anniversary. There you were, without me asking, sending a delicious homemade meal—complete with a starter, main course, dessert, and even wine—straight to my office. And then last Mother’s Day, when I had nothing planned, there was a surprise delivery from you: a basket overflowing with food, drinks, and love. You made me feel like the most cherished person in the world, just with your thoughtful, cooking-based gifts. And let's not forget your stubbornness—which, I say with affection, is really just your commitment to going above and beyond for those you care about. When you set your mind to something, you give it your all—whether it’s organising a meal, reaching out during tough times, or simply making someone feel appreciated. I can always count on you to show up, even when you’re going through your own battles. You never let hardship take away your willingness to give, and that's something I admire deeply. In the kitchen, as in life, you are always the first to offer, the first to serve, and the last to take credit. That’s just who you are. You don’t do it for recognition—you do it because it’s your love language, and you know no other way. It’s as though you pour your heart into every dish, every gesture, every prayer. I’ve felt that love in every conversation, every gift, and yes, in every meal you've lovingly prepared for me. Jemima, thank you for being the beautiful, generous soul that you are. Your kindness is truly a blessing to everyone you meet. As you celebrate your 50th birthday, I wish you all the joy you’ve given to others and more. May God continue to bless you with health, happiness, and the fulfilment of all your dreams. I am so grateful for you—my sister by heart. Here’s to many more years of friendship, love, and sharing countless meals together. Rebecca sums it all up… Do you remember our friendship started with sandwiches? Yes, really—those legendary sandwiches you packed for Victoria in Primary 1. Maxine and Victoria became inseparable at Ridge Church School, but I think the real spark between us began when Maxine started bringing her own lunch home—completely untouched—because she had eaten Victoria’s instead! I’d tease her and say, “So your friend’s mother sends enough food for two?” And without missing a beat, she’d say, “Yes, Mummy, Auntie Jemima always does.” That simple act—cooking extra, packing extra—day after day, year after year, without ever making it a thing, was how you mothered both girls without hesitation. You cooked for Maxine, fed her, made sure she had something tasty to eat, all through their childhood and teenage years. You did it with love and such consistency that even the teachers at school noticed. I didn’t take it lightly. I saw it for what it was: generosity in action. And as someone who doesn’t enjoy cooking, believe me, I was grateful! You didn’t just feed my child—you nurtured her. And from those early lunchbox days, our friendship simmered gently and steadily—from P1 to university— through shared taxi pick-ups, exam stress, and school transitions. When it was time to choose Legacy Girls, you didn’t just recommend the school—you practically served up the whole admission process on a silver platter. From school shopping to registration, you seasoned every moment with kindness and garnished it with grace. I still remember when you dropped off a whole carload of provisions for Maxine—bought and packed without being asked, and flatly refusing any reimbursement. That was classic Jemima—all in, no half-measures. You made sure the girls were in the same dorm, with the right housemistress. You were the quiet chef behind the scenes, preparing a smooth path for my daughter’s journey. You have this recipe for friendship that’s rare: one part generosity, one part loyalty, and a generous sprinkle of joy. You give without measuring, serve without expecting, and always make space at your table—whether literal or figurative. Jemima, I love you for all of that. You’re more than a friend. You’ve become family—not through grand declarations, but through the steady, nourishing love you’ve poured into our lives, one packed lunch at a time. Jemima never misses our family celebrations and milestones—birthdays, funerals, graduations, and more. She’s always sending cash donations, flowers, cakes, and gift baskets—so many I’ve lost count. On your 50th, I pray your own cup overflows. May you receive the same love, abundance, and comfort you’ve so effortlessly given to others. May your days be filled with warmth, your heart with joy, and your home with laughter. 36 The Birthday Journal
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