It’s hot.

It’s ridiculously hot.

For all my aversion to small talks, today’s weather complaint is almost obligatory. As a Melburnian, it would be a sacrilege not to mention this 35 degree heat because come tomorrow, this would be stale news when everyone else has moved on to complaining about thunderstorms.

My sister, Raven and I had a little girls’ day out today. Booked us all in for a haircut at Lilly S Style Image Hair Salon at Springvale, as recommended by my friend Cristina.

(I feel like I’m betraying my regular hairstylist as I say this but it can’t be helped. I’m merely “branching out.” Exploring other options out there. You know what I mean? It doesn’t assuage my guilt but I’ll get over it.)

Because Chin, the hairstylist, actually did an awesome job. I’m loving the long fringe I got going at the moment. And the layers he did are fantastic. I can definitely see myself coming back again.

Also, Raven had her first proper haircut here in Australia. I had been scrimping all this time and cutting her hair myself because I figured that’s what mothers do. A generational thing. A rite of passage, so to speak, where mothers embarrass their daughters with horrible haircuts enough to create a lasting impression for the daughters to carry on the tradition with their own daughters.

“What do you want done with her hair today?” Chin asked as Raven sat timidly on his chair.

“Maybe a trim with layers, perhaps? Fix her fringe as well?” I said. “I’ve been cutting her hair myself so… whatever you reckon would look nice on her.”

“I can tell,” he said, as he assessed her hair with a knowing look, scissors and a comb in hand. “The front is longer than the back.”

Gotta love the Asian honesty, man! (Cue in: *Emotional damage*)

As we were in the Asian capital of Southeast Melbourne, of course my sister started craving for banh mi. She wanted the one from Bun Bun Bakery, as recommended by her friend. It was only three minutes away so off we went… to queue up along with a hundred million others who also wanted banh mi for lunch from the exact same place.

Sitting on a random bench along Springvale Road because the bakery didn’t have tables and chairs for their customers, my sister commented that it was definitely a very good banh mi and that it lived up to the reason for its popularity. She was on her last few bites as she made this declaration.

Meanwhile, there I was struggling to chomp through my half-eaten banh mi and literally spilling crumbs, sauce, and pork bits down my dress that by the end of it, I had stains on me everywhere! I’m not a very good banh mi eater, to be honest. I don’t know how my sister simply devoured the whole thing nice and clean. And to think she’s the one who has the tendency to get lockjaw.

It was alright, the banh mi. I mean, it tasted like every other banh mi that I had tried everywhere else so I didn’t really understand what all the fuss was about. But having said that, I don’t exactly have a discriminating taste so if everything were a blind taste test, I’d definitely make a poor judge.

Unless it’s black tea. Because I can confidently tell a Dilmah from a Lipton.

But that’s not to say I wouldn’t drink the latter anyway. Especially if it’s for free.

I’m Asian, after all.

*Raven at 8 years old