My 38th Blog

The Soju Session: Where Pitch Didn’t Matter 😂

 

I honestly can’t remember the last time I got wasted. Is that still what the cool kids say? Wasted? Soju-swerved? Under the influence of liquor? Whatever the term, by glass number three, my brain hit the snooze button and left my body to improvise karaoke like no one was listening.

 

This wasn’t your usual spur-of-the-moment hangout—it was a beautifully orchestrated night of glorious debauchery. The baking and pastry gang gathered at our place to celebrate our freshly nineteen-year-old buddy—armed with music, snacks, and enough soju.

 

At first, I served up macaroni salad, bread, tuna, crinkles, and cake, and without skipping a beat, we went straight to the veranda. The karaoke machine—conveniently left at our place a week prior—was waiting like a prophetic omen. I decided then: it wasn’t forgotten. It was fate. 😂

 

Aiden launched into “I Will Survive” with diva-level devotion—and yes, survive we did. It was my first tango with Soju, and while I teetered on the edge of tipsy enlightenment, I still managed to wash my face and brush my teeth like the functioning adult I pretend to be.

 

We laughed, we feasted, we belted out tunes as if the neighbors had fled the country. That night, age hit pause. In my 50s, I was right back to being the delightfully questionable teenager I was three decades ago.

 

It was chaotic. It was joyous. It was karaoke-fueled alchemy. Thank you, Aiden, Louella, Rosalie, Mishie, Kookai, and Edgar, for the kind of night that reminds you how good it feels to just let loose. Here’s to more nights that start with snacks, spiral into song, and end with someone wondering how crinkles ended up in their shoe.