I take it back, the part where I said that the weekends are a chore. They are not, not when it means staying up until 3.39AM with 15GB off-peak internet quota and doing maths and everything is crystal clear. This dead hour of the night when I am supposed to be sleeping feels like a stolen time capsule where I am momentarily invulnerable to the routine of normal time flow. I am listening to Starfucker’s old album and I am reminded so much of a better time, barely three months ago, when I was still back in the island, freshly released from the clutches of SPM and so free and so young. I was driving around the island, the sea almost always in sight, drifting in and out between old townhouses in town, stopping at chic boutique cafes to grab an overpriced snack, calling up friends, making plans and going on mini island road trips. And Starfucker would be playing on high, further extending the illusion of my invulnerability behind my steering wheels. I could go anywhere, I could make a split second decision and drive northwards instead of back home. I was so free, as long as the petrol column was at a safe level. Sometimes I felt an overwhelming contentment as I sat in the car in front of the line, stepping on the accelerator as soon as the lights turned green and feeling myself propelled against the seat for a brief euphoric second. In those moments I felt the most free and youngest; I saw not only my whole life in front of me but felt it and lived it.
I think I’ve always known that those days will eventually become symbolic of my own idyllic youth, and maybe that is why I’d almost never removed Starfucker’s music from my car radio. I’d kept it there until the very end; their album coming back into the speakers after the hundredth song or so. I think I had always wanted to encapsulate the ephemerality of being young with my car. And I found out today that Starfucker has done it for me – without my conscious knowledge, and brilliantly.