A kingdom for a kiss

Yesterday, I committed one of the 7 deadly IB-sins: all day long, I thought I wasn't going out in the evening, and then I did. This means that I didn't get anything done, because I was counting on the time I'd have after, say, 6 PM. Anyway, I went to Sara’s in Svedala outside of Malmö. She had her birthday party last night, and it was very cosy. The absolute highlight of the evening was observing how this girl was hitting on Jompa all of the time. It was a blast, seriously. She was very... straightforward.

As I was walking home from the bus stop (rather unsteadily), at about 1.40 AM, with a cigarette in my (frozen) hand and the snow creaking beneath my feet, I thought about how many times that scenario had happened, and how many more times it would happen. No, not Jompa being hit on, but me walking home, to this home, this house, in the middle of the night. I realized that, except for the graduation season in May and June, it might not be a very frequent scenario. Please bear in mind that I was semi-drunk, and when drunk, I tend to become nostalgic. Yes, despite my tender age, I figure I have a lot to think about.

The problem is that it's so easy to get caught up in nostalgia. There's two kinds of nostalgia, as I see it: There's the kind when you think about how nice it was to, say, go to the beach with your family when you were a kid, or watch a Disney cartoon with your mom, and that might not be something you'd get hung up on. Well, at least I don't. Usually. Anyway, that was one kind. The other kind is the premature nostalgia... I'll give you a good example. My parents had some friends over for dinner yesterday. When I was about 5 years old, these friends went on a holiday with us, to Tunisia, I think. On the first evening there, we were sitting on the balcony of our hotel room, enjoying some watermelon or something, looking out at whatever sea borders to Tunisia. The lady in the company (not my mom) suddenly breaks down and starts crying, right in front of my brother and me. My parents get all uncomfortable, and her husband asks her what's wrong. Between her sobs, she answers, "Look at how beautiful this place is. It will never be the same here, it will never be our first evening in Tunisia ever again." She did have a point, but her premature nostalgia prevented her from being happy and enjoying the moment. I guess, what I'm trying to say is... A cliché.

CARPE DIEM.