Stars in Our Own Car

Last night, I eschewed a reunion dinner with acquaintances from my job search, a bluegrass listening party in the East, and a big-ass Poptart (at Phuture) in favour of a small, sit-down gathering at a friend's place. He'd organised it to celebrate his 25th birthday as he liked it: in his own room, with a few of his best pals, and the music they love.

Having known him only since April this year, I'm still quite a newcomer to his circles. Some of those who turned up go back with him as far as eight years. It was both interesting and touching to listen to them talk about people they knew, the times back in school, even the gifts they exchanged yonks ago. Though their words were tossed about casually, they dripped with humanity and warmth.

Cramped in the dim corners of his bedroom, feeling the night slip away with the alcohol, watching him and a friend smoke out the window like schoolkids having a furtive puff, listening to indie MP3s and gushing about the bands that made them, gawking at concert videos off the net, drinking and generally having a laff with everyone, I felt strangely moved. It felt no different from a junior college bonding session, except we were twenty-something, working adults.

And I'm glad that, even as working adults, we still hold on to the wide-eyed fascination of our adolescence...because teenagers, in their powerless idealism, always see something beautiful in the world that adults don't.