on my maid of honor speech, and I think I have finally gotten it just right. Now all I have to do is practice the delivery of it…It always sounds better in my head than in real life. I even went to a speech instructor today to get some tips and practice. Public speaking is something I want to work on and hopefully overcome.  Wish me luck!

Hello everyone, my name is V. I am N’s BFF and maid of honor. And I am so happy to be here tonight to celebrate her happily ever after with her.

N and I met when we were 8 years old in Mrs. K’s class, where we were constantly told off for talking to each other. Just so you know, N’s school record was otherwise perfect. She was a model student with a knack for Kumon. That’s one of the reasons why her family calls her “Let Let”- it means “smart” in Chinese.

Since then, while we did not go to the same secondary school or even lived in the same city most of the time, somehow N and I have miraculously kept in touch. We even manage to see each other every one or two years; in San Diego, Chicago, Iceland, Taipei, Hong Kong and now Durham. Most amazingly, each time we pick up right where we left off.

N is honestly the most genuine and nice person I know. She is a burst of energy, and through her eyes everything is awesome and amazing; from In-and-Out burgers to hotdogs in Iceland. The glass is always half full and there is always a silver lining. Whenever I am feeling down, I would call N and she would pick up the phone (even in the middle of movie night) and she would always knows exactly what to say. N also constantly reminds me of the good in people. That time we went to Taipei together, within the span of 36 hours N introduced me to 10 people (which is more than I meet in a regular year) and they were all super nice! They took us around, fed us and even bought me slippers when my shoes fell apart. She just has a way of bringing people together and bringing out the best in them.

N really is the best cheerleader and friend a girl can have, and I am lucky to have her in my life [remember to look at bride!]. Judging from the number of people, both family and friends, who have come forward to help with this wedding and the miles traveled to be here today, I am sure N also holds a very special place in many of your hearts as well. The pressure is on J, we hope you realize how incredibly lucky you are!

Speaking of the lucky man, one of my first impressions of him was through an email chain when we were planning our Iceland trip. After finalizing everything, J responded to the group for the first time with one single word “Boom.” I think there’s a cultural gap here or something, because I honestly had no idea what to make of it. What does “boom” mean? What kind of person says “boom”? I had to Google this.

Turns out the kind of person who says “boom” is someone who is fiercely loyal, generous and infinitely patient. When N and J came to Hong Kong last year, J spent two weeks just getting to know N’s big (big) family – much of which was not even in English. But he patiently smile and nodded through it all, and by all accounts scored top marks. He even indulged us, and spent a hour putting on costumes and taking silly pictures – which I get the impression is not really his thing. You should ask him to show you the superman picture some day. If that is not love, I don’t know what is. So while J is not the polo shirt wearing, tennis playing Prince Charming that N had envisioned during one of our late night chats in college, he is the Prince Charming who loves her and whom she can climb mountains, trek deserts and cross oceans together with – oh wait, they have already done that!

Please join me in raising a glass to N and J. As you embark on this new journey together, we wish you all the happiness in the world. May there be many more mountains, deserts and oceans to come. Boom.

The four-eyed girl

01 Wednesday Jul 2015

Posted by Barneys Girl in Creative writing, Random Musings

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lasik

When I was about 14, the worst thing happened. My vision started to blur and it became clear that I needed glasses. I could barely handle being pimply (I was almost caustic!). I simply couldn’t handle being 4-eyed (because wearing glasses makes it look as if you have 4 instead of 2 eyes) on top of that. That would destroy any remnants of confidence I had left after trying deluding myself that my pimples were barely visible.

So instead of getting glasses I jumped right into contact lenses. It took me a while to figure out how to jab something in my eye at first but at least the world was right again. And I can continue on the business of being a pimply pre-accutane teenager.

I wore contacts almost religiously. I never went out in public with my glasses on unless I absolutely had to (i.e. on the plane). I was scared that someone I knew would see me in my glasses. Some friends didn’t even know I wore glasses for years!

And when I discovered daily Acuvue moist during college, I couldn’t go back. It was so convenient and comfortable. I thought I could wear them forever. Who needs LASIK? It was risky and unnecessary.

So life went on. I graduated from college and started work. First as a data analyst in Chicago and then as an investor relations in Hong Kong. I spent long hours staring at the computer. At first everything was fine, I wore contacts all day from 9am to 8pm when I got home.

But then my eyes started to feel dry. It started to become difficult to remove the contacts at night. I was literally trying to peel them off my very very dry eyeballs. And on Friday nights when I get home later than usual, my eyes would feel like a desert. I would try to blink really hard and massage my eyes, but the dryness wouldn’t abate until I removed the contacts.

For the sake of vanity, I ignored the signs and soldiered through.

But then the office next door started renovating and the air got really dusty. My eyes started getting unbearably dry. So I started wearing glasses to work. At first it was temporary. Just until they finished renovating next door. Buteven after the renovations I continued to wear glasses to work everyday. What was the point of suffering through whole days of contact lens anyway? I see the same people everyday, and I didn’t need to impress them anymore. And I don’t look that bad with glasses anyway. My glasses are ridiculously expensive, so I should “show them off” more often anyway. My colleague V’s mantra – only dress up when it matters – started to make a lot of sense. I’ll just put on my contacts on special occasions when I want/need to feel pretty and confident.

At first I would put them on for work meetings and get together with friends. But as time went on, I realize that I only felt the need for contacts when I was about to meet a new bunch of people like at a work conference or a big gathering of not so close friends (who matter) – whenever I was outside my comfort zone. People are shallow by nature and are nicer to good looking people after all. My only remnant of vanity left was when I knew that lots of pictures will be taken and my 4-eyed self will be documented and possibly posted on social media for all of eternity (I.e. on birthdays and vacations).

My mom thought I was “letting go” of myself. And perhaps I was.  Vanity just didn’t seem that important anymore. My confidence did not depend on it. I thought that I had finally achieved the promised state of “being comfortable in your own skin.”

Had I? Or had I just found my comfort zone and was hiding behind my glasses?

The turning point came in the form of a new job. The dream job that I had always wanted as a fresh grad. I was not so “fresh” anymore, but I wasn’t married and tied down with kids yet either. It was going to be more work and it would mean leaving the work family that I loved. But it was a career opportunity that I couldn’t turn down. I didn’t even realize I had career aspirations until then.

It prompted me to finally take the plunge to get LASIK. It had always been at the back of my mind, but the idea of surgery just sounded so scary and unnecessary. I heard that many Asian women were susceptible to dry eyes. Why do so few eye doctors themslves not get LASIK? What if I went blind for the sake of vanity and convenience? But as I prepared to step outside my comfort zone again, I resolved to stop overthinking and just do it. There was no question that I will need to put on my game face at the new job. And the prospect of pulling long hours with contacts dehydrating my eyes was just unbearable.

On the eve of my LASIK surgery, I felt nervous and somewhat excited. Not nervous that I will go blind. I have mostly convinced myself that my doctor was the best doctor available and everything will go fine (his overwhelming confidence was comforting). But a more niggling worry was whether I will get used to being back in the spotlight again; exposing all my expressions, dark circles and puffy eyes. Of being seen again. I have been hiding behind my glasses for so long and it has been so easy. I will probably have to wear makeup more often!

You know how when you are nervous, your hands start to sweat, your stomach feels like it is about to drop and your heart starts beating as if you are on a roller coaster ride? Well I felt none of those things the morning of the surgery. Maybe just a little. But nowhere near the level I get pre-job interviews. I felt oddly calm. Perfectly willing to handover my eyes to the ever capable doctor. Unlike in an interview, there was not much I can do to help anyway.

During the first part of the surgery the doctor asked me to lift my chin and don’t curl up (as one tends to do when nervous) so that the laser can get better access to my eyes. It reminded me of the time when I went skydiving. Before we jumped out of the plane, the instructor told me to lift my chin and body like a bird to better streamline ourselves. In both cases, what they asked me to do was completely anti instinctive to what I wanted to do, which was to curl up in my safety ball like an unborn baby. Being the ever trusting and obedient soul that I am under authority, I tried my best to obey. Both times, I realised that there was nothing to curl up in a ball over to begin with.

Both parts of the surgery was over with pretty quickly (it didn’t even feel like 20 minutes!). While it was nerve wracking, it was not as scary as I had anticipated. And there was no pain, just some pressure. You see a lot of light, complete darkness and then light again. Besides needing to cut the flap of my right eye twice and possibly causing the two red bruises on my right eye, everything went perfectly. The doctor was very good. He had a very reassuring and calm quality about him that makes you feel like everything is going to be alright. And that it is not even that big a deal. All I had to do was not move my eye balls.

While you are encouraged to rest your eyes during and immediately after surgery, it is amazing how much one can see during the whole process. I could see in between the two parts of surgery. And I can see directly after. Theoretically the cornea seals within minutes of being placed back, so you can actually already see right after surgery. But just in case it doesn’t stick on 100% immediately, you are encouraged to rest your eyes for the remainder of the day only squinting to see when walking or eating. That was a long night for me. Not being able to see doesn’t suit me. I finally couldn’t resist and squinted to turn on some interesting Ted talks.

I was able to remove the protective glasses and see properly again the next morning. I didn’t exactly get a “whoa I can finally wake up and see the clock” moment. It kind of slowly registered that I didnt need to reach for my glasses anymore. I didn’t have to worry about fingerprints and fog on my glasses. I can wear sunglasses whenever I want. I can travel without worrying about bringing enough contacts. Little things like that made me think whoa. The fact that I was already going out for tea the next day and shopping made me think whoa too.

3 weeks after surgery, I have almost forgotten about life with glasses. If it weren’t the need for constant eye drops and the faint red bruise in my right eye, I think I would forget that I recently had surgery. Life is back to normal. It is amazing how we can adapt to a new normal so quickly. Though today I did notice my eye bags being especially pronounced. I will most definitely need make up when I start work (in 1 day!!). Hopefully I will adapt. In the meantime I guess sunglasses will do.

Haaa…CHOO

26 Monday May 2014

Posted by Barneys Girl in Creative writing, Random Musings

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My dad is in general a quiet person, but he has one heck of a sneeze. While other people’s sneezes are usually fast and quiet and somtimes can even be mistaken for a cough or a squeak, my dad’s sneezes always make me shudder. It is especially jarring when we are both quietly doing our own things and then suddenly BOOM.

It starts with two seconds of an almost indistinct “Haaaaa..” as he draws in his breathe (the signal for me to brace myself). This is followed by a very loud and resounding CHOOO.” There is then either one or two more abbreviated versions of the same in equally earth shattering volumes. He does this no matter where he is.

My mom and I have repeatedly asked him why he cannot control himself and sneeze more quietly (kind of like how one controls themselves to fart more quietly in public). But each time, he just shrugs in confusion as if he doesn’t know what we are talking about.

Neighbours

06 Monday May 2013

Posted by Barneys Girl in Creative writing, Random Musings

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I’m done with Life Writing class! It has been both awesome and disappointing. Awesome because I got to meet some amazing ladies with incredible stories to tell, and  got myself to start writing again. Disappointing because I realized that not all writing classes are equal, and if not for my awesome classmates, the class would be for naught. Next, I’m thinking of taking either an interior designing course, or a computer programming course. And hopefully continue writing on this blog.

One thing I did learn during this course is that apparently writing related segments, and then putting it together really does work. Here is my finish product for the course. Hope you enjoy, and constructive comments are welcome.

***************

While my brother, Ocean and I still live at home together, we’re really more like neighbors.

Every morning my brother leaves the house at 6am. He’s a chef, and needs to get into work early to make preparations for the day, working odd hours (including weekends and public holidays). I have an office job, and barely leave the house before 9:30am. Sometimes when I have a late night out on weekends, or cannot sleep, I’d hear him in the bathroom going through his morning routine. Not long after that, I’d hear the front door banging shut. Once I woke up at an ungodly hour early on a Sunday morning for a marathon and we left home together. In the evenings, I get home at around 8pm, just in time to say goodnight to him. That is pretty much the extent I see my brother in daily life. Otherwise his presence is only felt in the slippery bathroom floor and the empty freezer where my ice cream is supposed to be.

Once in a blue moon, when he and I are both home for the evening, and he’s in a good mood, he’d come over to tell me about his latest girlfriend, or all the planning he has done for his upcoming trip to Japan. I am always amazed by the diligence he applies to planning for Japan (if only he were half as diligent at school!). This occurs every few months, whenever he has saved enough money to go. Personally, I don’t get this earn it and spend it concept (I’m more of a save for a rainy day kind of girl), but over the years, I’ve learnt to be encouraging and non-judgmental. Behind his gruff I-am-too-cool-to-care exterior, is a sensitive soul. Besides, I leave the censorship to to my parents.

But even on that front he gets off easy, and pretty much does whatever he wants. He brings random girls he meets on the internet home, never cleans up after himself, never shows up for family events and is in general downright rude. It is not because he’s a boy, and my parents are typical Asian parents who favour boys. But (I suspect) because they feel guilty about his traumatizing childhood (he was academically challenged, and spent his childhood either at school or after-school school), which culminated to what we thought was anorexia when he came back from studying in Canada after a year, looking like a skeleton (being a huge McDonalds fan, he was borderline obese when he went!). That, and because my parents just don’t know what they can do with him. After so many years, he’s pretty much immune to any parental rebuke (and he’s much too old for the stick).

As for me, you know what they say; you can choose your friends, but not your family. We are so different, that under normal circumstances, we probably would never have even spoken. But yet, here we are. He is the only other person in the world who has both my mother and father’s blood running through him. There has got to be some love in there somewhere.

Continue reading →

From the Grandma’s Perspective

26 Friday Apr 2013

Posted by Barneys Girl in Creative writing

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This week for class we were given an extract from “Semper Fi: The Story of a Vietnam Era Marine” by Orville Leverne Clubb (pp 10-14), and asked to write a corresponding piece from the Grandma’s perspective. The piece was written from a little boy’s point of view, about how he moved from his grandmother to his parent’s home and back again, and how he ended up failing first grade. Considering that this is the only extract I’ve ever read from this book, I took a lot of literary liberty to create a backdrop and even to make up names of certain characters.

I tried to give a darker twist to the story, instead of the straightforward, his grandma loves him too and really missed him etc. I thought of why the little boy was placed to live with his grandparents in the first place and came up with this:

****************

Just as I was getting ready to make dinner, my sixteen year old daughter, Carol burst into the house, with tears in her eyes looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” I asked.

“I’m pregnant” she sobbed, “and it’s not Harry’s.”

Harry was the captain of the football team, Carol’s high school sweetheart and her fiance. They were getting married in June.

“What am I going to do mother? What am I going to do?” Carol cried.

****************
Continue reading →

Flyer Etiquettes

17 Wednesday Apr 2013

Posted by Barneys Girl in Creative writing, Random Musings

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flyer etiquette

There is a guy who hands out flyers all the time near my bus stop. He wears glasses, and has a funny face and an awkward walk. I figured that he is mentally challenged. Every time I walk pass him I’d take a flyer, so he could be done with his job earlier (at least that is what I would hope for if I were distributing flyers). Usually I would then throw the flyer away in the nearest bin a few steps away. I’ve been doing this for a while now (perhaps even more than a year), and have come to regard it as one of my ‘small acts of kindness’ of the day (usually, I don’t stop at all for safety reasons, as well as the fact that most beggars in Hong Kong – especially in Central – are part of an organized gang). 

Recently there has been some construction going on near my bus stop, and they’ve moved the bin closer to where the guy is handing out flyers. So this morning when I took his flyer, he saw me putting it directly into the bin as there weren’t a lot of people around. I really didn’t think he’d care. He was just doing his job after all. But then I heard a noise behind me and saw him swearing at me, and basically giving me the finger!

I admit, in all this time I’ve never actually stopped to read any of his flyers to see what they were about. They are usually bland, photocopied pieces of colored paper with a lot of Chinese characters on it. I just assumed they were promoting a local restaurant or the likes. I honestly thought I was doing him a favour by taking a flyer!

But this experience has me questioning, what is the correct etiquette for flyer distribution? If I’m not interested in the content, is it kinder for me to politely decline with a smile and walk away, or take one anyway and then throw it away?

Never stop for anyone

05 Friday Apr 2013

Posted by Barneys Girl in Creative writing

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I’ve always considered myself well-traveled. Not traipsing through the Amazon and hiking in the Himalayan well-traveled, but enough to comfortably walk the streets of London well-traveled. When I studied abroad in Paris during college, I prowled the smelly and convoluted undergrounds of Paris unscathed; my friend Kathryn and I trolley-ed our way through Milan, Lugano, Venice and Geneva with only a few near mishaps. I thought I was immune to petty street crimes and tourist traps.

I was in London, on one of my first business trips. The March weather was unseasonably beautiful; the sky was clear blue and the air was cool and crisp. Still freezing cold by Hong Kong standards, but we were well insulated; my boss in his smart dove grey cashmere coat, and me in my awkward beige puffer, which stops mid-thigh, not quite covering my dress underneath (cutting me in all the wrong places, but I was too cold to care). We had time in between meetings, and so my boss and I decided to walk from Piccadilly to our next meeting in Kensington. We thought it would be scenic to go along Hyde Park and through Knightsbridge, the crème de la crème of London, where Harrods is.

As we walked by Wellington Arch, which marks the beginning of Knightsbridge, a middle eastern man holding a map asked us for directions to the British Museum. Being the nice people that we were, we stopped and pointed it out to him on the map. Just as we were about to part ways, we were stopped by another man dressed in jeans (also middle eastern looking!), claiming to be an undercover cop.

“Are you exchanging money?” he asked.

We frantically shook our heads, no.

He then waved his his badge at us, and asked to see all our identifications and money. Being the good law abiding Chinese citizens that we were, one by one we dutifully handed over our passports and money to be inspected. We watched as he checked our passports, counted our cash and handed everything back to us. Once he had checked all three of us, he thanked us and told us to be careful next time.

We went on our way, feeling uneasy. What just happened? Were we being followed? We immediately quickened our pace and only stopped when we saw uniformed cops standing ahead of us, and rushed to recount our story. The uniformed cop did not look surprised, and asked us if we’d lost anything. We said no. So he just told us to be careful next time, and that he could not help us any further as he was on duty. It was only then that we noticed that we were standing right outside the Libyan embassy. Considering that Libya was in the midst of a civil war at that time, we took that as a bad omen and hopped onto the relative safety of a cab, unnerved.

It was only later that evening when my boss counted his money, that he realized that a few hundred euros were missing. Even though we were watching like a hawk, somehow the “cop” had managed to magically whisk away hundreds of euros without us knowing. It appeared that we were indeed robbed after all. Right in the backyard of Buckingham Palace, where London’s most expensive real estate is supposed to be.

As we processed this information, we tried to look on the bright side. Perhaps we did the right thing given the situation. Even if we had known it was a con from the start, it would have done us no good to put up a fight anyway. They could have held us at gun point! At least now, we were unharmed, if a little shaken. Actually a whole lot shaken. I shudder to imagine what could have happened, and swore never to stop for anyone ever again.

The Astronaut

15 Friday Mar 2013

Posted by Barneys Girl in Creative writing, Random Musings

≈ 2 Comments

“My daddy is an astronaut,” or so I thought.

As most middle class Hong Kong families did back in the 80s in fear of the great 97 handover, my family moved to Canada when I was about three years old to sit out our four year immigration “prison sentence.” While my mother and I spent much of this time in domestic bliss in Toronto, I imagined my father in a suit, floating around in space when he was not with us. In reality, he was frequently flying between Canada and Hong Kong so he can get his passport and work at the same time. Such a person was commonly known back in the days as an astronaut.

In that sense, I guess my mother and I were kind of astronauts as well. We flew back and forth a lot too. My mother grew up surrounded by a large and boisterous family in Hong Kong, and could not stand the cold and radio silence of Toronto. She barely spoke English or knew anyone there at the time, so there really was only so much she could do. There were only so much pretend telephone conversations and meals (real and make belief) one can have with a chatty three year old; and only so much one can shop at Eaton and “Hope Renview” (it was only much later that I found out that my mother’s favourite store was actually Holt Renfrew).

Kindergarten was only a distant afterthought. I did not have time for it, and I hated it. I cried so much my first day, my mother, the softie that she is, gave in and let me stayed home afterwards. The school principal called a few days later to find out where I went.

While others remember stealing kisses from the girl on the bus, I remember playing the drums by myself next to the window, waiting for my mother to show up. Even at such a precocious age, when children still played indiscriminately, I failed to connect with anyone. Later this would lead to years of self-doubt and confidence issues. But at that moment, I just spaced out, anxiously waiting for my mother to come pick me up.

The sister I never had

08 Friday Mar 2013

Posted by Barneys Girl in Creative writing, Random Musings

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My mother got pregnant when I was about three, and because her baby bump was very ’round’ at the time, she was convinced that it was a girl. So for many months before the baby was born, I would cuddle next to my mother while she watched TV, gently put my cheeks on her baby bump and talked to “Hoi Fa” (meaning “ocean flower” in Chinese – my chosen name for her) in three year old gibberish. After so many years by myself (there were no such things as play groups back then), I couldn’t wait to have a REAL LIVE baby sister to play with. I was going to be the best-est elder sister ever. We were going to do everything together in matching red outfits and pig tails!

Before my mother had a chance to get a proper scan to confirm her conviction however, her water broke on the eve of October 30, 1990 (3 months early!). After over 24 hours of labor having me, she wasn’t going to rush to the hospital for nothing and have oily hair for the rest of the week (in Chinese culture, women are not supposed to wash their hair immediately after giving birth). She very calmly finished making dinner and washed her super curly shoulder length hair before heading to the hospital. My brother was born shortly after by cesarean. When I found out, I ran up our long curving staircase to my room, jumped onto my bed and promptly burst into tears. Despite my aunt Anita and uncle Peter’s best efforts, I was heartbroken. My baby sister had turned into an icky boy. I fell asleep staring mournfully at my Mickey Mouse lampshade.

Needless to say, the arrival of my brother was marred with disappointment and nagging feelings which I eventually identified as jealousy. It wasn’t so bad at first. My mother came back a few days later and the three of us went out for dim sum as usual. Since my brother was born premature, he had to stay for further observation at the hospital, inside a small plastic box. My mother marveled at the convenience of it all. Instead of staying up all day and night feeding and changing diapers, she was relaxing and enjoying herself with a nice cup of tea. After a few days though, the hospital called asking my parents where they were, and why they had not come to visit at all.

When I envisioned the arrival of my new sibling, my three year old mind did not factor in the fact that it would take my parent’s attention away from me. Indeed, I thought there would actually be one more person in my orbit to circle around me. Parents nowadays try to ease the entry of a second child into a household, by presenting the first child with gifts from their new sibling to generate good will. But my mother is fifth of seven children and my father is second of three. They had absolutely no concept of what an unwelcome intrusion a sibling is to a single child. I was suddenly thrown out of my limelight, and I didn’t like it at all.

It was dark days for me after that. I don’t remember much, but from what I’ve gathered in home videos, it was cringe worthy. Every time I see those videos, my heart goes out to that little girl. One in particular featured my brother lying crinkly and naked in a small tub full of water in the shower, while my mother kneel next to him with one hand behind his neck and the other running a soapy wash cloth over him, giving him a bath. My father stood next to them, holding his huge rectangular video camera over his shoulder. And in the background, you can hear the voice of a little girl, repeatedly going “daddy daddy, look at me!” Then the camera shakes a bit as my father glances back and reproaches the little girl, telling her to be quiet. I stop watching after that, as embarrassment and rejection overcomes me all over again.  I was supposed to be the focal point of my father’s big black box. I freeze whenever I get in front of a video camera now, but back then I was a natural. I would just look straight at the lens and talk non stop, showing my invisible audience a photo album or just go about cooking in my toy kitchen, while my mom cooks in the real kitchen next door. My  brother was just lying in a tub! 

Eventually I got over the fact that I have a brother instead of a sister (I even started to appreciate that I never have to share my clothes), and learnt how to regain and share the limelight. But that is a story for another time.

Tea with BG

A twenty something who loves having tea with scones and devonshire cream, while chatting with friends about fashion, love, life, finance and everything in between. And no, this is not a food blog.

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