That is my Lalique ring. I broke it. Bits and smithereens all over the office toilet floor. Just like my heart.

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Maybe a brief history of this ring.

I always knew of its existence, the same way I knew of Chopard watches. There used to be a little stall on the ground floor of Takashimya selling these candy coloured rings crudely secured to the shelf with plastic lines, I liked them so much, I first blogged about them back when I was on Xanga. My desire to own one of them waned for a few years as the bag whoring began.

But again the rings came back to haunt me especially when I was in Spain and I saw them just sitting behind the glass window of a jewellery shop. These rings are the epitome of me. They were coloured with every single colour of the rainbow, they were large and flashy, unfortunately they are also remarkably fragile (less like me) which I found out today. I promised myself I would get one of them in Paris that Christmas, they are after all French. But of course I never made it to Paris, the city of lights that year.

But they followed me back to Singapore in which I started the mad hunt for a distributor that sold Lalique rings. Lalique Cabochon Rings. The closest was KL. A twist of fate and I found myself staring at them at Carat Club in uptown Pavilion mall. But hemming and hawness plus the uncharacteristic shyness deluded me of the finger candy.

Last December in Hongkong, I was at this mall (I cannot recall the name and am too devastated to google at the moment) walking through the crowd when this little Lalique shop squeezed in between peeked out to say hello. I was drawn inside and put myself putting on the rings, choosing which colour and finally settling on this egg white which changes colour with the light. Later that night, I would have another other ring on one of my fingers but I bought the elusive Lalique ring for myself. For everything it stood for me.