The Mayday Influencer

Cracked bowls are often better than polished porcelain ones.—Michelle Liew’s tattooable of the day

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Cedarvale was a suburb haven in full bloom—picture postcard perfection. Clover Wen was the idealist greeting card writer —her ‘just so’ attitude could put Marie Kondo to shame. Her kitchen towels were on rotation. Her cupboards—colour coded. And her spice rack? Alphabetized.

But the idealist had a creative secret—she was the pen behind a famous authentic lifestyle influencer.

It was her comfort zone—it was where she could chase her curated influencer dreams—everything crafted twice over—without the fear of cosmetic judgement. It was where she could hide her fear of blandness—coming out as a lifestyle influencer too ‘jigsawed’ to show herself.

But Clover’s life was a postcard lie—even hardy clovers wilted when over-watered.

Among her pastel promo drafts was a threatening note—one penned in her style, demanding that she confess her ghostwriting exploits or risk losing the utopian life she had sculpted in Cedarvale.

And so began her frantic search for mano sinistra—the evil maestro who composed the note. Perhaps it was Philomena—the cheeky handwriting analyst neighbour would pen something like that. Or her mother—the old one was lost in filters and fonts. He or she had baked clues into the thousands of drafts in what was now a crime scene—a compost pile of tattered ideas.

She filtered through the torn leaves of mental sparks—her mind an un-Cloverlike, confused warp. It was about to spin beyond control when it hit her–the mano sinistra was none other than herself. Her Breakdown—made of half-eaten cake and drafts— had penned it in a hurry, one her well-honed self was too ready to deny.

The handwriting was hers—because her porcelain finish had cracks. She had been the one yelling Mayday. The mano sinistra was herself.

And she hit a jarring note—the only way to ease the chaos in her too-right self was to publish the note. And she did. In all its messy honesty. Philomena winked her support. Her mother gave her a hug.

And her authentic lifestyle influencer gave her his blog. It turned out that cracked bowls sold better than polished porcelain ones.

Now Clover still writes—but embraces off-page scripts when they blend in.

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