29 May, 2017

words over sushi and blues


A friend took pity on my car-less condition and took me for dinner in Cambridge.

We spoke a curiously adult mix of workplace talk, weekend wanderings and reminisces of graduate school derring-do. Perhaps this is what growing up does to people?

Her blunt honesty about ignoring some social constructs reminded me again why we remain in touch (that, among other things). "You see lots of people going oh yeah, I partied, had a barbeque, blah blah. I just say what I did: sat on my bed, streamed some movies and felt perfectly happy doing it. I would rather to go one party, act like there is no tomorrow, and then not have another party for months."

Music to my ears. I gamely rejoin: "Well I hiked. Alone. But I usually make up some reason for having a completely idle weekend."

"You've started watching movies alone, right? You can stop with the idle-weekend excuses too, if you think about it the right way."

The sushi was good and the sake. The lady who sang the blues reminded us we could take her home for $10 as a DVD. I get by with a little help from my friends.

Naturally, the very next day after such sweet symphonies of introvertedness, I roam around the Boston harbourside and Revere Beach, drinking in the metallic grey skies mirrored in the sombre swells of the deep with every pore of my being.
The seagulls remind me always of Richard Bach's Jonathan Livingstone Seagull. Perhaps one of the most influential books I had read.

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