Eight

Yes. I just woke up to smell the coffee.

It’s nearly 3 a.m. and I could not sleep. The OLD TOWN coffee must have been taking effect on me now.

I’ve been reflecting and navel-gazing a lot lately. Staring at those childhood photos made me look back and reminiscence. I can’t help but filled with a wave of nostalgia.

I wasn’t charming and adorable when I was an infant. In fact, I was born dark-reddish and hairy. My poor mother had to rock and cradled to lull me to sleep as I cried the most among my siblings. Needless to say, I was beaten and caned most. My parents have always declared that I’m the problematic child.

My boy-haired-cut put doubts to my gender. Moreover, my tomboyish character and appearance didn’t make matters any good either. Seriously, I never had a chance or allowed to keep long silky hair.

I love the number 8.

I was born on the 8th

I was 8-month old when I was diagnosed as having eczema

I was 8 years old when I was diagnosed with asthma

Mind you, I do not need tea or sympathy from you. It’s a reality; I’m pondering as I’m sitting back and delivering this post.

After all, I have Tuck Lam and Wai Kit to be my partner.

My panel doctor used to raise my spirits by telling me that eczema patients have a slightly higher intelligence compared to those who are hale and hearty. How deceiving right? Of course, he was just lying. Trying to soothe a young girl’s heart is part of their duty to illustrate care and concern to their patients. I really appreciate it.

Still, I got all the attention from my parents. I’m their blessing in disguise.

They love me more than anything in the world. Striving to protect and prevent me from getting hurt like a jewel in their eyes. They never give up on me. Not forgetting my supportive sibling as well. I’m their results of their creation.

Thank You.

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