[@WATTPAD READING LIST - AMPLIFYING ASIAN & PACIFIC ISLANDER VOICES - MAY 2021]
[@WATTPADASIANFICTION READING LIST - FROM ME TO YOU - FEBRUARY 2023]
A mix of crazy, stupid, hormonal adults that are thrown into life with a sprinkle of swearing, a da...
A/N: n response to some advice I received (thanks junxluna), I decided to bring back Flours For You, the UNEDITED version (hence the original title, CHOCOLATE ICE CREAM + NUGGETS). Currently, I have no urge or intention to edit/re-write this book. But I know that many of you wanted to read/continue reading where you left off before I interrupted your flow. So, your wish is my command! I'm going to be embarking on the most difficult year yet of my undergraduate degree, so I won't be writing often. However, I do want to work on Haven's story, my other project, so expect my sporadic updates there! Cheers. <3
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DEDICATED TO NINA
without you, I wouldn't have made so many amazing gal pals (including you ofc) that I can truly see myself being friends with for a really long time. you're also hella talented so meeting you also allowed me to find your freakin beautiful works that I'm honestly so obsessed with. and can we talk about this freakin amazing book cover too? like what CAN'T you do? always shine bright, my sweet. (-:
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THE RICH, VELVETY, DARK CHOCOLATE ICE CREAM had dripped on every visible surface of my skin, marking my thighs down to my ankles and leaving me to mourn my favorite pair of white jeans that now resembled the spots of a cow.
My first thought? Blame the innocent incident on my sister Avisa who had dragged me out of the house two hours prior blind date # "I-can't-even-count anymore." Yet the longer I stared at my $100 jeans that were absolutely mutilated by an ice cream cone that probably cost $4 at most, I realized Avisa was only following my mother's orders.
The worst part is that I can't even blame her. Everyone knew not to get a Korean woman, let alone your own mother mad.
At the expense of keeping our ummah happy, my insides start to churn with anger – oozing and threatening to spill over like hot lava as I watch the ice-cream spilling culprit skipping away without even a sorry.
"Za..." Avisa shakily breathes out, her fingers enclosing on my small wrist. "Just let it go. He's just a kid."
Ever since I was 10 and Avisa, 15, Za was the nickname that stuck around (specifically because she couldn't pronounce Az). As I hear her call out to me, I'm brought back to sun-kissed memories of when we chased our poor golden lab in our parents' backyard during the summer months. Avisa would be in the front with her stronger, teen-built legs yelling my name while I huffed and puffed behind. It's almost as if all this reminiscing was a catalyst in electrifying my body to react and wiggle free from her grasp. Since if I was able to run as I did once, I'm sure I could do it again.
As I sprint towards the direction that I last saw the boy, however, I curse under my breath as a sharp pain soon marks its presence under my right ribcage. I pinpoint it to my lack of exercise when I was younger but I knew my shorter stature at a mere 5'1'' and ¾ didn't help either, its need to exert twice the amount of energy to get from point A to B, or to anywhere, really, tremendously slowing me down.
