by Elisa Redza
A Monday Afternoon
Deciding that “Your name reminds me of the elephant—it’s actually the monkey—from Barbie as the Island Princess” would be the first thing I’d say to someone, in hindsight, was not a particularly smart idea. But as it turned out, all our friends said the two of us clicked the fastest among everyone.
When a friend from highschool told me he was having lunch at Subway with some people he met from orientation, I thought that there would be at most four people. After seeing through the window that they took up at least five tables, I found myself sifting through my memories to figure out how exactly you talk to someone you’ve just met. By the time I arrived, everyone had already gotten their food, and were chatting as if they’d been friends for years. Soon, I’d learn that I wasn’t the only one who thought this to be true.
It felt like I already knew them; there was no holding back on jokes, explosive laughter or embarrassing stories. It wasn’t like there was this one thing that connected us all together either. Some of us liked K-pop, some of us were from the same country or the same high school, and some of us were very passionate about book-to-movie adaptations. By the end of that first day, we came together just like that. We exchanged phone numbers, made a group chat, agreed to meet up in the morning for the remaining days of orientation and promised to go back to Subway at the same time next year.
Tuesday Nights
After the first time we went to the food trucks together, we knew it was something that we’d want to do again. It was an excuse to have everyone over at the apartment, and soon the question was no longer “Food trucks tonight?” but “What time does your class end? Let me know when you’re ready.” For a couple of hours every Tuesday, sometimes Thursday as well, we set aside our essays, past papers, reports or projects. We’d sit around the coffee table with our food and have Brooklyn Nine-Nine playing in the background, talking about the day that just passed. Popcorn chicken was the crowd favourite. Week after week we’d get two sets of it to share and somehow, we kept forgetting which sauces we liked each time.
There are many ways people express affection, and for us, food was our medium. Trusting someone when they’d say, “I think you’ll like this, do you want to try some?” Making sure everyone had enough to eat when we got food to share. Running to the fridge to get milk if someone found the chili sauce too spicy. Frying more nuggets if someone said they were still hungry. Cooking them an entire tray of lasagna because they’re stressed and need comfort food. Looking at a menu of a place you frequent and knowing everyone’s order.
A Hazy Week
We were in the freezer section at the grocery store when we got the alert that classes for the next two days were cancelled because of the haze. Having a sleepover in the middle of the week was questionable considering we’d have to rush getting ready for classes the next morning, so I’d say screaming a little when we got the notification was more than justified.
Breakfast—only in the sense that it was our first meal of the day since we ended up eating at 2:30 PM—was my favourite part of the sleepover. We kept it simple: scrambled eggs, sausages, waffles, mini pancakes and orange juice. Squeezing the oranges by hand was a choice made only because the eldest of the group said it was impossible to do so without making a complete mess of yourself. As I’ve learned throughout my friendships with everyone, sometimes you just do things out of impulse. Even though it was the first time we had a sleepover, we were moving about the apartment as if we’d been living with each other for years. We had the cooks, the table setters and of course, the one who went back to sleep.
For some reason, this meal felt different from the others. Maybe it was the fact that we were eating at the dining table for once, instead of gathering around the coffee table with half of us sitting on the floor and the other half on the sofas. Maybe it was the fact that I’d never eaten breakfast with them before. Or maybe, it was the fact that it reminded me so much of how things were at home.
A Buffet of Memories
When my mum told me we had brownies the other day, I thought of the night after my last exam, when we made them in the toaster oven and played cards until 3 a.m. While I was making Japanese curry for my family last week, I thought of how we’d dance to K-pop and hope our neighbours couldn’t see us through the kitchen window. Packing leftover rice reminds me of the time I was ambushed with a pot of surplus rice and told to help finish it because there wasn’t much left to keep anyway. Out of nowhere, I’ll remember the time I made noodle soup in the rice cooker—the stove was broken at the time—and being torn between interrupting an assignment call and waiting for it to end because I knew you were hungry. Even when we’re apart, some of us nearby and others hours away by plane, I’m kept company by the food we’ve had and the memories we’ve made.
