She lived at the Halls of Residence across the road from mine. Hers were self-catering and, somehow, she'd been given rooms adjacent to some kindred spirits. On reflection, the suburban dorks that I was quartered next to were probably good matches, on paper, for me too!
She was also on the same course as myself, L and R and, as a result, we would find ourselves walking back to our Halls together. As a result we became friends.
And what drama. She had, as a British, second-generation, Pakistani, lapsed Muslim... issues. She certainly had issues with her mother. And she had issues around every guy that she dated. An abiding memory of those early days - that first year - was of standing in the rain, watching tears run down her face, as she silently mourned the betrayal of a man called Tim. I hated Tim for a variety of reasons of my own - principally, because he was a member of the 'JCR committee', a bunch of second years who 'ran' the halls of residence - they were self-consciously cool, creative and slightly aggressive.
And what drama. Her experimentation with drugs. He inability to hold her drink and her determination to drink more and more and more. Her experimentation with other religions. Her total inability to eat. She got thinner and thinner. She ate the occasional slice of toast. And smoked an inordinate number of rollups. When she wasn't introducing me to the wonders of Superkings. The cigarettes of suburban slappers. Suburban slappers, me and U.She loved dancing, poetry and occasionally swifting from chaos-ridden hoarder, to stripped down minimalism (to the point where, on occasions, we thought that she was either preparing to leave or preparing to die).
She, of course, had occasional issues around self-harm and an inability to contemplate a future - a future back living with her mother, a life where all the freedom she was now experiencing would be taken away in a trice.
Complex barely covers it. The coolest person I'd ever met.
We're still friends. She's gay now too.
No comments:
Post a Comment