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<meta charset="UTF-8">
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<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1.0">
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<title>cake intimacies</title>
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<body>
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<!-- nav -->
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<a href="../index.html" target="_self">
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<img id="home" src="../photos/home-closed.png" alt="home">
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</a>
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<div id="about">
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<div onclick="openLetter()">
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<img id="about" src="../photos/closed-crow.png" alt="about">
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</div>
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</div>
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<div id="letterBox" class="letterBox" style="display:none">
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<div id="closeButton" onClick='closeLetter()'><img src="../photos//close-yellow.png" alt="Close" width="50" height="auto"></div>
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<div id="letterContents"></div>
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</div>
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<!-- audio -->
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<audio id="background-audio" loop>
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<source src="../audio/morning-birds.mp3" type="audio/mp3">
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Your browser does not support the audio element.
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</audio>
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<button id="mute-btn">MUTE</button>
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<div class="content">
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<div class="content-item">
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<img src="../photos/volvo.png" alt="Image 1">
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<p>
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My mom makes these really soft and cakey cookies that I love. Once, when I was a kid, I brought them to Sunday School to share. Nobody understood them. They said they were too strange and cakey. After school, I found one on the ground, crushed under a car, tyre marks etched into it. From then on, my family started calling them “Volvo cookies”.</p>
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</div>
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<div class="content-item">
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<img src="../photos/ipod.png" alt="Image 2">
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<p>
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I was excited to get my first iPod. I had to download iTunes to listen to music, but the slow internet of my home stopped with every ring of the phone. I was glued to the progress bar for a week, watching it slowly inch forward. I felt so frustrated every time the phone rang for the whole week! When it finally downloaded it was the best feeling in the world.</p>
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</div>
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<div class="content-item">
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<img src="../photos/battenberg.png" alt="Image 3">
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<p>
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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.</p>
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</div>
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<div class="content-item">
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<img src="../photos/austria.png" alt="Image 4">
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<p>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.</p>
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</div>
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<div class="content-item">
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<img src="../photos/tumblr.png" alt="Image 5">
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<p>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.
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</p>
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</div>
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</div>
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<div class="ending"> bye for now. </div>
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</body>
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</html>
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