It was a last minute decision. One of those decisions where I’ve managed to curl myself up on a one-seater, holding onto my tears and disproportionately blown up problems, refusing to respond to reason, so my mother takes the lead.
Funnily enough, none of this had to do with something as simple as a boy.
No, it was just me and my anxiety and my upcoming exams and how I felt making an effort for prom was overrated and a waste of time. This about sums it up. Of course there was the mild, underlying resentment also but I’m quite sure that wasn’t what was really bothering me.
Fast-forward, my mother insists and I do end up going. Heels and light pink embroidery and my signature flush.
It was useless though. I had no idea all they do at prom in this school is dance, conveniently the one thing I never got comfortable with. There had to have been at least 150 people on that dance floor, and can you imagine the heat? Sweat pouring down my back, those uncomfortable prickles that we’re all familiar with.
But I’ll admit it was fun. For once I truly appreciated the power of getting up, dressing up and going out for some proximity with peers. I’m usually quite blank on who’s going out with who, or who snagged who as a date just for prom so that sort of superficial observation was also amusing.
It’s easy to forget context when you’re in there, but I keep thinking about it now which is why I’m writing this.
I should be analysing Garibaldi’s contribution to the Italian unification, but instead my mind strays.
Its a lot of fun when you’re lip-syncing some trashy (in my opinion) Bollywood remix in the moment, but then you come home and you just feel a bit dazed and confused (Led Zepp pun unintended) because culture and religion and values and ideals and opinions all go out the window for that chunk of time. You are part of the crowd and you do as they do, unless you want to sit out and text your friend who doesn’t go here (Mean Girls reference, maybe a little intended) about how much you’re craving pepperonis. I would make some sort of a profound argument but honestly, how can one even pin the blame on any one specific guilty party.
I guess the part about the night that stuck in my mind the longest was how cruel it was to see the one guy I had finally picked after years to have a small crush on, with a certain girl.
Irony at it’s finest, take my word for it.
As a final comment, when did prom become a rave with a pathetic playlist?