We were three friends sit at a small wobbly wooden table, set half on the sidewalk, half on the curb side of the dusty road. We just came back from a bar where my roommate’s Chinese boyfriend was performing and we were starving, craving for a platter of jiaozi. It was a hot and humid night in Nanjing, China.

I’ve never been a morning person. Even though my high school days memories are slowly starting to fade, I still remember my last year. We had to attend classes Monday through Saturday starting at 8:00 am, and everyday was a struggle to get up.

I’m cooking some red peppers when the phone rings :

- 喂，你好，黄先生系唔系屋企?

I hate bloody telemarketing, especially in Cantonese.

I have an ongoing love & hate relationship with cars. I like cars. They hate me.

It all started when I was 17. After I completed the compulsory 50 hours driving ed, I registered for the test.

I’m a young office worker. The world is mine. As soon as I’ll finish my cigarette, I’ll go deal with the commissioner, a weekly task to which I excel. That’s life when you go teach at the government.

- Hi/ bonjour, what’s your name ?

Great. A spelling bee contest at 8:55. I must say that I love my name, but really, does it have to have 4 “i” and several consonants people never know in which order to arrange ?