Promises Are Just Restraints

The second one slid down my throat more smoothly than the first. I was getting better at it. But that didn’t change the fact that I hated what I was doing.

I gulped down the can of Sprite that I had ready in my other hand. When I finished, I looked at Sang and Lawrence and realized that I was already a little nauseated.

“So much for getting anything done,” laughed Lawrence.

Lawrence, Sang, and I were at Sang’s dorm room earlier tending to each of our own business. Lawrence was studying for a midterm, I was choreographing for the upcoming MCIA auditions on Monday, and Sang was making his costume for a CADC Halloween Party. When we all got bored of everything, Sang led us downstairs to a little get-together in one of his friend’s dorm room.

I got myself comfortable, made some new friends, got myself comfortable some more, danced even more sloppily than usual, and basked in all the fun and all the attention. I especially enjoyed lifting up my shorts to show and laugh at how I matched, from my scalp to my legs, the color of the bed sheets.

The fun was short-lived, however. I didn’t take long to start feeling tired and as though I would vomit if I had to do one more rond de jambe. At 4, I asked Sang to take me back to his dorm room to crash, and after an exchange that had me screaming with my last bit of energy, “OH MY GOD YOU BETTER COME VISIT ME AT MY WORK TOMORROW!” and the girls going, “OKAY WE WILL [BECAUSE YOU’RE SUCH A HOTTIE]!” (which, by the way, they didn’t, Sang), the two of us and Lawrence went back up.

Once we were back at Sang’s place, I could finally express how I was really feeling: shitty. Like I had to go Daemonicus right there all over Sang (from that one really terrible X-Files episode from Season 9). Well, not that much, as I managed not to vomit at all that night by instantly collapsing on Sang’s bed and knocking out.

I didn’t know how much time passed, but I woke up again in a dark, quiet room. Sang had startled me awake by sitting down next to me on the bed to use his laptop. Lying there silently and trying to further repress the vomit feelings, I wondered what you were doing, and I wondered what I was doing.

I woke up in the morning with a massive headache. I rolled out of bed and tried not to step on Sang, who was sleeping on the floor, and I stumbled to the bathroom. To pee, not vomit. I got back into bed and my headache kept me awake for another hour, and I would continue to feel it while dreaming. I knew this headache would become the third one that I would never forget, the second one being the random one I got in December 2006, and the first one being the first time I ever got drunk (accidentally) earlier that same year in February. I woke up again about two hours later feeling slightly better (only after taking some Tylenol), and I got breakfast with Sang. The day that ensued was very, very long.

You could say I did it because of peer pressure again, but, aside from one other additional reason, I also thought of it as of a contest against you. Did I win this contest?

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October 31st, 2009, 6:52 AM
Written by Trung P. Nguyen

well shit

i woke up in a pool of my own vomit.

but im alive.
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Nope.

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“The Final Entry”
Written May 24th, 2009 (Excerpted)
[[This excerpt is the first half of an entry that was slated to be my old blog’s final entry, but at the last minute, I decided not to publish it and write another nine entries before eventually moving to this current blog. The entry has been collecting dust for a while, and now I’ve brought back and slightly revised the first half. I still, however, can’t find the strength to even lay my eyes on the second half, so it’s not included.]]

The last time I got drunk to the point of vomiting was three years ago during my sophomore year [in high school]. I took a drink (a full Starbucks cup of jungle juice) because Vance, the guy I was trying to get over, offered it to me. It wasn’t until after I got trashed that I finally forced myself to move on. Since then, I’ve only had small drinks on two different occasions; I never got drunk again.

Until one Thursday night three weeks ago at a get-together at the apartment of Charles, one of Cameron’s friends. Trung was not present.

I later told Trung about the get-together, and as expected, he was angry. We fought. At the beginning of the year, I had expressly forbade him to do any form of drug abuse, and likewise, I had vowed the same. Trung demanded to know why I broke my vow and made a hypocrite of myself; he wanted to know why I finally succumbed to peer pressure. Peer pressure. He automatically assumed it was peer pressure.

“It was one just one shot!” I insisted. “Just one, and I didn’t vomit.”

He continued to shove the words “peer pressure” down my throat, throwing out question after question, all revolving around peer pressure.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP TRUNG. You’re not the all-knowing smart person you think you are. This has nothing to do with peer pressure, so again, shut the fuck up. You don’t know shit.”

That silenced Trung for a few minutes, but then, he began prying again.

I wasn’t in the mood to dive into the reason. “Things have changed,” I stated. Trung further tried to get me to elaborate, but no, I left it at that.