20th Birthday [read: the night of the infamous fallen quesadilla]

This is where it all begins, I suppose.

I turned 20 on July 15th. Now, I started the day exactly at midnight because while I am punctual (I was born exactly on the day the doctor said I would be, to the point where my mother kept working and commuting until that very same day and everyone thought I’d be born on New Jersey’s 1 & 9), my friends are very punctual. [read: the real squad] My computer starts freaking out because the OGs are trying to Skype me (Grace & Mandy) while I hear relentless knocking on my door from the rest of the squad (Tiffany, Dominique, Phoebe & Sabrina). A midnight cupcake surprise brought together the old and new (#oldandnew) to start the day off right.

So excited, so loved, so disheveled (it was midnight, okay).
So excited, so loved, so disheveled (it was midnight, okay).

All went well. I got to see Virginia Woolf’s original manuscript to A Room of One’s Own (obsessive fangirling commenced) and explore the Fitzwilliam Museum. By the way, I’m at the University of Cambridge for the summer, for context’s sake. We went and got dinner at Jamie’s Italian and dessert after for the obligatory “I’m 20 and had chocolate fudge cake ha ha” picture. We even, as good students do, went to a plenary lecture on Joan of Arc — the historical figure. Hosted at the Cambridge Union Society, we sat in the very front row to try and look ‘imposing’ as others have said [read: squad goals] we do most of the time. Just a very successful day.

Imposing, right?
Imposing, right? Equally shameless about using the word ‘squad’ seriously, multiple times in this post.

We proceed to head over to a small bar on a Wednesday night, play some Jenga, get to a foam party (yes, that’s right, foam party), crawl to the Trailer of Life and get the food of the gods, deep-fried and sickening to the point where it makes you feel good. {Those events are purposefully obscured.} I have many opinions about the situation that transpired:

  1. I just turned 20 and went to a foam party. Longing for teenage years? Well, considering I spent those years primarily at home or other people’s homes cuddling with cats or trying to get my bird to love me, I would say no. Proper way to start this decade? <silence, pin drops, nervous laughter>
  2. ‘Twas a Wednesday. SO many people were still out late. Sociological observations: England is just really chill.
  3. Trailer of Life is perhaps the most accurate name given to a late-night greasy food service truck in a giant college town. They say Isaac Newton went there for the chicken nuggets and garlic sauce. I don’t not believe them because that quesadilla looked so good.

And then, I get my quesadilla, Phoebe asks me if I have my keys so we can head home, and everything becomes a blur. Suddenly, in one quick motion, my quesadilla is on the ground. My hand is outstretched, reaching for what could have been. My friends are shaking their heads and the Trailer of Life guy is extremely disappointed. Low point.

Low point. Lowest of lows.
The lowest of lows, arguably. A moment of silence.

I start nervously laughing out loud, ordering a new quesadilla, and judging my own decisions because Sneha would never drop a quesadilla. This is the sustenance, arguably the best form of it, that I need. Yet, here it is, on the ground, before me, my hopes and dreams.

Introspective? Yes. Anticlimactic? Most definitely, oh I know. It’s really not much of story. Sorry.

I went back to my room and sadly ate my replacement quesadilla and began the slow, painful process of recovery for the next day. As I thought about it, I realized I needed to do something in my twenties that was ideally more significant than drop a quesadilla and get covered in foam and be very forgetful. Immediate resolution: A blog! Sure! That’ll do it!

And here we are.

Happy birthday to me (shamelessly)… and alright, twenties, let’s begin.

Bring it on, new decade.
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