Saturday, 9th May, 2026

Dear diary...uh, uh no too much. I'm just writing about my day. Why need to go formal and treat a diary like a person. HEY, THERE'S A DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A PERSON AND A DIARY, GET IT???

Sorry it's just life getting to me.

You see we are quadruplets. Two boys and two girls. Sam, Tam (weird right), Jessie and Kessie(me). Funny thing is, we're not weird. In fact, we are normal tweens living a normal life with normal, rich parents. We are only called weird because we bloody hate each other. And by bloody at times it can get bloody. OMG I actually saw Sam with bloody-mucusy mixture on his nose after I heard the two arguing about who was going to represent the family in the all time VR world cup final in Canada. Anyway, let's get back. I have my own room with all the chaos. We consider ourselves lucky that our dad was around when we we're choosing our rooms. He usually doesn't care about trying to get us closer together. He only cares about our performance in academic activities.

Speaking of togetherness, Mum has got us this diary your are reading now. We have been begging her for one, but she must've seen the opportunity and bought only one. Then she ordered us to figure out how to share. Not a good idea. Hopefully never the greatest. She was forced to help us. I got to write first, then Jessie, then Tam and finally Sam. We write in different styles so that we do not understand each others writing. Now I better sign off, swim lessons are soon.

KESSIE.

Okay, so I know “arriving in Beijing” sounds like it would be this magical, beautiful, cinematic moment. You know: dramatic music, slow‑motion hair flips, the whole family stepping off the plane like we’re in some billionaire‑kids reality show.

Yeah. No.

We stumbled out of the airport like four gremlins who’d been stuffed into a big metal tube for ten hours. Jessie’s hair looked like she’d been electrocuted. Sam smelled like plane food and vomit, even though he swore he didn't get airsick anymore. Dad didn’t even notice. He was already on his tablet, checking our “mental readiness scores” for the VR Championships through our swanky smartwatches that he got free from work.

The hotel was ridiculous: gold everywhere, carpets so soft you could probably sleep on them, and a chandelier that looked like it cost more than the rest of the hotel altogether. Mom said we should “take a moment to appreciate the cultural beauty.” We took a moment to argue instead.

The receptionist asked, “Would you like two rooms or four?”

We all yelled different numbers at the same time.

“FOUR!”
“TWO!”
“THREE!”
“NONE, I’LL SLEEP IN THE LOBBY!”

“I’m not sharing with Sam. He snores like a dying bear.” Jessie announced.

“I don’t snore. And even if I did, at least I don’t talk in my sleep about K‑pop boys.” Sam shot back.

“YOU PROMISED YOU WOULDN’T TELL ANYONE THAT!”

“Guys,” Tam said, pretending to be the peacemaker, “I think the real question is who deserves the best sleep before the VR World Cup qualifiers.”

“I’m representing us. Obviously.” Sam said, puffing up like a pigeon.

“You?” Jessie scoffed. “You literally got motion‑sick in the practice sim last week.”

“That was ONE TIME.”

“Yeah, and you threw up on the cat.”

“THE CAT MOVED INTO MY LINE OF FIRE!”

I swear the hotel staff were watching us like we were some kind of travelling circus. We kind of were, in a way.

Meanwhile, I was trying to be reasonable. “Look, Mom said we’re supposed to share rooms fairly. So maybe we should-”

“Kessie shouldn’t represent us because she’s too slow.” Tam cut in.

“Excuse me? I beat you last month.”

“That was lag.”

“Sure. Blame the lag. Classic loser move.”

“Kids,” Mum said through her teeth, smiling like a hostage, “let’s focus on the rooms.”

But we weren’t focusing on the rooms. We were focusing on who would get the best sleep, which meant who would perform best, which meant who would get the glory, which meant who would finally get Dad to look up from his tablet and say, “Good job.” So yeah.

Dad didn’t even look up at the receptionist, or at us. “Two rooms. Boys in one, girls in the other.”

We all froze. This was the worst possible outcome.

Jessie glared at me. “If you snore, I’m suffocating you with a pillow.”

“If you hog the blankets, I’m throwing you off the balcony.”

Meanwhile, the boys were already arguing about who got the bed closest to the window because “natural light improves cognitive performance.” We dragged our suitcases toward the lifts, muttering threats under our breath. If we can’t even share a hotel room without trying to murder each other, how are we supposed to survive the VR Championships? Anyway. I’ll write more after I hide my snacks from Jessie.

— KESSIE