the pink coat

My sister and I embarked on a mission to acquire the illustrious Pink Coat from Portmans. She fell head over heels for it after spotting it in a magazine. When she finally saw it in person, she dragged me along to witness the glory. I paid the coat a visit with LN on Monday, and let's just say my first impression was less "wow" and more "meh." The fabric felt off, and the style was a bit, well, odd.

I relayed my lukewarm feelings to my sister, thinking that would be the end of our Pink Coat adventure. But no, she persuaded me to give it another chance at Westfields in Liverpool. So, I agreed, because every coat deserves a fair trial, right? Even so, I still found it underwhelming and decided to get a second opinion from Mum. Mum, being the pragmatic woman she is, suggested we could find something similar at the markets for a fraction of the price and thought we were bonkers for wanting such an expensive piece of clothing.

My sister, ever the fashion lawyer, argued that the coat only looked weird on the hanger and would transform into a masterpiece when worn. To prove her point, she modeled it, and lo and behold, it looked stunning on her. Panic set in - what if it looks good on her but makes me look like a pink marshmallow? Alas, my sister's enthusiasm was infectious, and I got swept up in the coat craze.

Update

Post-work, my sister and I ventured to the Parramatta branch, praying they had the elusive Pink Coat in size 6. No luck. Frustration was building as we were tired of the relentless coat chase. We wandered into Sheike, and there, like a beacon of hope, was another Pink Coat. This one was cashmere and a much lovelier shade of baby pink than the Portmans version.

So, naturally, I bought it. Just like that.

And now I'm fabulously broke!

remember when...

Remember a time when fights were easy to resolve? Like the Chinese New Year of 1990 when your sister teased you endlessly about losing all your money in the Fish Prawn Crab Dice Game, making you cry in front of all the relatives? You were furious, ready to disown her, but by day's end, all was forgiven. Well, maybe not forgotten.

Or when you were in 3rd grade and your best friend was absent, and the girl with the elastic rope excluded you. Your other friends chose the rope over you, leaving you to wander the playground, wishing for your best friend's return or your own elastic rope to fit in. The next day, your best friend was back, and suddenly, none of it mattered as handball became the new trend.

Remember 8th grade, when you had a fallout with a friend and vowed never to speak again? Yet a year later, you slowly made up, and it felt like she had never left your side.

Or when you broke up with your first boyfriend and he dated someone else the very next day. You told him, "Go out with that skinny goat, I don't care!" But when he did, it hurt deeply. You ignored him for years, and now, you just smile when you see him, completely over it.

And that time when someone you were infatuated with decided he didn't want you in his life anymore. You obsessed over him for two years, only to become friends again and he has become a good friend who will likely be in your life for a long time.

How about when you thought your boyfriend's ex could be a friend, only to find out she had you on her ICQ invisible list? You confronted her childishly, but unpredictably, she became one of your dearest friends, and now you go to her to complain about your present love life.

Remember your massive crush on that new friend? You were sure he was equally smitten. But after a blow-up post-year 12 Formal, you thought the friendship was done for, but he eventually came around and started chatting again. Now, he doesn’t even recall why he was mad, and when you ask why he tolerates your nonsense, he just shrugs and says, "I don't know." It’s the perfect answer because he doesn’t need a reason to care for you.

Those moments felt like the end of the world, but now they're the threads that weave the fabric of your life.

And then there's the time you lost your first love. Months apart, you feel like you haven't recovered, even regressing to square zero, wishing to go back to when you were together. You're scared of being stuck in this limbo, trying to fix things but making them worse, trying to hold him close but pushing him further away. Moving on feels impossible because every new guy has something wrong: too desperate, too short, too old, too young, too dull, too nice.

So here you are, sitting at work, wondering when you'll finally say, "Remember when everything went wrong with that boy, but now I know I'm still special to him."

that's amore

"While driving home, she dozed off, looking so peaceful and innocent. I couldn't help but glance at her whenever I stopped at a traffic light. Getting home quickly was the last thing on my mind; I wanted to savour this slow, gentle ride. At every light, I'd watch her sleep, her hand in mine. Driving one-handed and shifting gears with the same hand was a challenge, but it was worth every moment."