Ask who I am. And here’s what I’ll say.

By seven, I was a multi-platinum singer. Every Saturday, Posh and Ginger Spice, my bestie and I were all that we could wannabe. Of course, since birth I’d been a jet-setter. Six weeks young and I was traversing the Atlantic… Pakistan, nani, and nana awaited me. A trip in the EMS to ply a bead from my nose was all it took to make me a doctor. After all, daddy’s proclamation that I’d be the future female Michael Jordan required being taller than 5’2.”

An older, cooler friend’s aspirations got me through the BAR to become a human rights lawyer. But mommy’s fear that this mouth would get even bigger pulled me back. One attempt at High Point furniture shopping and I was the savviest 10-year-old interior decorator this side of the Mississippi. “That wallpaper, this rug, but not that mat!” Needless to say I’d always been an expert taste-tester, a Food Network personality… the parents wished a solid athleticism had accompanied that.

At eighteen Dad still hoped, “you could be the second female president… after Hilary” he tried to persuade.But that was so 12 years ago, and I had bigger dreams than my six year old me. So at twenty when you ask… ask me who I am. Answer’s easy. By seven I was a multi-platinum superstar… Ginger Spice was my name.