But Then, Goodbyes Aren’t Simple

Dear Emma,

Oh, screw simple goodbyes.

Yeah, I definitely can’t leave without rambling one last time. I really don’t think I would be able to do it, and I’m pretty sure you are all used to it by now.

I have been wrestling with this decision all summer, because I was really proud of this blog and most of the things that I’ve created. I’ve spent a year and a half making posts and gathering followers and I’ve really really enjoyed every minute. I just didn’t want to throw it away.

The reason I’m choosing to stop this blog is simple: I don’t feel happy with my blog anymore. I feel too much pressure in what I’m posting, I feel like it’s too open and I can’t be honest. I’ve also unintentionally managed to create my blog around someone else – trust me, the amount of time I’ve been called Emma is unreal. I know that sounds really petty but I would really like to build my own identity.

I’ve met some amazing amazing new friends and genuinely lovely people; this community is a pretty special place here on the internet. I won’t mention many names but I really have made a friend for life in Elm. We’ve been friends for almost two years now and I’ve enjoyed every second. I could say so much about so many specific people because you have all been lovely, but I can’t say some and not others. Everyone here is so friendly, welcoming and damn talented.

Which is why I know I couldn’t leave completely.

Yes, I’m leaving Letters to Emma, but I will be starting another, brand-new blog, probably sometime soon, and that blog will be the one where I can finally talk about what want to talk about, rather than what I think I should talk about.

I am scared, because I will be completely starting again, and who knows how much of a success this new blog will be. I sure as hell don’t.

I won’t be posting the link or URL to my new blog here, because I really am starting again, but I will be telling my blogging friends, and if you are here on WordPress and you know me, I’m sure our paths will be crossing again sooner than you think.

However, if you do see me and think that I’m me, (sorry for the terrible English), please don’t just come out and say it – I do want this anonymity to last for a short while at least. You can message me and ask, but don’t leave it anywhere where everyone can see it.

I just want to say a massive thank you to all of you who are reading this right now, and thank you to all the people who have read, commented on or favourited my posts over the years. You are all such incredibly incredibly lovely people, and I am honoured that you took time out of your lives to read my ramblings on a blog in a small corner of the internet.

It’s weird. I started this blog as a girl of fourteen, not really sure how the world works and a mediocre writer of stories and blog posts.

Now I’m sixteen, I know a little bit more about how the world works, and I’d like to think that my writing skills have improved.

I’m at a new house, heading into a new chapter of my life, and I will always remember this blog as my first, regardless of what else I do in my life. I’ll miss you, everyone. It’s been fun.

Tara, did you really split your goodbye post into two parts just so your post total could reach 100 before you left?

Yes, yes I did.


Love from,















A Story Down Memory Lane – Part 2

Dear Emma,

Guess what’s back. Yep, apparently everyone actually liked my weird ten-year-old storywriting, so as promised, here is the next installment!

Chapter Three

Crystal moodily walked herself to school the next day. As she passed the library she was joined by Petal, her second-best friend to Amber. Seeing as she hadn’t told Petal, she immediately asked what was wrong. Crystal told her the whole story. Petal looked concerned up to the part with Aunt Jo in it. Then she exploded. “What!!!” “That’s what I said!” answered Crystal. They carried on like this until they got to school. There they met Amber and Megan, another of Crystal’s friends. At school, Crystal seemed to forget about Aunt Jo. She had arranged to go home with Amber that day. She knew her parents would approve. They always let her go to Amber’s, as they lived a few doors down. Crystal went home with Amber. At six o’ clock, she decided she should really be getting home. When she opened her front door, she was suddenly was embraced by Aunt Jo. “Where have you been?” She sounded really angry now. “Er… at Amber’s” said Crystal nervously. “WHAT!” she yelled “Without telling me!” Yeah, thought Crystal duh, but she didn’t dare say it out loud. “You are grounded for a week! Go to your room!” Crystal obeyed but was by no means defeated. She knew her parents would ring on the first night to make sure she was ok.  Later that night, Crystal heard her aunt talking to her father. “Hello. Did she now? Yes, she did. I grounded her for a week because she’s obviously not allowed… What? She is? But… She’s much too young. And she’s going for a sleepover at Amber’s on Friday? But… But… Ok. I’ll tell her that. Thank you. Goodbye.” Crystal heard her aunt sigh and sink back into a chair. Crystal smirked as she went back to bed. At least she had one small victory.


Chapter Four 

A week passed and Crystal’s birthday neared. Aunt Jo started worrying about a party. Crystal had said she wanted a sleepover. Aunt Jo thought about it. Girls, running around, causing havoc for twenty-four whole hours. And, Crystal had suggested bowling, or roller-skating or maybe a film. Even more panic. Still, Crystal’s parents had allowed it.

On the day of Crystal’s birthday, Crystal woke up eager. Aunt Jo came into the room bleary-eyed. “Will you be quiet!” Crystal raised her eyebrows, confused.  “Oh, happy birthday Crystal” said Aunt Jo finally. Crystal gave Aunt Jo a pleading look which meant can I open my presents? Aunt Jo seemed to read her expression. “No, you can’t open your presents” said Aunt Jo. She made a big fuss of putting on her dressing gown and getting the camera ready and things like that. By the time she had done all that, Crystal was almost getting bored. Finally, she was allowed to open her presents. Tearing the wrapping paper off the first one, she found… a set of vests and a teddy bear. “Happy Birthday!” cried Aunt Jo “Do you like them?” Crystal was shocked. A vest set? A teddy bear? For a ten year old? What was Aunt Jo thinking! She tossed those presents aside and unwrapped the next. “Don’t tear the paper” said Aunt Jo nervously. By the end of the unwrapping, she had:

Two computer games

A woolly scarf and hat set (Which she wasn’t too pleased about)

A professional art set

A leather jacket

Some blue jeggings

A chemistry set

3 board games

A large bar of chocolate

And over £500!

She had saved the ones from her parents last. She savoured the wrapping paper of the first one (for once).  She unveiled… a cute toy lion, leopard and tiger set and a leopard pendant (leopards were her favourite animals)

Another one had a cheque for £50 (Aunt Jo was shaking her head at all the money) The last one had a beautiful stone made of obsidian, a turquoise volcanic rock. There was a postcard that said:

Dearest Crystal,

Happy Birthday little eleven year old!!!
Lots of love

Mum and Dad


By that time, it was about ten o’clock. “Time to get ready!” said Aunt Jo.

Let’s all take a moment to appreciate the terrible, terrible names that I decided to give my characters. I mean, Petal, seriously? Also, Crystal is one spoilt child – who gets £500 for their eleventh birthday?! And she’s so sassy.

Cough cough-easy way to move the plot-cough cough.

ANYWAY, hope you enjoyed (or not) and there is still more of this. I promise there will be an actual plot at some point in the foreseeable future.

Love from,





A Story Down Memory Lane

Dear Emma,

So I was going through all the files on my computer, and I came across something. That something being a story that I wrote when I was ten years old. Well, the first 5000 words of it. Of course I didn’t finish it, it’s me.

Trust me, you’re lucky that you’re getting to read it. I cringed at it so many times while I was reading it that I just wanted to delete the entire thing and then give my brain a bath to remove all traces of it from my memory.


In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not particularly proud of this.

Side note: will I react in the same way to the stories I’m writing now in ten years? I really really hope not.

So, here it is. I haven’t touched it, which is why it is horribly edited and confusing to read. Blame ten-year-old-Tara. It’s called Crystal, and please don’t ask me where I was going with this, because I have no idea. I’m just going to sit here and pretend that it doesn’t exist.

Chapter One


“Crystal, we’re home!”

“OK Mum, just coming!” Crystal ran down the stairs and opened the front door. Zac, her Siberian husky yapped excitedly as the door opened. “Hello Mum. Hello Dad.” said Crystal, smiling. “Hello darling,” said Crystal’s mum, Mrs Taylor. “Did you have a good day at school?” asked Mr Taylor, taking his coat off and hanging it up. At dinner, Crystal and her parents talked about the day’s events. “So, Mum, what happened today?” asked Crystal, putting her fork down. “Well, just the usual. But, we have something to tell you.” Mrs Taylor put her cutlery down and turned to her husband, sighing. “Crystal,” said Mr Taylor “Your mum and I have to go away for a while. Just for a few weeks. We’re going to Kenya, Africa. We leave on Sunday. You know we have to do this, it’s part of our conservation work.” Crystal knew. Her parents were big conservationists, always on the lookout for new and endangered species. “What about me?”  she asked. “Well,” said her mother “We’ve arranged for Aunt Jo to come and look after you.” Crystal knew Aunt Joe all too well. She was very strict about things like movies, bedtime and treats. She was also very strict about going out. “Why? Why does Aunt Jo have to look after me? Can’t I just go to Amber’s house instead?” Crystal pleaded “No.” said Mrs Taylor “Aunt Jo has already agreed to look after you.” “But if I ask to do anything that a normal ten year old would do, she suddenly starts asking questions” said Crystal. “Where are you going? What time will you be back? Have you got your phone? Maybe I should ask your parents if you can go” said Crystal in a high pitched imitation of Aunt Jo’s voice. Then she stopped. She remembered. “Mum!” she cried “My birthday! It’s in three weeks time!” “Yes, Crystal” said her father “We won’t be here for your birthday” “WHAT!” yelled Crystal, “I have to spend my birthday with Aunt Jo! Why didn’t you tell me about this before” Crystal stomped upstairs with Zac trailing behind, his tail between his legs. Up in her room, Crystal was sobbing into her pillow when her computer lit up. Crystal thumped onto her office chair and looked at the screen.



Um… do you know how to do the Maths homework?





Crystal decided to tell her best friend everything.




Mum and Dad have just dropped a MAJOR bombshell. They’re going away for a month, maybe two! I have to stay with Aunt Jo (Worst luck) Zac, obviously is staying with me. AND, they’re going away for my birthday. I’m gonna need all the support I can get.





Chapter Two


It was time. The house was a busy place. Mrs Taylor was bustling around, checking everything was where it was supposed to be. Mr Taylor was upstairs getting changed. Crystal was sulking on the stairs. Zac was running around, barking madly because of the mad atmosphere in the house. Mr Taylor came down the stairs and nearly fell over Crystal. “Crystal! Get out of there!” he cried, steadying himself. Mrs Taylor piled everything into the metallic blue Land Rover. “Come on!” she called from the car. “We don’t want to miss the plane!” Mr Taylor, a sulky Crystal and Zac went into the car. They got to the airport and Mr Taylor parked the car. At the terminal, Mrs Taylor checked in the bags and Mr Taylor checked the dashboard. “Flight to Kenya, boarding in…” Mr Taylor checked his watch, “… half an hour.” Crystal looked up to see her mum coming back with Zac, who had been reluctantly admitted by a member of staff. “Yoo hoo!” cried a voice from the airport entrance. Mr Taylor looked up. Mrs Taylor looked up. Even Crystal decided to look up for a few seconds. She saw a woman wearing an orange dress (Orange was really not Crystal’s colour), a purple hat with a green band with a blue flower bobbing along on the top and sparkly silver shoes. She was carrying a large suitcase. Crystal sighed. If this was what she had to put up with for the next month and a half, she had better be prepared.

Ten-year-old me really knew how to create tension. Also, the chapters last about ten seconds for some reason. There is at least another 3000 words of this, if you guys want to read them (…why…) then you can let me know 😉

Hope you’ve had a good week!

Love from,



Longing for a Career on the West End

Dear Emma,

So I went to London last weekend to see Wicked on the West End (for the fourth time haha) which doesn’t get any less amazing the more times I see it: love that show.

And then for the past week I’ve been listening and singing to just about every musical you can think of. Right now it’s Matilda. That’s a good one too. I love the fact that they have such perfect British diction, it’s so fun to sing along to.

I love musicals and theatre and performing, and to be honest, if there’s one role on the West End that I would be absolutely over the moon to play, it’s Elphaba from Wicked. I don’t know why, but she is without a doubt the character that I connect the most to. She’s quiet, bookish, really bad at relationships and most importantly, she can’t dance! We are literally soul sisters. Apart from the fact that she’s green and I’m not.

Also, I love the music from Wicked. I mean, who wouldn’t want to belt out Defying Gravity while being suspended in the air with a cape as big as a ten-person tent streaming out behind you? Right?! All of the songs that Elphaba sings are incredible. Performing them all would literally be a dream come true.

I used to go to a performing arts academy every week for two years, which was incredibly exhausting but also absolutely amazing at the same time. It was right in the middle of London, and we used to get the best visitors. They would come to us from whatever show was on the West End at the moment and then give us a masterclass: we would learn songs, dance routines, little bits of acting, etc, and then when we weren’t doing that we had three hours of singing, acting and dancing. I literally felt like I was in Fame.

Sadly I had to quit that, because it was really hard to get to London every week, but every time I go to London and see a show, a rather large part of me goes, damn, I wish I was still there. It was just great fun.

I don’t want a massive long run as a character. I just want to play Elphaba once. Just one show. Is that too much to ask?

Love from,



Dear Emma,

Perspective is a funny thing. Everyone’s got their own opinions and points of view, and sometimes it takes a long time for that to change. 

A slightly random example: up until the age of about nine years old I lived in a cul-de-sac down the the road from a park. It was literally the epitome of a simple life: my world didn’t stretch further than the houses of the kids that lived on my road, and maybe the park once in a while. We played in the street in the summer and had snowball fights in the winter. 

At the bottom of the garden there was a tree that we nicknamed the “Barney Tree”, because it was so tall that its height resembled Barney the dinosaur. Anyone remember Barney the dinosaur?

But anyway, in my opinion that tree was the largest thing on the planet, and no-one could convince me otherwise. 

Then, as I grew older, I ventured into the town with my parents, and there was a telephone mast in the centre of town. It was about three times the size of the tree. Needless to say my tiny mind was well and truly blown.  I began to realise that maybe that tree wasn’t the largest thing on the planet. 

So I went on with my life, until we moved house. We moved to a new area, and one of the more notable things about it was the fact that it was dwarfed by a power station. 

If I thought that the telephone pole was tall, then the power station was another thing altogether. The first time I saw it I stared at it in awe because I had no idea that anything could be that huge. 

I guess the point I’m trying to make here is that nothing is set in stone. My world started expanding with the discovery of new things, and I realised that opinions can change in the blink of an eye.

Unfortunately it’s not always that easy. There are a lot of people in the world who completely refuse to have their minds changed, because they are stuck in them. They are so focused on what they know that sometimes they can’t open up to new ideas. 

I’m sure we can all be like that sometimes. Maybe all we need is a change of perspective. 

Love from,


My experiences with racism

Dear Emma,

So, racism. It’s one of the biggest causes of conflict between human beings, right up there with sexism, homophobia and religion. Sadly, it’s a lot bigger than we’d like it to be. There are hate crimes, there are murders, there are assaults. And I know that they are the most extreme forms of racism, but they happen. 

I’m not going to talk about that. What I’m talking about today is my own experiences with racism. As a person who is half-Asian, half-white, I’m not as “black” as some people, which has saved me from a lot of racism, I’m sure. 

And I put the word “black” in inverted commas because I really don’t like that word when used to describe people. 

But that definitely doesn’t mean I haven’t experienced some racial hate in my time. 

Actually there’s one moment that I can remember ridiculously clearly, because it was the first time that someone made me feel like I was different to everybody else.

I was eleven years old, and my primary school was putting on a production of Cinderella for our school play that year. Now, I like to act and I love singing, so I thought I could be Cinderella. Why not? My class was the oldest in the school, so I thought I would have a decent shot at the main part. 

I started learning the piece of Cinderella audition script and all was right in my little eleven-year old brain. 

It happened one day in the week before the audition when all of the girls in the class were on a bench discussing the play and what parts we wanted to be. In case you were wondering, there were only twelve of us. It wasn’t a massively large bench.

So when it came to my turn, I said that I was going to audition for Cinderella. That’s when this girl called Paige pipes up and says, “What? You can’t be Cinderella, you’re black!” 

The table went rather quiet, and I sat there silently, a tiny bit hurt, but mostly confused, because I’d never been called that before. I’d never felt like I was different from everyone else because of the colour of my skin. 

I started to look around, and realised that I was the only one with brown skin among a group of ivory-skinned girls. And I started to feel sad. Like I wasn’t good enough.

Sadly, I let that get to me, and I decided not to audition for Cinderella. Coincidentally, the girl they picked for Cinderella had fair skin, blue eyes and long blonde hair. Hmm. 

Now, I hope that the people I surround myself with are more accepting of me and my skin colour, because this generation is starting to realise that people are all the same, no matter their race, religion, sexual orientation etc. 

I understand that the girl who insulted me was eleven herself, and probably didn’t realise what she was saying. But it still hurt. And I hope that people of my age nowadays, and even eleven year olds nowadays, are starting to be taught in a way that accepts everyone. 

After all, we learn from our parents. The apple never falls far from the tree. 

Love from,



Dear Emma,

I’m just going to come out and say it. I can honestly say that I would never be able to live without music.

For one thing, I always have a song in my head. Even if I don’t notice it, I’ll always be humming or tapping something. Ask my friends. 

But it’s more than that. Music plays quite a significant role in my life. I play two musical instruments – piano and guitar – and I sing a lot. There are singers and people in bands that, when I listen to their music, I can vividly remember different portions of my life. 

For example, the first album I ever listened to was this really old Celine Dion album: my mother used to play it in the car on repeat for ever when I was around three years old. And then the other day one of the songs came on the radio, and I knew all of the words. Yes, I was as surprised as you probably are.

But that album was the first time I had ever listened to something with a melody and words and instruments. The Wheels On The Bus does not count, okay. And I loved it, which is probably why the lyrics were engraved into my tiny brain.

Another musical moment was when I stopped listening to the various CDs and tapes (yes, tapes) that my parents had and turned on the radio for a bit of pop music. I’m talking “Fight for This Love” and “Hallelujah”. Those songs are also stuck in my brain, simply because they were the first “current” songs I heard at the time.

My third and final little musical anecdote is quite possibly one of the most special. When I was 10 years old I entered a talent competition that was run by my school, and that was open to various other schools in the area. I wanted to sing, and it was something I’d never done before. I considered singing to be something you do at home, not in front of hundreds of people.

But standing on that stage and opening my mouth to sing, it just gave me this incredible feeling. And when I reached the end of the song, the whole theatre was clapping and cheering. For me.

I guess that’s when I discovered my own voice.

From then on, I realised that I loved singing, and that it was something that I can actually do. It happens to be one of the only things I’ll admit pride in. 

Music gives me the power to express things that I wouldn’t be able to say otherwise. I’m pretty rubbish at explaining my feelings to people, but singing about them? About a million times easier.

I owe certain artists and bands a debt of gratitude for being here with me throughout my life, putting up with my drama and helping me find ways to tell people how I feel.

Okay, maybe I won’t go up to people and start singing at them, but thinking in the right way is a good start.

Love from,



Dear Emma,

Can you keep a secret? Probably not.

Most, if not all people have got at least one secret in their lives. I do. I bet you do. It’s just a natural part of life, having things that you don’t want anyone else to know (well, my parents don’t think so, but that’s a story for another time).

Apparently the number one reason for keeping secrets is “to keep the peace”. We keep secrets to make people happier – protecting them from a truth that could maybe hurt them. And I understand that. There’s definitely some things that I really wish I didn’t know.

But then there are two types of secrets. I guess it’s the same with lies. There are two kinds of lie – the white lies and the massive horrible lies that no-one likes to hear.

With white lies, it doesn’t really matter if you reveal that they’re lies. For example, you could say something like, “Oh yeah, I saw that movie” even though you haven’t (don’t worry, I do that ALL the time – mostly I just hear other people talking about stuff and then I kinda understand what it is enough to talk about it) and then you could admit that you haven’t seen it and people wouldn’t mind too much. It might be a bit embarrassing for you, but it won’t be life-changingly horrible. I guess secrets are the same. Would they be called white secrets? Probably not.

Wow. Did that last paragraph even make sense?

But then there are the big secrets, the ones that are truly crucial to someone’s life, the ones that, if they are revealed, it would make a big difference. And not in a good way.

I guess that schools are the worst places for secrets. Especially seeing as social media makes it so easy to share something that you maybe shouldn’t share. For example, I know a friend who had a crush on a guy, and then she told another one of her friends. By the next morning, pretty much everyone in the school knew.

For future reference, that’s not cool. In any way.

If someone you know has told you a secret, it’s because they trust you enough to not tell anyone else. Breaking that trust… it’s one of the worst things  you can do.

I only feel like there are a few people who I can tell my secrets to, and even then I’m scared to because I don’t know what they might think.

For example, this blog is a secret. I have only told a few people that I write it (most of you don’t know who I am) and that did feel good, after I did it. But before I did I was so scared to.

I guess the moral of the story is don’t tell people your secrets unless you trust them not to tell anyone, and do not under any circumstances share people’s secrets. 

Sorry. It’s just a sensitive topic.

I’m just going to leave you with this sentence about trust.

Breaking someone’s trust is like crumpling up a perfect piece of paper. You can open it out and smooth it over, but it’s never going to be the same again.

Love from,


P.S. Wow, it’s my tenth post already! Thanks for all the support guys 🙂

That Four Letter Word

Dear Emma,

So what did you get in your test?

Sorry. I’ve been getting that a lot lately.

That’s right, it’s exam season. Cue the screaming and hair-pulling. Next week I, along with my fellow classmates, will be entering into an exam hall for our first real exam.

I mean, we’ve had various mocks this year, and in previous years, but this is the first time that something we do will actually impact our lives.

Which is a little scary. Okay, a lot scary.

At this moment I honestly don’t know how I’m going to feel walking into that room, knowing that when I come out I will have either helped to secure my future, or contributed to its destruction.

But I think I might be a little too dramatic. If I go into that room on Tuesday panicking, I definitely won’t be doing myself a favour.

But then telling people not to panic isn’t one of the best ways to stop people panicking. In fact, I find it seriously annoying. Even if I spend every waking minute between now and the exam revising and revising, that won’t help me feel better.

I will feel better because when I sit down at that desk, I’m going to stay as calm as possible, and trust my instincts. If I spend the whole time freaking out because there’s one thing on the test that I’ve never seen before, I’m not going to do anything else.

I find skipping things and going back to them helpful, because by the time I’ve finished and come back, my brain is in a better mindset and I can concentrate better on what I’m doing without freaking out.

And even though this exam on Tuesday is going to be the first of many, it’s actually the one I’m looking forward to the most. Because it’s English, it’s writing, it’s the thing that I love to do. Even if English isn’t your favourite subject, there’s something that you are passionate about. Maybe you don’t have an exam in that subject, but that subject can be the thing that motivates you, and the thing that you know will be waiting for you after this horrible mess is over.

And the grade that you get on a piece of paper doesn’t have to spell out your life.

Love from,


P.S. Why, what four-letter word did you think I was going to say? 😉

The Box

Dear Emma,

So, it’s actually a reasonable time of day – in other words, I am not posting at a horrible hour of the night (like I normally do!)

And also, I am finally able to post on my laptop! The Wi-Fi in my room is absolutely terrible so I have to post on my phone, or something like that. But now we have a new router, so I can type from an actual keyboard! Yay!

So we broke up for Easter on Thursday, and I decided that I would dedicate the next week or so to completely sorting out and redecorating my bedroom.

Obviously by that I mean covering my floor in stuff and then looking through all the stuff for six hours. And I only have two days left before all the new stuff for my room arrives and EVERYTHING NEEDS TO BE SORTED.

(I don’t think I used the word “stuff” enough in that paragraph.)

Whenever anyone goes through their things, they will inevitably find something that they never realised they had lost, and then spend hours using it and marveling at its amazingness. At least that’s what I did.

I found an old box – before everyone starts picturing a beautiful old box like this:

Old Box

It was a battered old cardboard box with High School Musical pictures.


I was so cool.

But inside that box I found a bunch of old pictures, artwork and general things from when I was in primary school.

For example, a weird parody of “The Twelve Days Of Christmas,” where I changed all the words to different kinds of food. I was a cool child.

But then I stumbled upon some old photos of me that I took on a disposable camera when I went to Wales with my school for a week and then got SO INCREDIBLY FRUSTRATED. You know why?


I spent an entire week taking photos of empty rooms.

What was I thinking? Oh, when I get older and look back on these photos, I will really appreciate all the pictures of the rooms that we stayed in (after we had cleared everything up to leave) and the outside of the buildings.

I never thought, Maybe I should take pictures of me and my friends having an amazing time so I can look back and appreciate the memories.

Congratulations, ten year old me.

That made me really sad. Because I could have looked into that High School Musical box and found a bunch of amazing pictures of all of us having fun on the trip – meaning that I could remember that trip as being amazing.

And then I realised that this is true for most of my life. I would love to be one of those people that have so many old photos, boxes upon boxes of awesome stuff to reminisce about. But that hasn’t happened so far.

So from now on, I am going to document my life. Simply because it looks fun, and I want to have some things to remember when my childhood is long over.

I encourage you to do the same. 🙂

Love from,


P.S. Happy Easter everyone! I have been eating a lot of chocolate today 🙂