The first gift that I successfully gave you (not counting all those I unwittingly gave to your neighbour downstairs) was the little cross-stich with your name on it. One of those cheap wooden circular frames. It was meant to say “My Room” but I changed the words, keeping the little rainbow by the side, and the small blue waves that rolled under. Min was about six or seven years old back then. She went through my drawer, pulled out the cross-stich and brought it to my mother, complaining loudly that I had deviated from the printed instructions. I was highly embarassed but was glad that my mom decided to laugh it off. She thought it was funny, her son having his first crush. Puppy love or something. He’s only eleven. She never saw this coming.