The Dead Body Theory of Friendship

Essie and I were having a typical chika session over canton in college when she started talking about this guy Carlo from our org.

“Do you think Carlo has friends?” Essie asked.

“Um, us?” I said. “Aren’t we his friends?”

“Sure,” she said. “But if you’re in grave danger, would you turn to him for help? Or if he’s in serious trouble, would you risk your life for him?”

My answer, at least at that time, was no. Maybe not.

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On friendships and wavelengths

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I just read the phrase “same wavelength” on Facebook — on a post about Atom Araullo’s supposed ideal girl — and a gust of nostalgia threw me off my otherwise mindless scrolling.

I last uttered those words back in high school, back when I wasn’t as discreet about my hipsterly arrogance. I’m still pretentious, keri, but I was a million times snootier as a b00bless teenager (still got no boobies, but let’s not talk teats tonight).

Everyone in my high school had a high-and-mighty attitude. Only in college would I realize that we knew jackshit, that we were actually the “the cream of the cream of the crap.” Suddenly I was surrounded by kids who were way better writers than I could ever be. And eventually I learned how to temper my distaste for people whose minds were out of phase with mine.

But humility and inclusivity considered, don’t we all naturally gravitate towards peeps whose tastes, principles, and moral codes generally overlap with ours?

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Beer and cake before bedtime

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1. Glorious is the night when you find beer and cake in the fridge. Heee.

2. Facebook informed me that:

3. I want to read Ghost World again. I’m definitely going to buy a legit copy someday soon. God, I should have read it when I was younger! Arrrghh!

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