My sister has always been a bully. Not in a dramatic, ‘let’s call child services’ sense, but in a way that makes me want to do better things.
Going back to 2008, when my sister (let’s call her TD from here on), started her blog, I was the loser who was trying to kill time during those post high-school and pre-university days. It was only because of her bullying and a weird kind of peer pressure, I decided to start this baby. Trust me, if you go back to the first ten posts, I am guaranteeing you cringeworthy gramatical errors. Joy! But point is, TD has always wanted me to be a better writer, a better cook (Ha!), a better dancer and a better human being. So amidst all that bullying, forcing, elder sister arrogance, yelling and arguing, comes this post.
She bullied me enough to write about something I’m not sure why I’m writing about. If you understand the ‘why’ by the end of this, please do report back to moi.
TD wrote a hilarious post on The Ten T’s of her life (her name starts with a ‘T’), in response to Marketing’s Ten P’s. And then forwarded it on to me, so I can write about the Ten S’s of my life (considering the initial of my name). Tough gig, I tell ya. But if you’re lovely (bored) enough to have continued reading this far, might as well tag along for the rest of the post, oui?
Seasons: It’s a worldwide-approved topic of small talk and boy, isn’t it wonderful? People just can’t get enough of how the weather was, what it is and what it is going to be like. Is this part of my life? Sure it is, you duffer. I loathe the winter season with all my heart, autumn is an acquaintance, summer is my all-time lover and spring is the one I have an affair with. I could sit in spring’s arms forever, make passionate love to summer, walk in the park with autumn, but winter.. winter is someone whose nose I’d like to break.
See how much I can bullshit about the weather? Exactly, my point.
Sunrises and Sunsets: Ask me to show you my Instagram page, and all you’ll find is a crowd of sunrises and sunset images. I’m a disgusting romantic when it comes to the routinely entry and exit of the Sun. I can’t get enough of it. C’mon, the sky manages to look different every single day. How amazing is that? Plus, living on the beach makes my addiction even more difficult to curb.
Salary-week: Don’t diss it, you love it too. Salary-weeks are amazing, because guess what, you get paid! You’re few hundred dollars richer for that given day… and don’t even begin to question what happens post that. Retail, you sneaky bastard!
Shrieks: If you’re reading this and you have met me before, you’re allowed to nod to this. For those unaware, I am a very loud, shrieky person; be it a happy or sad moment. As soon as there’s an overwhelming emotion, my high-pitch voice resonates the room. Sadly, I can’t do anything about it. This is who I am, consider it a warning.
Sangria: Alright, I might be cheating here a little, but I love wine and sangria has wine, so this automatically makes the cut. Wine makes me happy, so so happy. Get me two glasses and watch me giggle like there’s no tomorrow. Bring me a bottle and watch me dance on table tops at bars. True story!
Solitude: Without stating anymore than I already have here, here and here, I’m just going to say that I’ve had a lot of this ‘S’ in the past six years of my life. And it has made me a very strong woman; mostly emotionally. But I can punch, don’t discount that factor of my strength.
Salsa: I’d sell my limb to learn salsa professionally. The dance, not the dip. Having been a trained in contemporary jazz and ballet for nine years, I don’t understand any professional dance form where there are no rules or someone yelling 5, 6, 7, 8. I want to understand them; wear big, flouncy skirts and dance with Columbian men. Any teachers out there?
Shopping: Call me superficial, but shopping makes me happy. Very, very happy. It drags me away from the dreary stiffness of a computer screen and social media and let’s me create my own story inside a store. I can be whoever I want to be and be pretending to shop for whosoever. And shopping is in its best moment when done alone, in the vicinity of racks and racks of steam-ironed fabrics and you! No friends, no annoying sales assistants and no mobile phones. Roll your eyes for all I care, but this therapeutic activity is like meditation for me. Om!
Style: I was a fashion student and worked as a fashion journalist for two years. But it’s not only the style via the means of fashion that appeals to me anymore. Style for me is all about the precision in interiors, the dribble in food photography, the architecture of a beautifully-dressed dapper man walking down the street, the messiness of my work table, the montage of produce in my local organic grocer. Style is a way of living and there’s nothing more that defines me, than my very own style (even on bad hair days).
Sydney: A city that stole my heart when I was visiting her four years ago, and today, I am lucky enough to call this home. I owe every giggle of mine to this beauty, and that’s saying something.