Narrative of my second drink

We’ve been wanting to sleep over my brother’s place for quite some time, Steph and I, and we thought what better opportunity to do that than on July fourth weekend. Logical, no? We had planned on doing some running in central park or just anywhere there, perhaps my brother’s usual running route. We also wanted to walk around the city and do a little shopping.

The plan: Arrive at my brother’s place on Friday night, but before that, eat at a Chinese restaurant with my family. My parents would drop Steph and me off at Kuya’s place, afterward. On Saturday, we would paint the town red and Steph and me would be picked up on Saturday night. Then Sunday is July fourth and there’d be a bbq at our parents’ house, except Kuya would go back to the city and see fireworks while my parents, Steph and I would watch the fireworks on a hill in Ocean avenue.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention our covert plan: my 21st birthday part 2??!! – Friday night, drinking.

Now, if I were to compare the first time I drank to the second time I drank, I’d say the second time was a lot worse, A LOT WORSE, than the first and I have some potential real reasons why. First off, the first time I drank, if I were to be honest with myself, I was much fitter. It was during the school semester, I was always going to the gym, either before classes or after classes, studying hard, working out hard, playing myself all around, nice and even. HOWEVER, the second time I drank was during a sickly context – I had just gotten four wisdom teeth pulled out (pain in the mouth) and an annoying cold from someone who will remain unnamed. Mind you, I can take in a lot more alcohol when I’m fitter than when I’m not. So, the second time around, I wasn’t exercising or working out a whole lot, just feeling lazy, tired and weak, but itching for at least some fun . . . and my eyes immediately looked toward that seemingly bright and enticing Fourth of July weekend at my brother’s place and whatever I could do without my parents in sight.

The first time I drank, on my 21st birthday way back in November, I was able to down 9 shots in about 2 hours. Not bad. I just felt a little dizzy and a little off, nothing much else. I went to sleep and the next morning I played tennis (yes, in the cold, but sunny November morning). The second time I drank, during that Fourth of July weekend, I was only able to take in 7 shots, however, I did that in less than 1 hour. I don’t think I even remember what I took.

Oh, you should have seen me. It was horrible.

The second time was so much scarier than the first. I think I passed out, I couldn’t move any muscle at all, on my own will. I just remember little snap shots of what was going on. I remember saying in a tired, airy voice and half shut eyes, “zero percent muscle.” The weird stuff I say when weird stuff’s happening to me. We were all standing and talking, I think, and laughing and all of a sudden, I just fell backward onto my brother’s bed. The next thing I remember is when I was throwing up in a small garbage container, hearing Steph’s encouraging words as she wiped my neck with a cold, wet towel: “Good girl; you’re such a good girl; you’re doing the right thing; good job.” And I was just throwing up all that vodka and baby bok choy (from our Chinese dinner). I was helped to go to the bathroom to continue throwing up in the toilet. Closing the door and locking it, I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. But after throwing up in the toilet, I just fell to the floor and felt my muscles grow even weaker, which I thought couldn’t happen because they were already weak enough from all the alcohol I had consumed in such a short time. I guess some time had passed because I remember, barely, opening up my blurred eyes and hearing voices telling me, “Bern, you have to open the door, okay.” To tell you the truth, I was in no condition to get up, at all. They finally came in (Steph had told me the next day that they used a penny to unlock the door) and found me on the floor, next to the toilet, in a fetus position with my eyes closed. From there, I don’t know.

Later the next day, I was told that Kuya had picked me up from the floor of the bathroom and brought me to my makeshift bed.

I just remember waking up at around 3:30 in the morning, unable to move. Can you believe, I couldn’t even turn on my other side so as to not sleep on my own drool? Yes, I have to admit, I was a total mess. Steph was on the couch, my brother and Liz were on Kuya’s bed and I was on the floor in my sleeping bag, next to the garbage. I noticed that my glasses were off, as were my socks and my watch. After about another hour or two, I was able to walk to the bathroom, Frankenstein style. To make a long story short, I kept throwing up on and off from around 4 in the morning to around 12 noon, the next day. My stomach felt unstable, my esophagus burned and I wasn’t hungry, nor thirsty because I knew that if I ate or drank anything, I’d just throw it up again and feel sick. I wanted to sleep, not eat, but everyone kept telling me to eat. Steph bought me oatmeal and zico (coconut water) and Liz tried to give me water and cranberry juice. Both of their attempts were to no avail. I was a stubborn, sickly baby.

Then Kuya turned on the TV so we could watch the Wimbledon final. Serena had already won! I was both happy and sick, but then more sick. After she said her speech, they replayed the match where Nadal played against Murray. But I couldn’t follow that one, both because I just felt so sick and because I still didn’t have my glasses on (nor my socks and watch). I just lied down with the garbage next to me.

Steph and Kuya went out to go running while Liz and I stayed. I guess I brought my sneakers and sports clothes for no reason then. Afterward, I heard their plans to go shopping. I just wanted to sleep and get this hangover over with. I woke up at 3:30 in the afternoon and actually felt better, somewhat. Thoughtful Steph had changed the channel so that “The Universe” was on and the episode was the one where they show how Earth was formed. I woke up and it caught my attention, I having a slight interest in astronomy. Not realizing that I was speaking out loud, I said, “that was during the period of bombardment; that’s how Earth got the bulk of its water, from comets.” Kuya heard me and said, “look everyone, Bern’s awake!” Liz, Kuya and Steph crowded around me and I took off my blanket in conquering way and stood up. My stomach now only felt a dull pain. Kuya said, “You can go shopping with us? To the city?”

“Sure!” Sounds like a full recovery. WRONG! I felt good temporarily, I found out, because after I showered and cleaned myself up (when I woke up and checked the mirror, my hair looked like Alfalfa’s) and when we were in the subway ready to go to the city, my stomach hurt, yet again, and I was scared that I might throw up, but this time in public.

The train ride was long and painful. I felt like any minute I could erupt. So what did I do? In my head, I said the Our Father and ten Hail Mary’s. Then I heard a baby sing Beyonce songs followed by a rumble in my tummy. I said the Our Father again and this time seventeen Hail Mary’s. I was really praying to get myself out of this mess and I think it helped because Kuya, Liz and Steph took real good care of me and were really considerate when we were in the city.

They let me rest on a bench for about a total of 30 minutes (at least). Kuya got me pizza and water. Steph’s carried an empty yogurt bowl just in case I had to throw up in it and Liz stayed on the bench with me while Kuya and Steph got the pizza for me to finally eat. They all walked at a nice, slow pace and looked for places where I can rest, whether that be at the furniture and bathroom area at kmart or the furniture area at Urban Outfitters. By 8pm, I was feeling a lot better and it was marked by my saying inside jokes and being my old self again. The pain grew dull, thank goodness, but I still had a headache, in addition to a stomachache.

So what did I learn? I don’t like drinking. That’s what I immediately thought the next morning after drinking and passing out. I didn’t want to drink any more for the rest of my life; I didn’t want to see another beer can, or shot glass or smell anything alcoholic. I didn’t want to drink anymore, period. I hate hangovers.

But what did I really learn? I can drink, but I have to pace myself. I will absolutely not do 7 shots in less than one hour anymore. Perhaps I’ll do just 3 or 4 shots in one hour. That would be like 6 or 8 in two hours, which is kind of close to my first 9 in two hours. I will drink when I’m fit. Or in the words of Kuya, I’ll do more push-ups before I drink, hahaha.

Before I leave you here, I want to make sure that you have a correct image of me. I do not drink often, only occasionally. In fact, I’ve only drank twice in my life. That third time was nothing really, it was just hard iced tea, so that doesn’t count. I’m a pretty chill person as someone once told me. I’m no alcoholic. I’m just describing my experiences because I don’t really mind to; don’t worry I know when I cross the line in terms of what I leak out in writing – that being said, I didn’t write absolutely everything that happened during those two surreal days.

I hope you enjoy this second narrative (but don’t expect one each time I drink!) =)