After the wedding shower (to which I barely helped clean up and break down for once), I travelled to one last event for the evening, one final hurrah for this Saturday: the official last house party of my friends in Hayward. Actually, I went to my friend’s house from In My Feels Fest first— can you believe we both had an eventful day, went our separate ways, regrouped later in the evening, and then decided, yes, let’s go to this party!?
Because that’s exactly what we did. I drove.
And I had an exuberant amount of fun.
In comparison to my previous letter, I decided to just stick with my known friends. But the vibe was different. We were met with cheers as we entered the house. People who I had forgotten their names excitedly said hello to me and remembered my name! What a way to feel welcomed.
Despite only going to one of their many house parties before this, the partygoers I met last time remembered who I was and genuinely asked how I was doing. At least it felt that way coming from my perspective.
I felt so comfortable in my own skin, to let loose and just be myself. Discreetly finding out names I’d forgotten so as not to be rude. Eating a Jollibee peach mango pie. Taking shots (I maxed out at 4 early into the night) and drinking as much water and Yakult as possible in attempts to counterbalance it. Singing karaoke unironically for the first time (I usually rap but I felt like singing Just the Two of Us), dancing wildly into the night, attempting to twerk during Miley Cyrus’ We Can’t Stop, and just clowning around with my close friends — like daring my friend to punch my arm as hard as possible — felt outrageously indulgent, as if I was being greedy in choosing to participate only with my friends and no one else at that party.
What is love? Baby don’t hurt me — sorry, can’t help it — ahem.
Love is welcoming. Love is shared. Love is free, I guess?
I’m not too sure about that last one. Maybe I should’ve introduced myself and met new people at the party? Who knows. All I know is that I had so much fun. ’Twas unforgettable.
1AM strikes and we decide to go home. Some final goodbyes between lasting partygoers. A friend throwing up on the lawn, a classic experience. Don’t worry, I went back inside and asked for a bag, made sure he had water and felt okay enough to go home.
Dropping everyone off. Driving myself home and actively practicing safe driving as I knew to drive more consciously. Getting home and seeing videos posted of us having fun in the group chat. Watching them once and never watching them again.
An unbelievably beloved Saturday.
And the following Saturday? A baby shower in Orangevale with my lesbian cousin and her fiancé — finding myself in a relatively familiar rural setting (thanks for the training, Nevada City), meeting some of the friendliest country folk that I’ve ever met, creating art out of wooden child building blocks, randomly avoiding traffic on the 3-hour drive home — you tell me how I thought that Saturday went. It was the bee’s knees, I tell ya. An uplifting Saturday after injuring my heel just a few days prior.
Love is love, as cheesy as that sounds? In some other part of the world, ignorant and bigoted people — family, even — would strongly disapprove of this.
But not in this part of the world. To be surrounded by family and friends who support and celebrate you for who you are. That’s love.
I’m so fortunate to have experienced love in all these forms.
