Pizza by the pool

C had suggested that we either have dinner in town or order in some food by the pool at her condo. P and I immediately voted for the latter--it's cheap and fuss-free.

It was a great idea: the evening was cool and breezy, and because the pizza came late, primed by hunger, we tucked in with relish on the terikayi chicken pizza, tempura prawns and breaded scallops. We took off our shoes and put our legs up. I leaned back and looked up at the starless night sky. I love being out in the open like that, I told them. I even bought a book along because reading by the pool while munching on pizza seems terribly relaxing.

We talked about starting all over again. C had wanted to be a doctor since secondary school and in the end settled for psychology in university. But now she's mired in policy-making and paperwork. She recently started visiting a Chinese physician for her tiredness and was inspired to study TCM. That would take up at least 5 years of her time, but she is not overly bothered by that. She says we are still young, and now is the time to make the change.

I told her that the thought crossed my mind too, and she and P were very encouraging. You guys can become classmates again, P quipped, and we laughed. It was quite a pleasant thought.

I told them my ambition was to be a writer. I thought I would be happy working with words. I recalled to them the university days when I would stay up till 2, 3 am, glued to the computer, fueled by coffee, and churning out articles for writing classes, tired but getting a kick out of it, a kick that I've never been able to find ever since I graduated. Writing was difficult for me, but the satisfaction, so sweet.

Now I work with words everyday, and I hate it. Maybe you're working with them the wrong way. Become a fresh grad again, take a pay cut for a writing job, start all over again, they suggested.

We talked about the passion for work that had eluded all 3 of us. I've become so disillusioned that as long as I don't hate my work, as long as I can get myself out of bed in the morning for work, that's enough for me, I told them. Why did I sell myself short like that, I thought later. What would the 21-year-old me have thought of the 28-year-old that I had become?