Now is not the time.

My friend Sarah only turns 21 in November but not wanting to miss out on the action, her parents threw her a heck of an early celebration last night. It was like a miniature return to my junior college days, yielding trippy conversations:

 

Jin: She said Elvis was the godliest person or something–

Laura: –but he did drugs and sex and everything!

Dar*h (censored by request): And he was gay. No wait that’s Elton John.

 

Me: I’m not gonna get a boyfriend.

Laura: Good idea. Many many is better than one.

 

It’s splendid to meet up with everyone before they scatter across the globe (or rather, flee to the UK) to study law or history or the hardships of shopping in the UK if you’re… challenged in the size department. 

 

Most of the time I’m quite chipper, wolfing down champagne mooncake and savouring crisp pages in bookstores (my favourite being Kinokuniya). September is difficult though, all these people leaving and the chilly edge of an imagined autumn. More than ever it is hard to do things solo. 2008 is the YEAR of ITCHING! Bedbugs in Seoul, mosquitoes in Bukit Brown Cemetery, the itch for a certain type of company while blogging (me and my urges and this damn white box).

 

Singletons, we’re both singletons, realized Shar with a measure of wonder. When she said that I aged 10 years and had to stop myself from jumping a dude in a suit. I must be the most impatient singleton on the planet: screw courtship and public announcements, you can assume you’ve known me for months so let’s do steak+beer+DVD, Friday. Supermarket? Yes. Columbarium? Yes. F1 grandstand? Yes please.

 

You can finish the pretzel stash and use the spare pillow. Don’t wait for your friends to tell my friends to tell me you like me. Don’t even waste time telling me you like me. But taking a daily shower, that is imperative.

 

Baggage, let’s leave that at the door and wipe our feet. Don’t dizzy yourself with labels and definitions. Do not call me 10 times a day. Have your own life, friends and ambitions, just swing my way when you miss me. Be passionate about something, I don’t care if it’s walruses, tantric sex or string theory, all the better if you can rattle about it for 4 hours while I mix my paints and dab my brushes.

 

I hope I don’t keep ranting like this. It’s dangerous to want what you should be patient for.