It seems that winter celebrations have skipped me. There is no Christmasy feeling, no forgotten gifts for godchildren to be guilty about, no family arguments (just an antsy ex-significant other who rues the day he was born), no slaving over a hot stove, no styling a Noche Buena table for unappreciative siblings and HORRORS...nary a drop of alcohol passed these lips!
(picture shows me with my last glass eons ago)
I never noticed it though. Sorta came on me like an unseen visitor, this teetotaling thing. Why forsake the sensuous delights of that slight buzz and the frenzy of flirting that usually followed? I cannot for the love of _____ (insert preferred name) fathom how this situation came to be!
Back in the motherland, after knocking off from work and just before heading home it was truly easy to convince another weak soul to stop by for a beer or two and maybe start another pointless conversation. Fridays were de rigueur "gather ye all with pretensions to intelligence" assemblies and if you have a mind for it, sashay your way to the VIP lounges of so-called hot bars just right after midnight. Not to forget paydays (every 15th and 30th), where everyone forgets that tomorrow is the first of a long month and crispy pata becomes the pulutan of choice (food that you eat with alcohol because yes, we Filipinos have a whole range of drinking cuisine). So, how is it different today?
Sadly, I can count the ways but it all boils down to this: In this amazing country I live and work in, I ain't got any drinking friends honey and yes, I no longer socialize. It's just as well, I am embarassed to confess that yes, I am feeling the aches and pains of growing mature (of course it's not called aging...oh no, not yet). One beer is too many and just that little extra sip of white wine is bound to make me sleepy. You could also say that I may lack practice given that alcohol is terribly expensive in Iceland (one bottle of San Miguel beer which costs maybe 30 pesos back home is around 300 pesos) here. I did try to prowl the shelves for great buys under 1000kr, an exercise done when I was just fresh-off-boat and which proved sadly futile.
You would think that all these would change this Christmas, what with the slew of parties left and right and alcohol overflowing Christmas tables. Wrong! At this point of my language skills (and yes, it all hinges on your language skills), I have not become part of any social circle. It's hard to discover similar interests and skills, amazingly trying to laugh at half-understood jokes and downright uncomfortable to be with a crowd who chatters on non-stop in a tongue whose nuances and soul you have yet to understand. I do know that alcohol does loosen the tongue, but not when guilt at not speaking the right one ties it down. As for the foreigners who skirt the confines of Icelandic existence? They all left...at least those who started out as my friends. They did the chicken run, right after the Icelandic economy found it prudent to admit itself to the halls of Landspitala (the national university hospital). In this roundabout, self-indulgent way did I discover that woe and behold, I cannot drink alone. Red wine has to come with red meat and conversation. They call it social drinking and because I am not being "social" this means I have become a teetotaler.
Horrors!
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