House party
It can be a strange feeling being at a house party around the other side of the world. First of all, one stumbles with a large group of people from the uni bar through unfamiliar streets in the dark cold night. Conversation is random. Fragmented. I recall talking about those Tudor style houses that are all white with the dark wood... discussing the coldness which is a popular passtime here... my shoes hurt because my socks have gotten all twisted up. We walk through courts and streets until the crowd passes through the unfamiliar doors of some stranger's house. There is no garden path... the whole front yard is like a sandpit of pebbles that cruch and yield underneath my moderately heeled boots.
Once inside, people take a look around and try and disperse. This house is made for house parties, it even has a bar. I recall the carpet- two charming shades of brown, very 1970's. Swirls and shag, what a lovely combination.
It is there sitting on the sofa (also brown) where the springs have been well worn by many drunken students before me, I realize. I am in a stranger's house, halfway around the world. There is kind of a hollowness and loneliness in that realization, but at the same time an appreciation of hospitality, an appreciation of youth and a sense of adventure.
The night goes on. Drinking, chatting, laughing.
When we leave this house, and move on to another (my friend's place), across the stone garden and back through the orange lamp tinged streets, through another door and on to another well worn sofa, we sit and talk and eat Lizzy's wonderful cheesy chips with garlic sauce. And it is bittersweet. The moment itself is sweet, with fun and friendship and hospitality and laughter. But then I think, this will not last forever. One day we will get old.
And then I look at the ground and realize that all around the other side of the world, my friends who I have shared many house parties with are there. And I get selfish. And I want to have these experiences without missing out on experiences back home. I want everything. And it's not good enough that my friends missed me at Ella's housewarming. Because I wanted to be there. But I still want to be here... and I will be sad to leave here, as the time is moving too fast.
5.30am. Time to stumble home. The weather is freezing, the orange lights make the leaf-less trees look like ghosts and most of all, the streets are absolutely silent. I probably should have taken up that offer from a friend who said he would walk me home. I'm drunk and it's dark and I am so far from home. But even in my vodka induced stubbornness that I was fine to make my own way back, I found joy in the fact that someone half way around the world cared that I got home safely. And it was then that I realized, that I am actually quite at home in London already.
Once inside, people take a look around and try and disperse. This house is made for house parties, it even has a bar. I recall the carpet- two charming shades of brown, very 1970's. Swirls and shag, what a lovely combination.
It is there sitting on the sofa (also brown) where the springs have been well worn by many drunken students before me, I realize. I am in a stranger's house, halfway around the world. There is kind of a hollowness and loneliness in that realization, but at the same time an appreciation of hospitality, an appreciation of youth and a sense of adventure.
The night goes on. Drinking, chatting, laughing.
When we leave this house, and move on to another (my friend's place), across the stone garden and back through the orange lamp tinged streets, through another door and on to another well worn sofa, we sit and talk and eat Lizzy's wonderful cheesy chips with garlic sauce. And it is bittersweet. The moment itself is sweet, with fun and friendship and hospitality and laughter. But then I think, this will not last forever. One day we will get old.
And then I look at the ground and realize that all around the other side of the world, my friends who I have shared many house parties with are there. And I get selfish. And I want to have these experiences without missing out on experiences back home. I want everything. And it's not good enough that my friends missed me at Ella's housewarming. Because I wanted to be there. But I still want to be here... and I will be sad to leave here, as the time is moving too fast.
5.30am. Time to stumble home. The weather is freezing, the orange lights make the leaf-less trees look like ghosts and most of all, the streets are absolutely silent. I probably should have taken up that offer from a friend who said he would walk me home. I'm drunk and it's dark and I am so far from home. But even in my vodka induced stubbornness that I was fine to make my own way back, I found joy in the fact that someone half way around the world cared that I got home safely. And it was then that I realized, that I am actually quite at home in London already.
posted by Ashlee at 3:31:00 am
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