When the year shrugged off the old clothes of 2012 and stepped into this season’s 2013, I was at a party. I generally don’t go to parties. I love people. I love to talk and to listen. I don’t really do shouting about things. You won’t find me dancing on the tables or screaming at the neighbours.
Last night my partner and I were invited to a friend’s house to celebrate. At 9pm we left our apartment and walked through Galway city centre. I stopped at a cash machine. The twenty year old girls behind were complaining about ‘those times you drink and can’t seem to get drunk’. I went to the corner shop to buy a soft drink – I had decided not to drink alcohol for the night – and the people ahead of me were all buying vodka and cigarettes. Instead of being uncomfortable, I found I enjoyed watching the drama of other people’s nights out.
As a happy introvert, I generally stay clear of loud parties. Thankfully, our host was a gentleman, as were his guests. I had some great conversations and hopefully made in-roads towards new friendships in our new home. For midnight, we stood around and watched the countdown from Dublin on the tv screen. There were party trumpets and balloons. I smiled. After the well-wishing, we retired back to the kitchen (the natural hub of any party) and continued our chats for another hour. Then, under a newly waning moon, we walked home