Black holes and revelations

Catharsis at a table: there were four. Then there were three. And then now there were four again. Immediately after Hon Chien pointed out to me how in saying grace, my choice of words, “separated”, seemed fairly odd, but seeing how it was ages since the four of us had sat down at a table together, I thought that barely did justice to it at all. What’s life without a little dramatisation? Not a really colourful one, surely.

It was a guys night out at Sakura Crystal. The much awaited private celebration of Lukas’ 21st. For all its hype and anticipation, at least on my end, what transpired over the table exceeded my expectations. Almost-gossip. Truth. Revelations. Hilarity. Scandal. Precious conversation forever etched in memory. Things said that, as Jon paused to explain in his deadpan manner, would remain within the four walls country. Or planet. Or solar system, even. Is it a good thing that I’ve laughed more in the span of four hours than I have for half a year? I don’t suppose there’s the need to compare.

The thing about guys (or us men as I’d like to call ourselves now that we’re almost adults) is that we’re efficient. A non-stop, breakneck pace of endless chatter. Making up for time lost since we’d parted ways when the man himself left for Cambridge last September, nine months of information encapsulated into a single dinner session. Forget about the sleepovers and bonding sessions that girls are so inclined to do, this one was superior in terms of territory covered.

Bandung, Chinese tea, and Blended Kiwi
two mocktails and a whiskey (not)

There was a certain bittersweet melancholy that came with it. The reunion after a fashion made me wonder how we were growing up, too much too fast too soon. The knowledge that the four of us won’t always be four, year in year out, made me treasure it all the more. Being the next one in line, I can’t say that I’m all so inclined towards adulthood just yet.

Is there such a thing as the perfect dinner? Something’s got to give. Surely, I could have worn something light-coloured to blend in with the rest. We could have been dressed to the nines, in a swankier place, with breathless jazz or winsome classical accompanying, instead of Malaysian-style rap and rock from a TV channel. There could have been less people, less noise (although on hindsight, it did allow our riotous laughter to blend in seamlessly), less things to detract from the experience.

The stuff of memories are made of don’t allow you to pick and choose, though. Not like I’m complaining. The weather today was just perfect, chilly, even up till now, as I’m typing this wearing a long-sleeve. I said things that needed to be said and felt the burden ease up as the guys took it upon their shoulders — by sharing their thoughts, throwing in a jibe or two in the vein of black humour if necessary (to think of it, I haven’t laughed so much at myself in such short a time, either). Ensuing hilarity that made me think of sit-down comedy, if such a thing ever exists.

I’d have to say the best thing about a memory is its perfection in imperfection, like someone you love. I won’t be able to remember, 2, 5, 10 years down the road, what Hon Chien ordered, Lukas wore, or the route of conversation Jon kept on returning to that made me start in vehement protest (wait, maybe I will on the last one, nevermind).

Yet I’ll remember everything at the same time, everything and nothing, filtering out the noise to dig at the kind smiles beneath, the kinder words, the even kinder gestures of care and concern; the knowledge of vindication, the feelings accompanying said vindication; the predicament of brothers with younger sisters and how protective the former can be towards the latter (despite not showing it!); the relaxed and open atmosphere where we traded thoughts as freely as smiles.

Our hopes and expectations. It pleases me to know that after all’s been said and done, we’re still ourselves in front of each other and will always be. The only real requirement that should be for a memory, no matter it looks like on retrospective, is that the moment should be honest, and I’m glad we fulfilled that. I’d like to look at what I’ve written here someday, scan my mind for things long forgotten, and be able to whisper to no one in particular, “we were there.” Because we were, and I’ll cherish this forever. Thanks for the memories.

Explore posts in the same categories: E/N, Significance

3 Comments on “Black holes and revelations”

  1. Jon Says:

    That was one heck of a night guys , great times, great times… bring on more! =D esp the fallout after what i’ve found out later…echoed into my head a bit even before i hit the sack. daaaaammnnn … we NEED MORE of this hanging out stuff!!

  2. flory Says:

    it all sounds very good.

  3. yyen Says:

    “Thanks for the memories”…ahh…Stacey Kent breathing through the notes.

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