Hi, I'm Annice.
I'm fourteen years old, constantly cowering under tall people, aka my best friends, who are incidentally almost a foot taller than me. Yes, I know I'm in Canada and I need to use the metric system, but I don't. My family does, but my friends choose the all american way, just as they favour greasy diners over french macarons.
I am indeed 5"2, perhaps even a little bit less. I've been on a healthy marathon for a little over a year, mostly because I want to grow taller and look decent in a swimsuit. But coincidentally, throughout the year, my passion for baking has immensely increased. Bad, no?
My first time making anything was at in 7th grade, at school, where we made shortbread cookies with multicoloured icing for Christmas. We had to partner up and share the batter, trying to cream butter that just came out of the fridge two minutes ago. With one wooden spoon and our strong arms, right after a grueling block of P.E. at that. The cookies didn't taste great. They ended up in the garbage, actually. But the act of actually making something that you could sell encouraged me to heat up the oven that we barely used and pull out that bag of flour.
My life isn't all that interesting, though I try to make it so.
On sunny days, I like to go out for runs at local paths. On rainy, gloomy days I like to bake. Cookies, muffins, bagels, breads. Mostly breads. Even though it takes my family one and a half weeks to consume a single loaf of bread, I bake it anyway because who needs 34 ingredients to make a sandwich?
And in between exercise and baking, I throw in a few short stories and unfinished novels when I realize that I can't make the main character survive, right after I've developed an imaginary relationship with him/her.
So here. I give you my life in words and pictures. Words describing vacations, life and tastes; Images capturing moments of rising breads, sun sets and me getting lost on public transit with my friends.