I get asked – so who is this twenty-something? And now, twenty-something-who-rides (it’s actually quite cumbersome to type this!)? Well, obviously they are my colleagues. People I spend more of my waking hours with than my own family.

Come to think of it, I spend roughly 10 hours a day with my team, five times a week. In contrast, I only have an hour on a work day with my son and slightly more with my husband, if I’m very lucky, depending on the myriad of evening conference calls I have to make on account of our global business. I spend the entire weekend with them though, barring the occasional lunch or dinner with my friends, and a quick zip to the salon when my hair screams for a cut. Which I do twice a year. Surprising, I know. I’ve given up on other grooming services like manis and pedis, in case you’re wondering. Try not to look at my toes next time you bump into me. They are a sorry sight.

Not even the weekend hours are sufficient to topple the 50 I clock with my team. Given the huge amount of time shared, it can be tough if you don’t like the people you work with. I’m lucky not to have this problem.

Let’s see. There’s twenty-something whom you ought to be well acquainted with by now. You know, the one who waltzed into the office carrying Ferragamo on the first day of work. I’ve since learnt it was earned, not given, which impressed me. Shows how little you know of the people you spend so much time with!

And then there’s the twenty-something-who-rides. Motorbikes or bicycles, you ask. Horses, lah.

I have my Number 1 – the very first person I hired, nine years ago. Number 1 of all can attest to how much I’ve mellowed over the years. From slave driver to just driver.

There’s also Chocolate Lava Cake – cool on the outside but terribly warm and sweet inside. Whom I can always count on for an honest opinion. On my grammar too.

And the dancer. The dancer and I attended the same secondary school, but err.. nine years apart. We were also both presidents of the school’s dance society. Beat that.

Finally, Auntie Juice. The one who feeds our team – with cakes, not juices – and keeps my life together. How else can I walk into a meeting room to find the air temperature just right? Now, now, don’t be jealous.

This is my local team, of the larger global one. Without whom my 50 hours a week would have been far less enjoyable. I know I can count on them to fight with me, tooth and nail, the battles, big and small, that come with our work. And I know I can count on them to forgive me when I am overly impatient or demanding. Or when my Chinese bluntness gets the better of me.

Most importantly, I know I can count on them to read my blog. Does it get much better than that?