diff --git a/temp/pie/pie.html b/temp/pie/pie.html index 6845c34..2ef6323 100644 --- a/temp/pie/pie.html +++ b/temp/pie/pie.html @@ -8,22 +8,22 @@ - +
-Every birthday, Mom bakes a train-shaped Battenberg cake with pink and yellow checkerboxes. On my 21st birthday we all stayed up to celebrate and got quite drunk. At 3 a.m., my Mom gasped—“Oh no, I forgot the cake!" We ate it then, tipsy and intimate. It felt different, more personal. My mom wasn’t just my mom anymore; she was a friend.
Once, I rode a long train ride down to Shangai. At each city we stopped, I ate a different piece of cake and wrote about it on my blog—back when blogs were still a thing. It was an incredible cake journey. But now, the train’s path goes through Russia, and that trip is sealed in the past.
When I first got Tumblr, I wrote all my most private thoughts on it. I loved it. One day, a girl from a class above came up to me to say she loved my post about love. My heart sank as I realized everything I posted was public, exposed. Embarrassed, I deleted it all. Now, I wish I hadn’t.