Gemma Song

You’ve heard this kind of story before, but I’d like to tell it again. I am one of those girls with a cherubic face cut by unfairly sharp cheekbones. My hair has the thickness most people envy and in July, my porcelain skin warms to the color of sandalwood.

Born in the Year of the Monkey, I am naturally silly and mischievous. I love to laugh. I spend too much money on shoes and I care too much. I wish I were better at eavesdropping, but it’s probably better I mind my own business. On the rare occasion I wear jewelry, small studs rest on my earlobes, winking in the sun as if to clutch onto as much light as they can. I’m most at ease when the weather is sunny, people are kind, and 24/7 bodegas are within walking distance. The most vulnerable thing I can tell you is that I pretend I’m not a romantic, but I really, really am.

I’m looking for the magical stretch between nervousness and resigned comfortability, that electric space before listless limbs grow heavy. Here, we can create that, forever. All we require for a good time is some bubbly, lingerie, and a suspension of disbelief. Let’s get dressed in our best silks and manipulate time, darling.