Why I'm Awesome (Part 24 of 7,412): SEVEN

Oh man I hope you guys are ready for a cuteness overload.

This post is brought to you by the little girl who lives on the 24th floor in my building.

Well, okay, how adorable this actually ends up depends on how well you know me and my capacity for being adorable, your ability to imagine me saying certain parts of this post in that 4-year-old Cantonese girl’s voice, and if you have ever seen a picture of me when I was 4 or 5 years old.

When it comes to things that I deem my "favorites," it is perfectly normal for me (i.e., an insane person) to load that favorite thing with all kinds of personal meaning and history. I'm not necessarily unique in this respect, but when I saw my favorite color is that particular shade of blue-green you see right in between the shallow coastal waters and the deep blue sea as you fly over a particularly clean patch of ocean, that color is my favorite color for a multitude of reasons well beyond "I like it."

For instance, that color is my favorite not just because it looks good on me and not just because "I like it," but because it is exactly the shade of blue-green that you can only see in the situation I just described above. I saw this once while flying overhead in Hawaii and I have never seen yet another perfect duplicate of its color. It is barely describable, and no it is not that cheesy bright turquoise you see near the coast. Anyway, my love of all things the ocean is well-documented, so this should really require much more explanation.

Another example is, well, go back to the post where I tell you why I like backs. Oh god. One moment please while I let some images flash through my brain.

Aaaaaaaand back to your regularly scheduled programming.

Perhaps the most in-depth "favorite thing" that I have in my laundry list of "favorite things" is the number 7. Seven, sept, qi, pito, siete. Funnily enough (and contrary to what might have been mentioned way back when I explained the number 7,412), the fact that it is regarded as a "lucky number" by Westerners doesn't particularly matter to me.

First and most obvious is that it is the month in which I was born. July. Best month. Next.

Second is that if you rotate the number, it becomes the letter V. Also obvious. And I swear I came up with that idea long before I ever saw the movie Se7en.

Third, and closely related to that, are the seven deadly sins. It's not so much the fact that they are sins so much as I view them to be seven things that need to be balanced. I've always thought everything in moderation is a healthy thing, and this is no different for the 7DS. A little wrath is nice to release those pent-up emotions. A little sloth is nice to relax and slow yourself down. A little gluttony is nice because goddammit eating is one the best things about being alive. Too much of any and that's how they become "sins." I use the 7DS to often remind myself that there is no absolute right or wrong, that everything is relative, and that it ultimately comes down to what you are able to deem the best balance that suits you.
There are other reasons, too, but the one I wanted to share with you today is one that I don't think I've ever mentioned aloud or on paper to anyone other than myself.

Back when we lived in Hong Kong for the second time (i.e., from the ages of 4 to 7 for me), my family and I lived in this apartment building on Kotewall Road. Number 9, I think it was. Anyway, we lived in apartment 7B.

Now, I cannot for the life of me remember how tall I was back when I was 4 or 5, but I sure as hell remember being TINY and constantly wishing I was taller. I was so short that I, in all my pig-tailed glory, could not reach the 7 button in the building's elevator.

I would stand right by the elevator's button panel and gaze longingly at the 7 button, declaring in my mind that TODAY WOULD BE THE DAY I OWN YOU. Then I would reach up and barely make it to the 3 button. I would bounce up and down and make little whiny noises until my nanny or my daddy or my mommy would either hit the button to shut me up or, were they in better moods, pick me up and then I would press it.

Every time I failed to reach that button, I vowed with all my non-English-speaking mind that I would eventually get tall enough to press that stupid button without any help. I would even jump up and try to slam at the button but I'd never quite reach it or hit it hard enough for it to light up.

Of course, there were days where I just didn't care about that button because my face was buried in a zhi bao dan gao (or tsee bao dan gou in Cantonese I guess), which, back then, was a sponge cake with a chocolate topping that was wrapped in paper and was as big as my head. My nanny got me one every other day right before I got on the bus back from school because I was the best little kid EVER until of course I got home and my parents yelled at me for spoiling my dinner. (Plus I recently went back to that cake shop and got one and man it's about as big as my hand now. What the hell.) The cake served as such a magnificent distraction from all my shortcomings as a midget, however, I didn't particularly care.

Slight tangent aside, I remember the glorious day in question. I was 7 years old and, as my parents had noticed, in the middle of a growth spurt (that would eventually leave me at 5'8" at the age of 14). I stepped into the elevator, face covered in the crumbs of what was once a sponge cake, and looked menacingly at the button panel.

Then, like it was nothing at all, I reached up, hit the number 7 button, and it lit. My nanny gave me a pat on the head and said I was getting tall.

Me, well, in my head I had reached some divine level of strength and power, like I was unstoppable. No longer would people tower over me and press buttons I couldn't reach! No longer would I rely on the strength of others to reach the number 7!

Of course, little did I know (or care) that 7 was not the highest number in the elevator. But that day, I was GOD.

Last night as I returned home from my haircut, the adorablest little anklebiter and her mother (I presume) stepped into the elevator with me and pretty much did exactly what I described, only her sights were set significantly higher: the 24th floor. Eventually I smiled at her and helped her use my ridiculously huge umbrella (courtesy of Michelle and Parkway Health) to press the button. Her mother was highly amused. The little girl gave me the hugest grin and for one of the few times in my life, I didn't feel like loading a little spoiled Chinese kid into a cannon and blasting him/her out to sea.

Being that it made me super happy, that 7 is my birth month and that 24 is my birthday, I took it as inspiration to write this post.

GOOD LUCK TO YOU, ANKLEBITER OF THE 24TH FLOOR. Jia you!