I arrived to find TM and BPB waiting for me at the bar. TM handed me a colourful striped box.
“What’s in it?” I asked him.
“Read the tag,” he said with a smile.
I flipped over the tag on the box. You drink, right? It read.
“Is this what I think it is? Is it a bottle of Gewurtzraminer?” TM had found out my favourite white was Gewurtzraminer during our Europe trip. I was pleased he remembered.
“I know you love it.”
“I do! Thank you!” I gave him a hug.

I hadn’t seen BPB in a long time, since he had been on exchange in Hong Kong all semester. I turned to him and gave him a hug too.

Moments later, the rest of the party streamed in, including Jasmine and Vin Diesel, carrying a huge bouquet of flowers. I had never received flowers from a non-boyfriend before. And the bouquet had white calla lilies, which looked so beautiful and elegant. Of my Europe trip-mates, Jack Sparrow was the only one who couldn’t make it, but he sent me a text: “You are one of my favourite Asians.” Coming from him, that meant a lot.

Dinner was quite pleasant, and although the Italian food was not as good as what we’d had in Italy, it certainly reminded me of it, and that was enough. After dinner, we went to a penthouse lounge nearby for some champagne and astonishing views of the City.

The entire night, I made sure to spend some time talking to each person, and the more I chatted, the more it dawned on me how strong my roots in the City really were. When I’d chatted with PHB a few weeks ago, he had told me to see Singapore as not only a new chapter in my life, but also an opportunity for a fresh start. When I heard that, I was reminded of how excited I used to be when I was a little girl every time I switched schools (which was quite often). Every time I went to a new school, I had the opportunity to re-invent myself. If I wasn’t very popular in my last school, no problem, this time I would make the right friends and start anew.
But it’s different now. I’m not looking for a fresh start. I like who I am here, and I like my friends here. I don’t feel frustrated or suffocated such that I need to get away, that wasn’t the reason I took this job. I took this job because it was a rare opportunity to challenge myself, but that doesn’t mean I won’t miss what I have here, who I am in this City. For the first time in my life, I had established roots.

And here I am picking up my life and moving.

Friends was my constant, the thing I could count on when I got home from a long day. I would always watch it before bed so as to “change the topic” in my mind so that I wouldn’t stay awake at night with anxieties taking over my head.

My favourite character is Chandler, because I’m a sucker for nerdy, insecure guys with a sense of humour. I think I’m kind of like that, but I hide it well.
My least favourite character used to be Phoebe, because I just didn’t get her, but after watching the show so many times, I’ve developed a soft spot for her, even more so because not a lot of people like her. Monica and Rachel are so boring compared to Phoebe!

What’s your favourite TV show? Do you bond with friends over it or is it a personal thing?

A week after exams were over, one of our peers posted an inconspicuously titled photo album on Facebook: “Wedding Photos.”

Coco¹ was, apparently, getting both her HBA and MRS.

Most people said congratulations. I did not say anything, since I don’t know her that well. I was still reeling from shock that the girl I saw in class a few days ago was married.

And not just to anyone. She was married to a multi-millionaire. Practically Hungarian royalty.

It turns out she wasn’t actually married, they were just pictures from a photo-shoot that Coco and her fiance had done for their engagement. But why were they called “Wedding Photos”? Presumably, wedding photos means photos taken at a wedding, or else I am more out of the loop on weddings than I thought.

Anyway, this to-be-wed couple has offered to host us for our stay in Budapest during our Europe trip. My trip-mates jumped at the opportunity, “They’re millionaires!!!!” Vin Diesel² said in an email minutes after TuxedoMask announced the happy couple’s intentions to host us.
“They’re sending a driver to pick us up from the airport, and she’s going to take us to her favourite restaurant, and they’re millionaires!!!” Jasmine gushed.

Was I the only one feeling awkward that we were so clearly taking advantage of the fact that they had money? Out of the five of us, only TuxedoMask knows Coco, and no one knows her fiance. Not two days ago, when TuxedoMask first mentioned that Coco was originally from Hungary, everyone’s reply was “Who’s Coco?” “You know, the girl with the wedding photos on Facebook. Her fiance is a Hungarian millionaire.” And now we were all apparently best friends? I mean yes, I’m always thrilled to have locals show us around on any leg of our trip, but this seemed a little ridiculous. Didn’t they have any pride? Could my trip-mates be more obviously impressed by their wealth? It seems like at The Business School, you really can’t get away from money, whether it’s how much you get paid for the job you get, or how rich your boyfriend/fiance/husband is, or how rich your friends are. This is what I get for going on a Euro trip with Business School peers.

Then again, why am I complaining? They’re millionaires!!!

1. All names have been replaced with fictional names.
2. FYI, I have decided to name the four people going on this trip with me as follows: Jasmine, TuxedoMask, Vin Diesel, and Jack Sparrow.

Someone I didn’t really know was eavesdropping while I updated my high school friends on the Singapore situation.
“Aren’t you going to miss your friends?” She suddenly asked.
I paused for half a beat. “I didn’t really think about that.” She didn’t seem satisfied with my answer. “I figure I’ll make new friends there,” I added. It didn’t occur to me until later how harsh that sounded. The friends in my life now, the ones I’ve known for over seven years, are they replaceable?

I never put too much stock in friendship because I moved around a lot as a child, and I never had trouble making new friends wherever I went (keeping in touch with old friends, that was the trouble). It wasn’t until high school that I stayed in one place. But once I did, the friendships that formed were stronger than anything I’d ever imagined.
These are friends who are guaranteed to be able to make me laugh, and laugh so hard I need to take time-outs. These are friends who know me, and each other, so well that we can be around each other without any filters or pretenses. These are friends who I can call on after a year of zero contact, and pick up exactly where we left off.

When I think about it hard enough, yes, I absolutely will miss these friends, no matter how many new friends I make. When I think about it hard enough, I almost wish I’d picked New York instead of Singapore.

But I also know that these are friends for life. And that means, that no matter where I end up, no matter how scattered we become, our friendship will never change.

I have a lot to look forward to in 2010. For me, the new year means:

• Graduating from university. Final exams end in early April for me, and I also have three weeks off throughout the term, so I only have three months worth of class left.
• Traveling. Many of my friends from The Business School are on exchange this term, and they won’t finish school until early June. Which means I can couch-surf throughout Europe in April and May. I also plan on going back to China to visit my grandmother before heading to Singapore. So the plan is: Canada –> Eastern Europe –> Canada –> China –> Singapore.
• Moving to Singapore. This is something I look forward to entirely separate from starting my job. I am planning to get a condo in the Central Business District (downtown Singapore), somewhere close to the subway lines, walking distance to my office, and of course, with all the bells and whistles of a Singapore condo (Olympic-size swimming pools, state-of-the-art fitness centers, and sometimes even maid service – seriously, each one is like its own little resort).
• Starting work. I will be starting work at the Consulting Firm in September. After a one-week training, I will immediately be plunged into a project. Although it is very difficult to predict where the project will be, odds are it will be in China or Hong Kong. Other possible locations include: Thailand, Sydney, Tokyo, Seoul, or Europe, or North America. With the Consulting Firm, the world is literally my oyster.

2010 is a major turning point. It is the end of my life as a student and the beginning of my life as a fully independent adult. And I can’t wait.

What does 2010 mean for you?

This year, things have really come together for me. I feel so unbelievably lucky that there is nothing more that I could wish for. The greatest gift that I want to receive this Christmas is love. And it is also the gift I want to give.
All I want this Christmas:

• Enjoy being with family. After this year, I’ll be flying the coup! I want to spend lots of time with my mom and dad, take them out to dim sum, go to see a play or something, help them prepare a Christmas feast and enjoy the Veuve Clicquot I brought back from New York together.
• Actually play with my Wii. I bought a Wii nearly two years ago and have barely used it. I only bought one game on it. Once I start working, I doubt I’ll have any time to play at all. I’m not even sure I’m going to take my Wii to Singapore with me. So this holiday, I’m going to buy a few more games and play Wii!
• Cook again. I have completely lost touch with my cooking skills. These days, everything I make is blah and tasteless. I don’t put heart into cooking anymore. In fact, I’m not even sure I enjoy food anymore (I know, blasphemous!). I really want to enjoy the wonders of food and taste again. Plus, I probably won’t be cooking much at all when I’m in Singapore. So, I definitely want to cook at least one memorable meal this holiday season.
• Reconnect with high school friends. The friendships I made in high school really are lifelong, and after this year, we may be even more scattered than we already are. I want to do the things we always do – karaoke, AYCE sushi (or some outing to an Asian restaurant), shopping, etc. On this note, I don’t know if I should reconnect with MFL. I mean, I know not being close friends with him was a good decision, but if I am leaving soon, I don’t really have to worry about that anymore, right? So should I take this holiday season as an opportunity to re-establish our friendship?
• Reconnect with “satellite friends”. These are the one or two friends I’ve kept in touch with from other places in my life, like Chinese school and summer camp and whatnot. I usually only see them once a year during the holidays, so I definitely won’t miss my chance this Christmas.

What do you want for Christmas this year?

I went to karaoke last night with a group of friends¹. Someone selected this song, and as we were singing it, I couldn’t help but notice how much it applied to the way I feel these days.

Last night was the first time I’d been out with a group of friends since the MFL-breakup. For the last two weeks, I’ve been going through an anti-social phase. It’s not like I haven’t gone out, but a lot less than before, and mostly for one-on-one girlfriend time. There are only two girlfriends who I’ve talked to about the MFL-breakup. It’s hard for me to talk about it, even to my closest friends, because then I have to think about it and analyze it, the last thing I want to do.

That’s the way I deal with difficult things, I realize. I may act as if nothing happened, as if I’m not affected, but I’m not being strong. Emotionally, I completely shut down. Physically, I want to run away.
It’s not that I’m pretending to be okay. I’m not trying to pretend anything, shutting down is my natural (?) reaction. And it’s not like I can force myself to sit there and talk and cry when I’ve subconsciously closed the gates already.

That’s why I couldn’t blog for a while. I felt guilty about abandoning my blog for so long when I normally write several times a week, but every time I tried to blog, all the energy in my body disappeared. I didn’t want to wallow in the bad feelings; not only did it seem whiney and unexciting, I’d rather not force my mind to think about it. Finally, this morning, I convinced myself to write something, anything. If I blog about the good times, why shouldn’t I about the bad times?

I hung out with WAF on Monday; it was the first time I’ve seen her since that night. She said she was embarrassed after that incident, so she’d been avoiding me. Hearing this made her seem more like the girl I knew in high school, but it didn’t redeem her completely. She has her own apartment downtown now, so I went to visit and we had a bottle of wine while I told her about MFL. We got more drunk than planned, and I remember pacing on her roof patio and ranting. It was the first time I said aloud all the things I thought about the MFL-breakup. I realized then how much I miss him, how it feels like there’s a glaring hole in my life without him. It took all the strength in my body not to pick up the phone and dial his number. It didn’t help that WAF kept telling me to call him. She was rooting for us to get back together. I think all our friends are.
But I can’t.

It’s hard to deal with the pain of losing you everywhere I go
But I’m doing it
It’s hard to force that smile when I see our old friends and I’m alone
Still harder getting up, getting dressed, living with this regret
But I know if I could do it over
I would trade, give away all the words that I saved in my heart
That I left unspoken

P.S. Thank you to everyone who offered to listen (via email) and be there for me. It’s nice to know that some of you have gone through this kind of heartache before, even nicer to know that even if you haven’t, you worry about me. I hope you understand that I’m not the kind of person to reach out, even less so when I’ve shut down. So if I don’t email you, please don’t take it personally. I do want to be closer friends with all of you, but maybe under different circumstances. I love you all~ ♥

1. Asian karaoke is not open bar, it’s all private rooms with a sound system and flat screen TV. Pretty swanky, but the ones in The City aren’t nearly as upscale as the ones in Asia.

Peking duck and xiao long bao¹ in Chinatown
French wines with regional names I cannot pronounce²
Red, white, and rosé wines drunk out of order
These are a few of my favourite things

Chocolate mousse cake for a decadent dessert
21 candles on the 21st day
POP goes the champagne and a toast to SG
These are a few of my favourite things

“To SassyGirl!” they cheer, their smiling faces
Aglow with happinesss for their childhood friend
My face mirroring their smiles and laughter
These are a few of my favourite things

Surrounded by old friends, joking and laughing
Drinking too much wine and playing strip poker
Spilling half a bottle of wine on my clothes
These are a few of my favourite things

Sleeping over at LaserDodgingBoy’s place
Stay up talking and bonding until 3am
Wake up very hungover and late for work
These are a few of my favourite things.

–

I am 21! Thank you for all the birthday wishes – you’re right, it did turn out into a much better day than it started. :)

1. Steamed soup dumplings.
2. OBF had carried them back with her from France and had been saving them for a special occasion – they really were great wines.

I had wanted to do something special for this day. I have always made a big deal about birthdays, so my 21st, of all birthdays, should not go uncelebrated. I didn’t want much, just to have some champagne, maybe some cake, and be surrounded by good friends.

But, from the way it seems, next Tuesday will pass unnoticed.

When I tried to think of who I wanted to celebrate my birthday with, I couldn’t think of anyone. There isn’t a single person I thought of who could satisfy my test of, “Would I be happy with this person? Would I have fun?”
Every year that I’ve planned a celebration for my birthday, it has always been more stressful than fun. Worrying about people-politics, venue logistics – in a nut shell, worrying about whether everyone else was having fun, rather than me.
I’ve always longed for friends who cared enough about me to plan a party for me. One year, at a summer camp, a friend I’d made there organized a surprise party for me, and I was eternally grateful². And I wondered why none of my other friends, friends who I’d considered much closer to me, had ever thought to do that. Is it too much to expect?³

I know not everyone celebrates birthdays. A lot of people don’t think birthdays are a big deal. But I do. I always have. And any friend of mine knows that (or should know that). So why is it that the only person who’s ever put in extra effort to celebrate my birthday is someone I knew for one month?

I was thinking about this last night, before I fell asleep, and it made me feel really disappointed. I was disappointed that none of my friends really understood what I needed, none of my friends cared enough to find out, and none of my friends were really there for me. Instead, they thought of me as someone who didn’t need anything. Do I really show so little insecurity and vulnerability? Do I act so grown-up that I don’t need emotional support, some cheerleaders or a figurative fairy godmother from time to time? It goes back to the conversation I had with OBF, about how I am always the dependable one, the one who fights other people’s battles, the one someone calls when they need to be bailed out (literally or figuratively) and can rely on not to judge them. I am my friends’ knight in shining armor, and as a result, damsels in distress flock to me.

So where is my knight in shining armor? Where is the person who spends time to understand me, what I need, what I want, what I hope? Where is the person who goes out of his/her way to make me happy, if only for a day, or half a day, or an hour?

The only person who ever did that was MFL. Is it any surprise I fell in love with him?

And he was the only person I could think of who I would enjoy celebrating my birthday with⁴.
For everyone else, the energy I’d put into planning a special day would ultimately be about them, but with him, it would be about me.
And I so, so need for it to be about me.

1. Definition: when the day you were born corresponds with the age you are turning. Source: Urban Dictionary.
2. When I say eternally grateful, I really mean it. It’s been four years, and we’re still friends even though we go to different schools and live far away from each other – and I plan to continue this friendship for the rest of my life.
3. In Friends, they would almost automatically assume that one of the five others would be planning something for their birthday. And no, Friends is not real. But it happens in real life too. When ALS‘s birthday was coming up, FF wanted to plan a little surprise celebration. Why does FF treat her that way and not me? Because ALS seems to need more caring, more nurturing, and I seem to be independent. I was actively trying to be independent from my parents, but when did I become independent from my friends? Realizing this made me feel more alone than I have ever felt.
4. And I know he would celebrate my birthday with me, if it weren’t for the fact that he is now in Cambodia.

We all have secrets, from little lies that we tell, or what we don’t tell. We already know there are plenty of things I don’t tell. Here are some more.

Secrets from my boss:

• I told the CEO at Not-A-Real-Job that I wasn’t doing anything this summer other than this internship. Complete lie. As you all know, I am desperately secretly searching for another job.
• He is obviously going to find out when he receives a call from places I have applied to because I put him down as one of my references. I probably should have told him that he is one of my references. I also said I’d been an intern with him for two months. Slight lie, considering I started last month. Hmm…

Secrets from my parents:

• My parents think I have never bombed a single course in university¹ and that I am awesome at science. Neither of these beliefs are correct. I did bomb a course (Cell Biology), which just goes to show I am not awesome at science. I just left the field before it became obvious. My parents desperately want to believe I am awesome at science because 90% of the people in my family are serious scientists, and they want me to join their ranks. Imagine their disappointment when I went to business school instead.
• My mom thinks I am trying to lose weight. Not because I said I was on a diet or anything, just because she thinks I should. So it’s really her fault for making assumptions. When she is not home, I eat ice cream. Lots and lots of it. She also thinks I go swimming every other day. I do not.
• That stain on the bathroom rug that my mother loves? The dog peed there. But it was because I locked the dog in the bathroom when she was getting really annoying. My parents think the dog just went crazy on her own (which does happen sometimes) and I’ve never corrected their notion. It’s not like the dog is going to tell on me.
• One time, my phone dialed my home number on its own while I was out clubbing at 2am (it must have been pressed against something in my purse and hit speed dial). All my parents heard on the resulting answering machine message was “loud noise” (their words, not mine – my guess is it was very loud music). They called me back and when I saw that “Home” was calling, I didn’t answer because I was drunk and I didn’t want them to know I was still out clubbing. They thought I’d been kidnapped or something terrible had happened to me and the recording was all I could get out, so they called the police. I never told them the truth. I switched phones after that incident.

Secrets from my friends:

• I have not told WAF what I really think about the guy she’s seeing. He sounds sketchy as hell, and he is probably bad poisonous for her. But she has fallen pretty hard for him, and anything I say will fall on deaf ears or incur a slew of defenses. I secretly think she wants to be with these bad boys, some form of thrill-seeking or self-destructive behaviour. I mean, her last boyfriend seemed like an angel until he beat her up on my birthday. So who does she rebound to? A guy who is a player, a cheater (he has a girlfriend), and a drug dealer? This can only end badly.
• I secretly think WAF is exactly what I would have turned into had I had more neglectful parents or weaker moral boundaries (maybe the two have something to do with each other). That is why we are friends, and why I do not judge her for her bad habits or moments of weakness – because in another life, I would be her. I actually kind of admire her for being able to vent all of that out. I, on the other hand, might explode one day with all my repressed sinful thoughts and run away to be a prostitute addicted to hard drugs who eventually falls off a hotel balcony.
• OBF knows that I want her relationship with USG to end in their marriage work out, hence I am the first person she runs crying to every time they have a fight. What she doesn’t know is that I think she’s the cause of these fights, because she is needy and demanding and emotionally unstable. I mean, I love her and all, but seriously, this girl can blow up like Mt. Vesuvius.

Any secrets you’d like to share?

1. The Asian definition of bombing: getting below an 80 – or a 3.7 out of 4.0.

Montreal, one of the largest French-speaking city outside of France, the city of smoked meat and designer fashion, Canada’s cultural capital, and the birthplace of the Montreal bagel.
For us, it was a city with all this and more. It was a city where you can buy wine and beer from any dépanneur (convenient store), of which there were many. Suddenly, we were no longer constrained by the short hours and sparse locations of the LCBO (the only licensed retailer of alcohol in Ontario) when we felt like filling up with wine instead of food. It was a city where you couldn’t turn right on red lights. It was a city where we were immediately identifiable as aliens because we spoke English¹. It was a city where there was a boulangerie (bakery) on almost every street, and every single one was better than any bakery I’ve ever walked into in The City. It was a city where people were better dressed, better dined, and better wined.

We arrived in the city around noon, and immediately headed to Schwartz’s for some of Montreal’s famous smoked meat. The place was tiny and packed and there was an equally long line-up for both eat-in and take-out. Apparently, this was normal for Schwartz’s at any hour of the day. We managed to cram ourselves in and ordered two heaping platefuls of smoked meat.



Unfortunately, I wasn’t too impressed by the smoked meat. The slices were fat and rather thick, although it definitely had the famous smoky flavour. I personally preferred the smoked meat at Dunn’s that I’d had on a previous trip to Montreal (but that might be influenced by the fact that I was slightly drunk when I’d stumbled into Dunn’s at 2 in the morning).
After lunch, we had some time to kill before check-in, so we strolled up and down Saint-Laurent Boulevard. I counted at least three bakeries on one block, and each of them looked better than the last (I made a mental note to buy some baguette at some point but in the end, I didn’t get a chance to). I tried on a dress with a price tag of a whopping $1000 in u&i, apparently by some Swedish designer. Then I tried on another dress by the same designer for a slightly cheaper price of only $850! Both of them looked terrible on me, possibly because I’m not a stick-thin, 5’10 Finnish supermodel.

After checking in to our hotel, we took the subway to Old Montreal. This is the oldest part of the city, started in 1605 when Samuel de Champlain first set up a trading port by the Saint Laurence River. This is also my favourite part of Montreal (possibly of Canada). The streets are gorgeous, and nothing could make me feel closer to Europe. There were cobblestone paths and horse-drawn carriages and street performers. There were hordes of pedestrians, there were narrow store fronts packed into small streets, and there were tons and tons and tons of restaurants.


We picked a particularly excellent restaurant, called Jardin Nelson, for dinner. This restaurant is one of the most beautiful in Old Montreal because it literally has a garden in the back. And it’s huge! It’s a two-layer courtyard with large umbrella canopies and hanging potted plants and live music. The menu mostly consists of meal crepes (as opposed to dessert crepes) such as seafood and veal and even rabbit meat²! We had white wine sangria with dinner, and I was once again reminded of why I loved the French. Not only are they famous cooks and even more famous romantics, they’re famous drunks. But in a classy kind of way. Alcohol, especially wine, seemed so plentiful and accessible here. The prices were cheaper and the quality was better. Yum!
After dinner, we walked around Vieux Port, but it was raining on and off, so there were fewer people on the streets. We headed back to our hotel to regroup, and then walked along Saint Catherine where we happened upon a Nascar party of some sort. The street was closed off to cars and there was a concert going on. It was too crowded and noisy for us though (we kept losing members of our group), so we ended up heading to Rue Peel where the infamous Peel Pub was. Infamous because it had some of the cheapest drinks that I’d ever known (although I found out later that there was a taco place with $1 beers).

After several rounds of shots, a pitcher of rum and coke, and a couple of beers (and a tab that only amounted to about $10 per person), SSS and I were sufficiently buzzed. We decided we were bored of sitting around in the loud, cramped bar and ran out. We flew down the street, hand in hand, nearly knocking over a group doing the Amazing Race. Eventually, we ran out of steam, and by the time we walked back to Peel Pub, were awfully sober.

Sunday morning, I got up bright and early to exercise and shower before the rest of my friends stirred. We didn’t make it out of our hotel until 11, and headed straight to Chinatown looking for dim sum. We didn’t find dim sum, but we did find a Cantonese restaurant peculiarly named “Beijing.” I was immediately put off by the fact that the waiter did not speak a word of Mandarin (strictly Cantonese) – what kind of “Beijing” is that? The food was sub-par, except for the seafood chow mein that WAF ordered. Disappointed, we left Chinatown and walked to Rue Sainte-Catherine, famous for its shopping. Most of the shops were having sales (although some stores were too expensive for me even with the sales), so I bought a couple items of clothing. I tried to restrain myself though, because I was pretty broke as it was – but it was hard with all that gorgeous clothing around me. Of all Canadians, Montrealers definitely have the best taste in fashion. The most memorable store was Simons, this huge complex housing local designer fashion. It was so big and intimidating that I hovered near the rack closest to the door for half an hour before WAF pulled me deeper inside. Did I succumb to the cute pink headbands and polka-dot skirts? Not really. I did buy one school-girl-esque skirt with a black lace fringe for an undiscounted price of $29, which wasn’t too bad. After I tried it on, I just couldn’t put it back! Afterwards, I didn’t try on a single item of clothing, for fear that I might bankrupt myself in Simons.

That night, we separated for dinner because WAF and SRB wanted to have a romantic dinner at a seafood restaurant (I was turned off when I heard the name “Oyster Shack”), and SSS was having Mexican food with a friend I did not care for. Since I disliked both seafood and Mexican food, PGB and I went to have dinner ourselves. We ended up going to O Noir, which was the best decision of my life. O Noir is a restaurant where you eat in complete darkness. No, not a darkened room, a completely pitch black room. I could not see any better with my eyes closed as opened. I could only use my other senses, my sense of hearing, smell, and touch. It was unbelievable. We were really lucky because we’d checked with them earlier and they were all booked up for the entire weekend, but then we decided to try our luck and just walked in. The gods must have been smiling upon us because a couple canceled right when we walked in, so we were then introduced to our waiter, Fay. Now, the entire wait staff at O Noir is blind, and Fay was no exception. He was fairly young and very friendly, and explained to us in a French accent that he was to lead us around in there and that it would be quite loud. We left all our belongings in a locker, then PGB put his hand on Fay’s shoulder and I put my hand on PGB‘s shoulder and we were off. We shuffled in the darkness slowly, and I could hear the sound of a live band and people’s chatter all around us. It was really loud inside, so much so that I couldn’t hear anything Fay was saying, so I just clung onto PGB and hoped that he’d heard the instructions. It was extremely weird walking around in pitch darkness with so much activity all around us. I can’t even begin to describe what it felt like. All I can say is that, at one point, I gave up trying to use my eyes at all, so I closed them and just concentrated on listening. Suddenly, in my mind, I felt like the entire room lit up, not with light, but with sounds. I felt like I could “see” the room – how big it was, how many people were in it, what the live band looked like, etc. – all from listening. Fay first led us to the washroom, which was also in darkness, but there was a special light bulb that lit up the ceramic toilet and some dim lights at the sink, thank god. Then, Fay took us to our seats. Once we were seated, PGB and I started commenting on how absolutely bizarre and unreal this experience was. The room felt at times both large and small. We seemed quite close to other customers, by the sound of their conversation, but the darkness seemed cavernous with the sound of many customers chatting farther away.
Eating our food in the darkness was another world of bizarre on its own. It never occurred to me the kind of role sight plays in eating. Simple things like knowing where to stab my fork, or whether there was even food left on my plate, suddenly became challenges to overcome. We’d both ordered filet mignon (we ordered from the front desk before we entered), which came with some vegetables that I soon realized to be string beans, carrots, and potatoes. I was at first tempted to just feel around my plate with my hands, but that would’ve been extremely messy, so I settled on moving my fork around and stabbing randomly. I entirely gave up on trying to cut my filet mignon into pieces after a few forkfuls of nothing but air, and just bit off pieces of the filet mignon that I managed to stab successfully. Luckily, it was cut in strips, so I didn’t make a huge mess. Dessert for me was a slice of dark chocolate and raspberry mousse cake, which was slightly easier to navigate since there was no cutting or stabbing involved. But even spooning the cake was difficult because sometimes I got nothing and sometimes I got the cake right on, so much so that I spooned more than I could handle, and some mousse would drip off the spoon. I was lucky to discover, later, that I didn’t drip any on me, but I’m pretty sure I left some dollops of mousse on the table.
Surprisingly, or maybe not, the food was really top notch. You’d think that for a place like this, most people would come just for the experience, and the food could be average but they’d still be a hit. However, I can say with confidence that they did not skimp on hiring good chefs at all. The filet mignon was so juicy and savoury that I spent a good fifteen minutes making sure I didn’t have any left on my plate.
At the end of the meal, most of the customers had left and we found that we were one of four tables left (my sense of hearing was getting better and better). They served in two-hour-long “waves” I believe, and clean up in between before the next “wave,” so customers were not being continually let in. One of the tables, a rather large group from the sound of it, started making animal noises, and we called back with noises of our own (PGB mooed and I barked). Then, they started a round of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” and the other tables joined in as well. We all had a good laugh. That was when we befriended the table next to us, a table of four females who were from The City as well, we found out. When we came out of the restaurant, we started calling their location, “Mississauga? Mississauga?” and found each other by the lockers. I think both parties were surprised to see the faces of the people they’d been talking to in the dark. We were all happy to have someone to relate our experiences to³, and excited to have made acquaintances in one of the strangest ways possible – in complete darkness.

After dinner, PGB and I walked over to Oyster Shack, which was near Crescent St., a street known for its bars and pubs. It was literally lined with pubs, mostly Irish, and PGB and I ducked into one called Grumpy’s to wait for WAF and SRB.
Over a tall glass of Sleeman Honey Brown Lager, we befriended the bartender, a native of a small town on the edge of Quebec and Ontario. He spoke perfect English and was not at all put off by our ignorance of Quebecois culture. There were virtually no other patrons in the bar, but the people who were there we were sure to strike up a conversation with. First, I met a cute musician, then PGB and I talked up an Asian girl and her boyfriend. Turns out they were writers (well, the Asian girl was a writer, the boyfriend was an editor). They seemed much younger than they actually were. We chatted about university and our careers, and we swapped contact info before they left in case she ever came to The City. Later, WAF and SRB showed up, and we started taking shots together. When SSS showed up two hours later, we were already known by every one in the bar and BFFs with the bartender. We went behind the bar to take a picture with him, we took shots with him, and we even controlled the playlist on his Ipod. He made many custom shots for us and named them after us (i.e. the Purple City Shot), and gave us a couple rounds on the house.
Although the night was a blur of drinking and laughter, I do remember being chatted up by a cute blonde-haired, brown-eyed boy. MontrealBoy was also a musician, and though we had very little in common, we both shared a love for food and spoke almost zero French⁴. The conversation definitely started off on the right foot when he said he loved Thai food. He did the courteous thing of offering to buy me a drink, but I knew I was already drunk so I declined. Plus, he was a starving artist, how could I take advantage of him?
I had a lot of booze flowing through my veins by then, but even so, I could tell 1) he was cute, 2) he was interested in me. I was tipped off to the latter when I mentioned something about being an only child about two minutes into the conversation, and him saying “I could be your older brother.” A strange pick-up line, no doubt, but nonetheless, it was obvious he wanted to simulate a closer relationship between us than we actually had. I spent the rest of the night talking to him while the rest of my friends did their own drunken activity of preference (SSS ran around giggling, PGB chatted up more strangers, SRB passed out, and WAF floated between taking care of SRB and taking more shots). I must admit, I do not have an inkling of memory of what we talked about, except that he had mesmerizing eyes and a rather large nose. I leaned on him and looked for stars in the cloudy Montreal sky while he smoked and talked to WAF about philosophy or some such thing. I was so drunk that even the smoking didn’t bother me. I should have realized how gone I was, but I was in that happy floaty place where everything seemed perfectly reasonable. It was glorious.
At some point, WAF took SRB back to the hotel, and then later, even PGB and SSS left. MB and I continued to chat until he finished his beer, then we walked back to my hotel hand in hand. At this point, I realized that we had another thing in common. Neither of us wanted to sleep together. Maybe that was why I felt so comfortable around him – because there were no warning bells going off! Sure, he’d put his arm around me, and sure, we’d been holding hands all the way home. But when we got to my hotel, he made excuses about having to get up early and whatnot. I almost laughed. I’d never been on the receiving end of excuses not to sleep together. Usually, I’d be the one awkwardly declining and running away. But here was a boy who was content to hold my hand and walk me home. The French really do know how to win a girl’s heart.

Monday morning, I woke up late and hungover. I felt nauseous and barely human for most of the morning, and did not start feeling alive again until after I’d had some food. After checking out, we drove to the Quartier Latin, which is known for its theatres, artistic atmosphere, cafés, and boutiques. We had lunch at an Italian restaurant, but I was still feeling nauseous at that point, so I ended up only having soup. The soup really hit the spot though, and I felt much better after, so I left a large tip for the waiter (even though he didn’t speak English and I had to say “Hot. Water.” five times before he understood me. “Eau. Chaud.” !). We walked up St. Denis to a gorgeous chocolate boutique called Suite 88 Chocolatier. I really wanted to buy some (even though it was quite pricey), but the lady said that the chocolates were very thin and delicate and would definitely not survive the long car-ride home.
Finally, we drove to Mont Royal, Montreal’s namesake, and took some pictures before heading back to The City.

When I returned to The City, I felt like I’d traveled to a different continent this weekend. Even though I only had to resort to my broken French twice the entire trip, Montreal had a strong European vibe. I had some of the best food and wine at the best prices this weekend. The food was original and unpretentious, and the wine (especially the $16 bottle I bought in the convenient store across the street from the hotel) was the silkiest I’ve ever had. I felt like I’d gone to culinary heaven.

1. Although most people in Montreal are bilingual, certain parts of the city contain more English-speakers than others. We only encountered one waiter who couldn’t speak English almost at all. Nonetheless, French is the preferred language, and some locals treat Anglophones (especially tourists) differently.
2. I didn’t order this one but SSS did. I tried some but preferred my veal. Not that it wasn’t good, but it had a subtle taste that I did not really care for. Plus, I’ve had rabbits as pets before, so it was just a little bit weird.
3. One of them got chocolate on her white sleeves. Another had decided to forgo using cutlery completely and just ate with her hands.
4. Most of the patrons in the bar seemed to speak more English than French, and it turns out that the bar is a local haunt for musicians, which explains why we met so many of the artsy type.