Last Night My Classmates Saved My Life
It was just one of those days.
I woke up feeling absolutely wasted, even though I'd done nothing the night before and gotten a good eight hours of sleep. Some doors away, my parents were bickering--not a big deal in itself but a major irritation given the state I was in. Later in the afternoon, something else stole my thunder and made me feel inconsolably disprized. The rest of the day was spent in a haze of self-doubt; mouth ulcers slowly gnawing away at my sanity.
Thank goodness for my sociology honours classmates, then. The poolside potluck party was excellent, as all our gatherings are--a good showing of twenty, with nary a hint of artifice or discomfort. There was an abundance of dessert and booze. We made like our former 18-year-old selves and played dumb drinking games like "big fish-small fish", which through a slip of the tongue became "big shit-small shit", and eventually the rather improbable but extra-challenging "big shit-small fish".
When things wound down we broke into cliques and started talking about our respective job searches and postgraduate endeavours. It wasn't long, however, before one group's discussion veered to sex and everyone else joined in. A revival of a months-old debate about how society is actually predicated upon sex (and not the economy as Marxians claim) somehow led to the very teenage epiphany that, in love, "we very often don't know what we want" (cue ponderous nods and pauses).
It was a perfect JC outing, except we were soon-to-be university graduates. I miss these guys. I shouldn't have allowed the fact that I wasn't taking any sociology modules this semester to distance myself from them. And I shouldn't have allowed the vague promise of running into the night with a free-spirited girl take me away from what I already had. Not especially when the bunch of us almost--upon threats from the condominium security--packed up and headed for a night beneath the stars on a rooftop in NUS; not when we almost left for karaoke on a post-midnight whim, only to be kept where we were because we started talking about sex.
I love my classmates. I hope we'll still be doing this when we're forty.
I woke up feeling absolutely wasted, even though I'd done nothing the night before and gotten a good eight hours of sleep. Some doors away, my parents were bickering--not a big deal in itself but a major irritation given the state I was in. Later in the afternoon, something else stole my thunder and made me feel inconsolably disprized. The rest of the day was spent in a haze of self-doubt; mouth ulcers slowly gnawing away at my sanity.
Thank goodness for my sociology honours classmates, then. The poolside potluck party was excellent, as all our gatherings are--a good showing of twenty, with nary a hint of artifice or discomfort. There was an abundance of dessert and booze. We made like our former 18-year-old selves and played dumb drinking games like "big fish-small fish", which through a slip of the tongue became "big shit-small shit", and eventually the rather improbable but extra-challenging "big shit-small fish".
When things wound down we broke into cliques and started talking about our respective job searches and postgraduate endeavours. It wasn't long, however, before one group's discussion veered to sex and everyone else joined in. A revival of a months-old debate about how society is actually predicated upon sex (and not the economy as Marxians claim) somehow led to the very teenage epiphany that, in love, "we very often don't know what we want" (cue ponderous nods and pauses).
It was a perfect JC outing, except we were soon-to-be university graduates. I miss these guys. I shouldn't have allowed the fact that I wasn't taking any sociology modules this semester to distance myself from them. And I shouldn't have allowed the vague promise of running into the night with a free-spirited girl take me away from what I already had. Not especially when the bunch of us almost--upon threats from the condominium security--packed up and headed for a night beneath the stars on a rooftop in NUS; not when we almost left for karaoke on a post-midnight whim, only to be kept where we were because we started talking about sex.
I love my classmates. I hope we'll still be doing this when we're forty.
posted by The Empty Signifier @ 4/18/2005 05:48:00 am
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