There was a long line of parked cars when I finally got there. I had been searching for his house for almost 30 minutes, using the same roundabout three, maybe four times. Take this turning here, make a U-turn there. All these in a neighbourhood that I thought I knew; most of my school friends live here. I had never been to his house before; I never thought I would even be meeting him again. After SPM, contact got cut off, as most friendships do. Some times I would reminisce about the good times, and so I would try to call him, but the calls were not long. Maybe it’s because we had nothing in common to talk about anymore. Initiating a conversation about new things would bring about an air of formality and awkwardness. So, it was no more calls, “whatever la” and on with my life.

Then he called me up out of the blue and invited me to his 21st birthday party. It would be a big party and the whole of 5 Murni was invited. It was a pleasant surprise, truth be told. Sounds grand. I can meet the girls again. I always wondered how they were doing. But an opportunity to reunite with classmates would eventually bring about long-forgotten feelings. That was my fear. The fear that I would remember the things which I thought I had moved on from. That my life, 4 years down the road from Form 5, would be sidelined for the memories of an unfulfilling school life.

But an invitation’s an invitation. I had considered the prospect of calling him at the absolute last minute and telling him that I was stuck in an imaginary traffic jam somewhere in the heart of the city, or that I was stuck with an imaginary person in some shopping mall who won’t let me leave, or even that I had to balik kampung because some obscure relative of mine passed away.

The initial idea was that my grandmother passed away. But you can only use that excuse so many times. So, it was off to the party I go. The invitation had to be honoured.

Man, there a lot of people here, I thought. I never knew that 21st birthdays were such a grand affair. They had canopies and caterers and everything. Families passed me by on the way to the house, the fathers dressed in batik shirts and the mothers dressed in shiny, elaborately designed saris, jewellery decorating whatever areas of skin that were exposed. I felt out-of-place, wearing only a collared T-shirt and jeans. But those jeans were ironed, so I guess that counts for something. I heard the sound of thunder several times. It will get pretty interesting later on, regardless of the rain. I prepared for that possibility.

They all looked different. Some were studying, others were working. Some of them came with their girlfriends, others, with their boyfriends. All went about their lives, filling four years with numerous life-changing decisions. They got together outside the house, talking and teasing and laughing. Still the same bunch of people that I studied with. As time went on, more and more of them arrived, and soon enough, it was an impromptu reunion of 5 Murni, Class of 2002. And it felt… you know, I don’t know how I was supposed to feel. It wasn’t a feeling of sadness, nor was it anger. It just brought back memories of four years ago, when I went to the same class as them, studied with them, went to the same tuition centre as them. I felt the same way as I felt then as well: an outsider.

And you know what? It didn’t matter at all.
Seriously, not one bit at all.

This came as a surprise to me. I initially thought I would be intimidated by them. By their clothes, or their hair, or their friends, or their success stories. I thought that I would be sidelined yet again, and made to sit at the edge, listening to them talking and laughing about things that only a select people inside their circle of friends would understand. Being a spectator, yet again. But when I met them and hung out with them and talked about what they had been doing since the last day of sekolah menengah, I wasn’t intimidated at all. In fact, you could say I experienced an absence of any strong emotions during the whole time I was with them. I wasn’t angry when a girl from my class started with her usual insults towards me (if I remember correctly, it was something along the lines of “Every time I look at your hair, I feel like laughing!” followed by laughter from all my classmates). I wasn’t even angry when some of them snickered at the fact that I do not have a significant other in my life. I wasn’t angry at all.

In fact, I just didn’t care at all.

Now, don’t get confused. It’s not as bad as it sounds. I don’t have any ill will towards any of my classmates. Some of them are good people. There’s this girl in my class, she was still as friendly to me two days ago as she was four years ago. That’s a good thing to know. It’s just that I’m now… what’s that word… indifferent (my English is getting worse!) towards them. I do not have any expectations. I do not have any reason to be intimidated by them anymore. I am no longer an outsider. I am not the same person as I was four years ago, and this, I know for a fact. I am me, forging an identity of my own, going my own way, meeting new people, doing new things, having people to care and be cared.

And it feels… good.

It feels so much better.
Abso-fucking-lutely awesome.

It’s liberating.