This week I had one of those moments of feeling I actually belonged somewhere. It’s cheesy and corny and you’re probably retching into your waste paper basket right now, but it’s true.
It has been a long time coming.
I think there comes a time where you grow out of school and you need to move on. I had to wait two years, but it was like waiting for a really good sandwich. It takes a bit of time, and a bit of patience but when it comes it is heavenly. Like mozzarella and pesto. It’s truly glorious.
I had my moment this weekend.
It was supposed to be a relatively quiet night for us, just a flat party at Lauren’s and a bottle of rum, because you’re not truly a student until you’ve drunk like a pirate for at least one night.
It started mildly enough. “Ring of fire” was relatively painless, as the rule for having to race up the corridor every time someone got an ace was discarded due to a lad having shattered his cheek bone doing so the week before.
We could hear music streaming out of the flat above and rather than start a volume war, we decided to join them.
The flat was full of people, with strobe lights and music blaring from an amp. People were on the tables and chairs and everyone was singing and laughing.
My flatmate and I were stood on the sofas dancing and I had a moment where I looked at everyone, new friends and just met-seconds-ago pals, through the flashing lights and general teenage fumes and thought, “Oh my God, I love it here.”
It was as dear Chbosky said, an “infinite” moment. But without The Smiths and the constant questioning of human existence.
Then security came and told us not everyone enjoys Gangnam style at two in the morning. So we went for pizza instead.
And it wasn’t all down to intoxication. Promise.
Worth the wait.
Images courtesy of Google