published pieces: March-July 2014

bazaar came out with some beautiful covers this year.
(The cover with the beach, however, is from June '13. Realized it later :/)

While it may seem like my writing has taken a backseat, that's only as far as the blog is concerned. Here are links to my published articles in Kuwait's bazaar magazine over the past few months:

March: The Essence of Travel
For those who were following the Deutschland Diaries, this is a succinct account of gastronomical experiences in Germany :)

April: Why the Litter?
Commentary on littering in Kuwait (beaches in particular) that comes dangerously close to a rant.

May: Prague: Off the Beaten Path
Collaboration with the mother on a few gems of the Czech capital. The digital issue makes for a better read owing to the gorgeous pictures (page 130).

June: Why Do We Love Sports?
Piece on what makes us invest so much of our time and emotion into watching sports.

July-August: The München Marathon: 10 KM Lauf
An edited narrative on the first official run that some of you might have read previously :)


Criticism is always welcome. 

The CELTA Games - Part 2 - The Watermelon Incident

It was lunch hour. Ms. Fish and I skedaddled out to her car, intending to eat at Pizza Hut which was a few minutes' walk from the British Council.

It was 44 degrees. Walking was out of the question.

The car wasn't much better, suffocating us with its trapped heat while the seats burned our posteriors. I strapped on my seat belt, yelling out as my fingers accidentally touched the flaming hot buckle. Right then, we were distracted by a pick up truck stacked with dozens of watermelons parked on the side of the road. One lay cut up at the edge of the truck, its pink flesh exposed and inviting. Ms Fish and I exchanged a glance, lips curling into impish grins.

Pizza Hut could go to hell.

We stopped on impulse, bought one after due consideration, got half of it sliced by the vendor but still intact so as to have no difficulty breaking the pieces apart, smuggled it into class past beaming security guards (I had a sudden thought as to whether they'd ask to screen it while I expended all my strength on not dropping it) through a side entrance of the building and gorged on it with our delighted classmates.

There are few joys in life that are as fulfilling as eating watermelon straight from the rind after being subject to a blistering 44 degrees. It was a pain to clear the seeds strewn across the floor and mop up the juice with wet wipes and toilet paper, and even then we didn't manage to get rid of all the evidence in time as one of our CELTA trainers walked into the room wrinkling his nose, exclaiming, "it smells like hamburgers in here!"

It was worth cleaning up all the muck. The spontaneity and glee put us all in a good mood and took our minds off the stress that was beginning to take a toll on most.  I was slightly surprised at how excitedly everyone had indulged in the act despite there being no cutlery; I'd expected a couple of our older classmates to turn our offer down in slight disdain.

But then it would take one considerable willpower to turn up one's nose at sweet, juicy, joy-inducing watermelon.

On that note, a piece I wrote called Bringing Out Your Inner Child was published in bazaar magazine's September issue, which should hit stands by the end of this week. You can read the digital issue here.


Part 1

The CELTA Games - Part 1 - Getting Around to It

I once wrote about how I don't really feel at home living in India or Kuwait. As a TCK (third culture kid) I don't really have a problem blending in with people, but I don't feel that sense of belonging anywhere. And then I came across a quote that made me realize I don't really need to:

"Language is the only homeland." - Czeslaw Milosz

Another epiphany! It is within the boundaries of the English language that I thrive, with grammar that I feel most at home and in control and words with which I snuggle in contentment...words that gush comfortingly within the nooks and crannies of my mind. And let's not forget the in-built, grammatical error detection radar that unfailingly goes berserk every time it's put to good use and won't cease until the cause for its suffering has been corrected.

So when it was suggested I teach English for a living, it really wasn't too preposterous a thought. Marketing had lost its appeal; I wanted no part in encouraging people to spend more on gorging unhealthy meals that offered obesity, diabetes and high cholesterol at no extra charge and on purchasing things they didn't need. Unless it was books, of course. Books are about the only things worth buying.

In Kuwait, the British Council is the only Cambridge approved CELTA center. The CELTA application included a pre-interview task, and if you passed that, you'd score an interview. It took me some time to be completely satisfied with the task; there were a couple of concepts I was unfamiliar with, and a section on grammar that required some pondering upon. I said a silent prayer as I emailed it. Fast forward to the longest interview of my life; it lasted about 2 hours 15 minutes as it included two written tasks of 40 minutes each, but on the whole, it went pretty well.

By now I'd gotten a fair idea of what I was signing up for, from all the research online to the information I received about the course from the interviewer herself. Every single source said that it wasn't necessary to have any teaching experience; in fact it was better if you didn't. Every forum I read emphasized on how challenging and extremely stressful it was, and how most trainees pass but that it was virtually impossible to get Pass A or even Pass B and that you could fail the course if you didn't pull your weight. The stress factor had me a tad worried but more than anything else I was desperately looking forward to the challenge and being involved in something I loved; I was so bored with my routine.

Another reason why I knew the CELTA was the right choice for me? The first day of class began the day after my last day at work. That's too much of a coincidence for me. There was a Greater Power at work here.

The first couple of hours of the first day were very laid-back with warmer activities intended for us to get comfortable around each other and build trust. My classmates and I knew a little about each other through introductory emails we'd exchanged a week prior on the request of our trainer, which was a fantastic idea. Every single one of my classmates was either a teacher or had a degree in literature, or both. I admit, I was slightly envious of the latter.

Part of what I loved about the CELTA is that it involved teaching an actual class of students who were attending for free, as a way for the British Council to give back to the community. That made it even more worthwhile. As the day progressed, we were divided into groups and were introduced to our students. Our jaws dropped when the students came in. I'd expected them to be young students around my age or even younger (they'd still be adults!). Most were in fact 10-15 years older, working in hospitals or hotels.

My luck ran out and I had to teach the first 40 minute lesson in front of a class of 17 adults, almost all of which were men, the very next day.

What the heck had I gotten myself into?

Part 2 coming soon! Be patient with me :*
Title credit goes to Ms. Fish, my adorably awesome friend and fellow CELTA survivor.

published pieces (June)

"In learning you will teach
And in teaching you will learn.."

- Son of Man, Tarzan (Phil Collins)

I've been very tied-up with a new endeavour that I took up on impulse. So far, it's been a lot of fun (and a lot of work) and I'm enjoying it. More on that in a later post sometime in the foreseeable future.

To make up for my sporadic posts, I have for you two articles that were published in bazaar magazine this month (June):

You're Someone's Type!
Live Painting Comes to Kuwait

Critical feedback is always welcome. For the piece covering the Live Painting event (an edited version of the blog post published earlier in May), I'd recommend bazaar's digital version (Page 49) so you can view all the gorgeous pictures, courtesy of Kuwait Music. If you live in Kuwait, you still have a few days to pick up a copy of bazaar, before the July-August issue hits the stands. You can find one at most Starbucks outlets.

Crossing off #23

#23. Capture lightning on camera. (refer Before I Die list)

I was working past midnight last night and, exhausted, had decided to turn in. I heard the pattering of raindrops as I crawled into bed, and flung open the window just in time to see the dark skies coruscate with a brilliant flash of lightning. Ain't no way I was going to sleep through a thunderstorm!

I wished I had a DSLR to capture the lightning, but having nothing but a pitiful iPhone 4S on me, I abandoned the thought and gazed out from the darkness of my room, craning my head to catch sight of every lightning bolt that hit the earth. My sister came in and sat beside me. We watched the clouds pour their frustrations onto the land and counted the seconds between the lightning and thunder. I voiced my wish and she suggested I take a video on my phone. I could pause the video when the lightning appeared and take a screenshot.

So I tried it. I got a decent video of a single bolt of lightning on my second attempt, but my aesthetic sense wasn't satisfied; I wanted multiple streaks of lighting rending through the open sky. I tried again for another thirty minutes. The lightning refused to strike through the spot of sky I would focus the camera on, but with a bit of patience (which is very hard for me to muster), secure with the knowledge that it would come, I finally captured it on camera.

Nothing as awe-inspiring as witnessing a lightning storm
take charge of the skies.

I've watched the video several times and it's fascinating to note how the light travels through the web of lightning bolts, illuminating them at different parts within a second. It took forever to get a screenshot at the split second the lightning appeared. I slept late, had to wake up early this morning and I'm still exhausted, but it was so worth it.

Addendum:
I just learnt of an iOS app called iLightningCam 6.0 that facilitates the tricky business of getting a shot of lightning strikes. I wish I'd known about it before; perhaps the picture quality would have been better, but I think my phone did a decent job without it.

a godsend.

The past 10 days or so have been miserable. I've been plagued by a terrible toothache and had a depressing experience looking for a dentist on a Friday afternoon. I finally got it sorted with my dentist in India, who came through with a simple and effective remedy (apply Sensodyne!). A few days later (again, right before the weekend) I was hit by another toothache of a totally different kind, and emailed my dentist in India. He thought it might be my bite that had to adjusted and advised me to go to a dentist here to get it looked at. I booked an appointment with my dentist in a private clinic (having had more than enough of government clinics) for Sunday morning. It turned out to be a root canal that would cost 200 KD, which incidentally is the cost of ALL my dental work in India. The timing really sucks considering I was in India just two weeks ago…

It’s been a while since I've been so upset. I've had five root canals so far (including this one) and an implant. Almost all my teeth have fillings despite the pains I take to maintain them. Will it ever end?

And then, in the midst of all this misery, something truly unbelievable happened.

Yesterday, a friend texted me out of the blue saying he had something that had to be given to me that same day and that it couldn't wait, refusing to divulge any more. Mystified with the cryptic texts, I suggested he stop by P2BK (Proud to be Kuwaiti exhibition) since that's where I've been living the past week or so.
Between watching the Harlem Shake performance, getting snacks, handing out brochures and talking to booth visitors, I whiled away the hours until the designated time.

He showed up with a huge package.

"What the heck is this?" I asked, even more mystified.
"It isn’t from me."

I ripped open the pretty packaging,

and read the card.

"OH MY GOD! THIS IS SO FREAKING COOOOOOL!! THIS IS SO SO COOOL!!"
*bobs up and down in delight*

Sheikha is a reader who discovered my blog via Botamba. She leaves me immensely supportive and encouraging comments on every post, and only recently revealed her name.

I pulled the ribbon on one of the boxes (there were two) and discovered a cake inside. We exchanged a wide-eyed glance of amazement. Try as I might I couldn't tie the ribbon half as neatly as it was to take a picture—in my excitement, I forgot to click a pic of the original package.

I went home taking great care of my precious cargo and was bombarded with questions from my flabbergasted family:

"Where did you get this from?"
"Sheikha sent it to me!"
"HOW DOES SHE KNOW WHERE WE LIVE?!"
"It wasn't sent home! We have a mutual friend who delivered it to me."
"How do you have a mutual friend with an anonymous person?!"
"We live in Kuwait. It's hardly surprising."
"Are you sure it's a woman? Maybe it's a guy who changed his name?"
"IT'S A WOMAN!"

I opened the boxes, thus ending the ridiculous interrogation.

a godsend!

We devoured the cake and the cake pops (from The November Bakery). Delicious!

Sheikha, thank you so much for the lovely package! The flowers are especially gorgeous, I can't stop smelling them! I am deeply touched, honoured and overcome with joy with your heartfelt gesture and appreciation for my writing. It couldn't have come at a better time, especially since I've been feeling so low all week. I feel so, so blessed and I hope we meet someday. I wish you all the very best; may God bless you with every happiness!

Nikhil, thanks a bunch for delivering the package and keeping the surprise!

Sighhhh. I'm sooo happy.

The Sanctuary that Once was

Once upon a time in Kuwait, there lay a small sanctuary, deep in the ground, for lovers of the written word.

It thrived with visitors young and old, wandering through the aisles, the sight of the innumerable tomes appeasing their insatiable thirst for words. This lone oasis was all they had, all that was there in the desert that could offer them any satisfaction when it came to reading English books. The two guardians of the sanctuary welcomed them in and then let them be, knowing that they preferred to be alone with the great masters they were about to meet.

The sanctuary I speak of is the British Council Library, often abbreviated to the BCL, which once flourished in the basement of the British Council in Mansouriya. The two guardians were the librarians Khalid and Santana, who’d been working there for years.

When I was four, my mother initiated us into the BCL’s family membership. For years after that, I escaped from the mundane realities of school and homework by exploring new realms and sharing countless moments of joy with my companions on my many adventures—whether it was discovering the Golden Ticket with Charlie Bucket, soaring through the earth’s orbit with Willy Wonka in the Great Glass Elevator, stumbling into Narnia with the Pevensies, fighting battles by Prince Caspian’s side, vanquishing smugglers and kidnappers while camping all over the British countryside with the Famous Five or gorging at midnight feasts by the swimming pool with Darrel, Alicia and the other girls at Malory Towers. I led a very full life indeed.

When not saving the world or performing remarkable feats, I was absorbing facts on dinosaurs and the universe from Dorling Kindersley encyclopedias.  

We made our romp there every month. When my sister was born a few months after our first visit, my mother would carry her in one arm while browsing the Adult section. As my sister grew, she’d crawl all over the grey library carpet in the Children’s section. Once she started reading, she and I would dig deep for books we hadn't read, concealing some strategically to borrow on the next visit. We would then proceed to Mansouriya Market (the supermarket across the parking lot opposite the BCL), buy some groceries and Snapple’s Pink Lemonade, and then head to Hardee’s (right next to the supermarket) for a meal, all the while engaged in deep discussion of our loot from the library. It became an age-old family tradition.

There was a book sale once; the BCL’s Adult section was to be discontinued. Hardcover books were priced as low as a quarter KD. My mom went through the following week with an ecstatic smile after she bought bags and bags of books for a mere 30 KD. One of them, weighing at least two tons, detailed the entire history of the British monarchy. I remember excitedly tracing King Richard the Lionheart and Prince John’s line; I’d just read Robin Hood and had assumed they were fictional characters. Learning they existed made me believe the legendary outlaw was real, and I proclaimed him my hero.

The BCL adapted with the times; it even included a video library. This was where we would often find our mother, flipping through the video catalogues for BBC and other TV series, while our father would look for Bond movies to watch the umpteenth time. Through those catalogues, I knew all the titles of Dickens's work despite not having read a single one (unabridged anyway).

 

Bit of an odd name, that. 

My sister and I often borrowed VHS tapes of documentaries for information vegetable, animal and mineral, along with children’s movies or series. I dreamed of sailing the high seas like Horatio Hornblower as he marched the decks of his ship, let my imagination soar with the incorrigible Pippi Longstocking (1988), and sang all the songs of Oliver! (1968) over and over while secretly crushing on the Artful Dodger. I recall rewinding the song 'Consider Yourself' over and over while laboriously writing down the lyrics to ensure I got the words right! 

When the age of the personal computer began, the BCL brought in the internet, computers and a variety of interactive CD encyclopedias and games. I had an intense fascination with dinosaurs and would occasionally spend an hour or two surfing a particularly informative CD on the reptiles. It was around this time that I encountered Harry Potter and broke him out of Privet Drive with Ron and his brothers in Mr. Weasley’s Ford Anglia.

The blissful times at the BCL were not to last, for the Dark Forces were at work. Six years ago, we received the fated phone call from one of the guardians, with news that evoked a great deal of sorrow. The library was closing down.

There was a time when books held more worth to children than the latest thingamajig dominating the tech market, when what was deemed worthy of showing off was how many books you’d read, not what your score was on the game in vogue on the App Store. My childhood is intrinsically linked to the BCL and life would not have been as rich without it. I grieve for Kuwait’s loss, while cherishing a secret hope that the sanctuary will miraculously spring up again.

a much overdue and awesome trip to Failaka.

20 years in Kuwait and I had never been to Failaka. It was time to change that. Went to the Failaka Heritage Village with Maeve, an old friend from school (my oldest one, our friendship is ancient) and her friend Kayo who was visiting here. Ever since I heard about the Greek ruins on the island I've been dying to see them!

The ride in the catamaran was rejuvenating. I discovered my sea legs were not fully developed.

Bye bye mainland

The sea's got its bling on

someone asked why I took this.
is it not obvious?

Once there we were taken to the hotel in a minibus. The receptionist gave us a map, directing us to the restaurant Ikaros for lunch and informing us of a tour at 3 pm at an additional cost of 1 KD. The Greek ruins were not open to the public unless you had special permission from the Kuwait National Museum. That sucks.
The island was called Ikaros by the Greeks back in the day (324 BC or a few years later). It reminded them of another island of theirs in the Aegean Sea by the same name. Sentimental much?
The hotel was pretty cool with a touch of the old Kuwait, atleast what it must have looked like before the modernization fever hit the country.

Yup old world window alright..
if you ignore the ATM outside.

3-dimensional picture! It's too bad so few of these (the actual
building not the pic) exist today.

We stepped outside to explore before heading to the restaurant for lunch (we had to be back at 3pm for a tour of the island). It was pretty awesome! This is a little startling, almost every pic below brought to mind some fantasy/movie/cartoon.

Lantern: I'm thinking of that scene of Harry looking at musty
books in the library in Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

                                       

the tree's central location reminds me of
The White Tree of Gondor

umm.. Sleeping Beauty going up
the staircase to prick her finger?
No? Okay no.

my mind draws a blank at this one.

the courtyard, blank again

from the first floor. Kayo said the sheets reminded her of
Aladdin. I love people that relate Disney to reality! :D

Lunch was surprisingly good. There was a buffet with fatoush, mutton biryani, chicken majboos, spaghetti and meatballs (untouched), rice and dakoos (untouched), jelly (untouched) and my absolute favourite Arabic sweet dish muhallabiya. There were other dishes too but none worth remembering.

We went back to the reception to take the tour. First stop was the Iraqi tank cemetery. For some inexplicable reason, it reminded me of the elephant graveyard in the Lion King (I'm beginning to think that I may have watched Disney movies too often as a kid). We only had about four minutes here before the driver tooted his horn and everyone rushed back to the bus. I strayed for a minute trying to cram in more pictures that I had neglected to take. That one minute of solitude there was no sound but that of the wind, blowing through the derelict, rusting, once terrifying machines of death and destruction.

anti aircraft gun

killing machines

Someone please enlighten me as to what on earth
this is.

When we get wowed by war museums and admire the destructive machines on display, how often do we allow the grim realization to dawn on us and reflect on how many lives those may have taken? Wiped out towns? Stolen innocent civilians' rights to a peaceful existence, caught in the crossfire of political differences?
Probably never.

Next stop, the camel farm. First out of the minibus, I ran upto an enclosure containing camel mommies and their young. The herder keeping guard at the gate ushered me in, advising me to make no sound with my camera. I went in noiselessly, standing among the camels but never behind them, afraid of getting kicked by a stray hind leg o_O Pretending I was a wildlife photographer, I managed to capture a tender moment between a mother and her child.

That one.

Those eyelashes are the envy of every woman.

                             

What a soppy grin!

                                   
We were then driven to an area that had a hotel. When the Iraqi army invaded Failaka, they kicked out the residents and used the buildings for target practice.

Hotel rooms.. dozens of them.

Buildings riddled with bullet holes, the place was a ghost town. It was eerie being in such close proximity to empty, ramshackle houses that were once full thriving with life. Almost every house seems to have had a decent sized backyard, such a rarity now in Kuwait.

What's left of the bank.

The crooked man's crooked house (from the nursery rhyme)

Of course, this being Kuwait, it is imperative that one encounters a BlackBerry Pin no. exhibited somewhere, even if it is in the middle of nowhere.

Or in this case, a 'Bin' number.

It was 4 pm by the time we got back; we had to clear out by 4 30. We had just enough time to take a quick peek at the market wares, all handmade in Failaka. Great place for souvenirs!

Metalwork: a doe. We bought stags.

The sheesha tile cracked me up xD

This awesome stuff wasn't on sale :(

And then we were shooed out.


I have a bone to pick with the organizers: I understand high tide being at 4 45 pm means we have to leave then, but WHY on earth must the catamaran leave so late (12 30pm!!) from Marina Crescent? That's 45 minutes going, arriving on the island at 1 15 pm, having to report to the hotel at 4 30 pm to leave. That's just 3 hours 15 minutes minus the one hour that goes in the tour if you opt for it, equaling a little over 2 hours to explore on your own. NOT ENOUGH!!

The way back, I nearly fell overboard trying to get pictures of the Kuwaiti skyline by nightfall. Deciding I had taken enough photos (hundreds) and that whoever wanted to see the same could very well find them on Google, I went inside and firmly parked myself on a seat where there was no danger of meeting with the chilly Arabian Gulf.

For more information on the cost, how to get there etc. visit the website.

A Night to Remember: Iszonica Fashion Show

Last night I attended a fashion show (BIG thank you to Maxine of Better Books!) - UMOJA (Swahili for Togetherness) organized by Iszonica Modelling School (IMS) and Trash to Treasure, under the umbrella of the Salvation Army. I loved it. It was an amazing show, bringing so much talent to the forefront for such a deserving cause.

The head ruined my picture.
There's always a head or a limb ruining my pictures.

Held to support the women at the Philippines embassy that are facing deportation (as well as to persuade people to recycle), the money raised will be used to provide them with counselling services and buy them materials and things they need. Michelle Johnson, Managing Director of IMS and co-host of the event (together with Heather Grinsted, Regional Officer of the Salvation Army), in her opening speech mentioned that women in the Philippines earn just 50 KD a month for the same jobs in Kuwait. And so they head here, leaving their families, looking for a better future for their children. While most of the women find good jobs and are happy, some others flee to the embassy to escape abusive employers. Tragic but true. The recyclable dresses were designed and tailored by them, giving them a chance to channel their creativity, time and resourcefulness into constructive activities.

On with the show! Click on the picture to enlarge.

I had to take a picture of the lighting.
Made the hall look so resplendent. 

Unfortunately, I got very few decent shots; there were a lot more dresses than you see here. The music was easily recognizable, some of my favourite soundtracks just 'pimped' - Gladiator, Pirates of the Caribbean, The Devil Wear Prada...

In the first segment, the models (of various nationalities - in line with the theme) exhibited rugs made by the ladies at Trash to Treasure using discarded materials.

Next up, some of the Recycle Company Logo Dresses =) These were dresses made to showcase the logos of the sponsors of the event. The Cake n Bake drew a lot of oohs from the crowd!

Dress depicting logo of Cake n Bake
Better pic here and here

                                                         

The above two dresses were made using Annahar newspapers, commemorating the paper's fourth anniversary.

Frilly blouse and a four tiered skirt
for Organica Fish & Chips

Sassy ain't it? Made with dried orange skin
and pistachio nutshells!

The next segment had guest designer Sara Karami feature some of her exquisite collection of rich blended fabrics and styles from her label 'Just Jazz, Just Sara'. She was my classmate in school and it's heartening to see your schoolmates go so far! Congratulations on your first show Sara! Wish you all the very best!

I would so wear this.

Chic. Love the look of the fabric.

This elegant dress was saved for last,
and very rightly so!

Michelle Johnson was the second designer. Her dresses personified grace, beauty with a hint of sexy.

The models then sported accessories designed by Hamac and Ja-Lynn. I didn't take great pictures of this segment, so to make up for it here's a glimpse of Ja-Lynn's stall.

Handmade Bags

Wooden bangles in vibrant hues

Chunky jewellery in every colour

Accessories made from discarded materials by the women at Trash to Treasure:

And finally, the dresses made by the women at the Philippines Embassy themselves, using fabrics discarded or left over by tailors. Here, when the models encountered each other on the runway they'd each do something funky, like check each other out with pretentious gasp =D It was cool!

  

Doesn't she look like she really enjoyed wearing that? =D The model's name is Krsytle Nazareth and she was in school with me too. It's a small world.

Don't miss the flower - it just about completes the look.

I love how her dress blurred in motion when she turned!

Blurred, but too ingenious to have ignored.
Those curving lines? Bottle caps!

Can you guess what was used
to make this dress?
No? Rice bags!

A variety of prints were used for this one.
Would make gorgeous harem pants.

                                                   

I'm not a fan of any kind of checks pattern
(completely ignored the checked shirts trend)
but the flowers detail is beautiful

Looks like basket weaving.

BLING BLING!

The dresses of this segment were judged by three judges and awarded 1st, 2nd and 3rd prizes.

Winners: Gold dress, Rice Bag Dress and Scottish Dress

An artist, Ferrah Haider was also displaying her work.

The origins of some bits of this collage are discernible.
Can you make them out?

The models walked the runway with a lot more but yours truly could not capture them on camera effectively. 

Had a lovely time. The level of imagination and resourcefulness employed in the making of each dress and accessory just blew my mind. 

Among the stalls, there was one selling Kashmiri handicrafts, unleashing a flood of Indian memories all of which I usually keep locked up.

Wooden table with an Indian royal and his...
well I'd say wife, but who knows really.
I'm not sure where the camel came from..

That stool looks comfy.

Bells. All the way from Kashmir, India.
I like this picture.

And finally:                                    

The designer, Sara Karami herself, poses with some of
her collection.

Next time you're about to throw something out, give it a second thought: do you have the imagination to turn that piece of crap (well it is if you're throwing it isn't it) into something stunning?

Which dress did you like best?