Hello, I have some exciting news…
I’m pleased to share that I’ve signed a book deal with Marshall Cavendish to publish Tea in Pajamas and its sequel, Beyond Belzerac!
Both titles will be hitting all major bookstores very soon—the first book in September and the sequel around November of this year. Yep, that’s right, in time for Christmas!
In the meantime, here’s a sneak peek at both covers. (Book 2’s cover is still a work-in-progress, and not a final draft.)
Continue reading “I got a book deal!”
In June of 1988, I caught my first glimpse of a gray winter sky.
It didn’t look much different from any overcast day in Singapore, the eight-year-old me had reckoned, though I was sure I was far from home. Where we came from, poufs of mist did not escape your mouth every time you spoke or exhaled. Also, no one bundled themselves in this many layers of clothing. I was wearing a robin-egg-blue cardigan my mother had hand-knit especially for this family trip, but it was buried too deeply beneath layers of pullovers to be seen.
“Where’s the snow?” I’d asked Mum, hoping she could explain why we hadn’t stepped into a Christmas-card-worthy snowscape which to my mind was synonymous with wintertime. For her part, my mother was too preoccupied with the logistics of collecting our luggage from the coach we’d just alighted. I never did get an answer as to why winter was gray and not white.
While waiting to enter our hotel for the night, I studied the streets of Christchurch. In place of falling snow were dead leaves. They were everywhere, blanketing the ground and swirling in the air. On this dramatically drafty day, passersby hurried about with their faces shielded from the onslaught of leaves, their hair blowing in all directions.
I didn’t mind the wind so much. I was eight with a chinadoll bob, also known as a permanent bad-hair-day. No weather condition could do further damage to that. Continue reading “Shelter from the Storm”
Most people form positive associations with ice-cream. Today, however, as I stare down at my gleaming dome of Belgian chocolate, I wonder if I would sooner dissolve into a puddle of tears before it melts into a gooey milkshake.
No, I will not get emotional. Not at my favorite Häagen-Dazs cafe in the middle of an upscale shopping mall.
I text my husband, who’s at work. “I saw Dr C,” I begin.
“How did it go? Everything OK?” comes his reply.
I pause. That is a tough question to answer, and is contingent upon how one defines ‘OK.’ It’s certainly nothing life-threatening, so in that sense, I’d check the ‘OK’ box. But how do I explain this heaviness in my heart that can’t be assuaged with some Häagen-Dazs?
He calls me back before I can formulate a coherent answer. “What happened? Wasn’t it just a routine check?” he asks.
“Yep,” I bite my lip. Persistent months of mid-cycle bleeding had concerned me enough to make an appointment to see my ob-gyn, but I’d remained hopeful it was just some manifestation of PMS and hormones out of whack. The worst-case scenario would be cancer or some other troublesome condition that would require an invasive procedure. So no, the worst hasn’t happened. Continue reading “Everything Takes Forever: A Story of Waiting (Part 17)”