#10 Mes amis

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

L. & S.

This winter: Thanksgiving was a little more special than the last. I had spent the previous one in Oregon, on my bedroom floor- studying, instead of going back with Ulrich (not his real name). Still, every ounce of my hard work paid off, and I was extremely glad.

Boston: L. & I whipped up a mini storm of crab linguine, salmon salad, creme brulee and of course, lots of Chardonnay; I'm having a premature hangover now. We had a bottle of Woodbridge Chardonnay (2009) by Robert Mondavi. Last summer, a certain boy whom I was insanely fond of, brought this bottle to my garden dinner party. We wore glow sticks, ate barbecued lamb, and drank wine till we fell off our chairs and laid on the grass, hoping worms wouldn't crawl into our ears. Drinking it certainly did remind me of fond memories and faint feelings accompanied with a little heartache, because he did eventually leave for home on the other side of the world.

It's true, people always leave. And I should receive a prize for sucking-at-saying-goodbyes, because I just stare blankly and observe them pull their luggages away. Then fucking delayed-reaction kicks in, and kicks me in the face (or heart). So much so that I've always felt as though they've disappeared into thin air because I could never seem to process their departures fast enough. Fast enough for me to keep all my feelings and future hopes into a brown grocery paper bag, and then shove it down the chute before they leave. I'm an idiot like that.

But this year, I have L. & S., whom I'm extremely thankful for. Of the laundry list of their qualities, I am most thankful for their raw companionship. We talk a lot at dinners. We talk about Love, literature (S. is an English major, and the rest of us are just trying to keep up), God, religion, school, our future hopes and fears, family, and other people. But we talk mostly about what we think of ourselves. It's comforting to know of an avenue to share the thoughts that repeat most in our minds, our secret desires, our failures, our abandoned dreams, and be accepted still, all without judgement. We even swear about our ex-partners in half-past six Hokkien and still be reciprocated with constructive encouragement about having some sort of stamp or shit covering your eyes.

Everything becomes clearer when you speak or write it out. And at our dinners, you could blurt, blabber or spit out words void of any filter and we'd be okay in all honesty, because there is absolutely no judgement or need to prove of your worth. We adore you, just the way you are.

I think this is how friends should be like, and what food therapy means.