labubu leap

It started at my brother’s wedding, when my cousin hosted a trivia game and my daughters won a Labubu. One figure became a set, then a collection, because I’ve never been able to enjoy anything in a healthy, casual way - I leap from curious to committed in a heartbeat.

Most people notice only the jagged teeth, manic stares, and chaos, dismissing them as creepy. Then I came across the sweet series: pastels, soft fur, squinty eyes, mischievous smiles. That’s when the charm clicked.

In a world where childhood flickers mostly across screens, these little weirdos carried us back into the hobby room. My girls dressed them in miniature outfits, tugging tiny sleeves over chubby arms, pinching at buttons, fussing with hats and ribbons - each detail sparking a new personality: shy in a bonnet, gangster in a tracksuit, classy with a handbag. Imagination thrives in the hands, not on a device.

the cost of cheap friends

Family is fate. Friends are the choices that shape your life. The wrong crowd robs you of time, energy, money, and even your sense of self. I could list a dozen good traits in a friend: kindness, loyalty, humour, respect. But there’s one deal-breaker: stinginess. Not just with money, but with words. The type who can’t give a compliment without a barb and peppers every conversation with snark.

I finally cut off the spongers. A great 21st-century philosopher said it best in one of her many nuggets of wisdom: “Never be so kind you forget to be clever,” Taylor Swift writes in Marjorie. 

It felt like being nicked a thousand times, but I grew numb until the piggy bank shattered. When you’re young, she pockets your pearl necklace, swaps it for a plastic bracelet, and calls it a fair deal. When you’re older, she trades you lemonade scones for your king crab. You gift your baby things, only to have her secretly flip them for profit. That’s when you learn she isn’t thrifty; she is extractive.

Here’s what I’d tell my teenage self: you’re not stuck. You can leave. Real friends make you feel safe, seen, loved. Don’t let anyone treat your goodwill like an open bar tab. The worst kind of person is tight-fisted with theirs and greedy with yours. You owe nothing to anyone for being fortunate. You should never feel guilty, and what you share is your choice, never a duty.

It starts in the schoolyard. First, a bite of your chicken mayo roll. Then your whole lunch. She takes and takes, subtle at first, then relentless. That’s not a friend; it’s a leech. Rip it off, let it sting, and keep walking. The skin will heal, I promise, but the mind remembers. The scars aren’t on your hands, they’re on your heart.  

Left unchecked, the pattern follows you into adulthood and leaves you open to exploitation. Better an empty table than a bottomless cup.

In the end, money wasn’t the knife. Three decades of  cheap shots bled me dry and killed the friendship. 

clay date

My daughters are my greatest motivators. Even when I’m running on empty, they ignite the spark that keeps me going. My dear friend Hue is pure inspiration. Creative, thoughtful, generous, and optimistic, she lifts everyone around her. With their encouragement and enthusiasm, I find myself capable of more than I ever imagined.

We threw together a clay date for the girls and their school friends. I didn’t think I had the energy, but their excitement made it easy to rally. Hue led the pottery workshop with her usual calm magic, patiently guiding the kids as they shaped pieces worth keeping.

Lunch was a tea party spread, served on elegant three-tiered stands with avocado maki sushi, salmon aburi, spring rolls, and egg sandwiches. I loved that these young ones are now old enough to use proper dainty porcelain tea sets.

The afternoon was a mix of quiet concentration and cheerful chaos. Our guests were kind, respectful, bright, well-mannered, and mature, exactly the sort of company I wish for my daughters. I’m so grateful my little ladies have made such genuine friends.

soft spot

Labubus have been getting a fair bit of hate lately. I’m not personally invested, but I see no reason to mock what others enjoy. Collecting thrives on rarity, the chase, and the reward. It triggers dopamine: a spark when you spot one, a bigger hit when you score it, and a warm afterglow each time you see it. That “maybe this is the secret edition” keeps the loop going and hooks people.

My version of Labubus was a group of quirky plush toys. They weren’t popular or expensive, just small-eyed, big-smiled figurines that I found completely charming. One or two became a little family without me really planning it. Most people didn’t notice their appeal, yet a couple of friends still gifted me some without judgement. I held onto them for years because they made me happy.

In my mid-twenties I redecorated my room, decided I’d moved past toys, and donated the lot.

After becoming a mum, those funny little faces came rushing back in a wave of nostalgia. I searched online and found them still floating around, some even new with tags. One in particular caught my eye: the hippy chick, soft and familiar, with a black stain on her dress like the one I remembered. She turned up in a house only ten minutes from where I grew up. She looked exactly the same. Maybe it wasn’t the original, but that didn’t matter. It felt like she had come home.