Alcohol

Looks pretty, right? Ha-ha.

Though my high school self tended to be more aligned with Charlotte, in college I find myself becoming more and more like the character I've created for Rory. Whether it is subconsciously or intentionally, I do not know -- but let's talk about one instance where my creation and I collide, and that would be in regards to alcohol.

Unlike most of the people I've talked to here, my first drink was not at college. The summer after high school senior year, I was at Kinmen -- an island of Taiwan where the drinking age is 18, so I was legal there. There is a kind of liquor called gaoliang that the island is particularly famous for -- the alcohol content is usually between 38 and 63 percent. Not proof -- American alcoholic proof is twice the alcoholic percentage -- I'm talking percent. Essentially, all of our adult chaperons/mentors/etc. said we shouldn't leave the island without having their most famous liquor, so one night our soldier chaperons bought us a bottle of 38 percent and we sat in the makeshift dining room of our suite. Only one of my six teaching partners had ever had a drink before, so the rest of us were sniffing apprehensively while eying the liquid in our glasses. Then we raised our glasses and cheered.

And that, my friends, was my first introduction to the world of alcohol. 38 percent gaoliang, which another friend of mine aptly named "flaming toilet." It was the most disgusting thing I had ever drunk in my life. We ended up playing Liar Poker afterward, and the cruel punishment was to make the loser drink another shot.

Interestingly, the next day we were invited to a lunch banquet with a bunch of important adults including the Taiwanese Minister of Education. This time, we had a 63 percent bottle of gaoliang and I was amazed by the alcohol tolerance of most of the adults there -- the principal of our school downed at least 20 shots of that stuff.

But anyways. Unlike the eager-eyed freshmen who had never had a drink in high school because they were too busy studying or competing or whatnot, I had very little interest in drinking. The taste of gaoliang was still branded in my head, and I had no desire to relive that experience. As a consequence, by the middle of freshman year I found myself drifting between two groups -- one predominantly composed of Christians who abstained from drinking, and one composed of my dorm-mates, several of whom ended up joining a sorority. In the end, I became closer to my dorm-mates for several reasons, one of which is the fact that I had come to the conclusion that it was extremely unlikely that I would ever convert to Christianity.

As a result, this semester I have been to more parties than I had gone to my entire freshman year. It's still not much though -- I might go out once or twice a month and that would be it. But anyways, back to the topic of alcohol.

While I don't completely abstain from alcohol -- I will usually drink one or two shots -- I do not share any particular fondness for alcohol that many of friends have (who frequently reach their limit, resulting in my job as the designated sober nurse). I choose not to drink, not because it is the law (because I don't see the logic of being steadfast to the rule for the rule's stake, especially as I was openly offered 63 percent gaoliang when I was only 18 in Taiwan), but because of personal reasons. The biggest reason is my fear of losing control. I have no desire to learn what kind of a drunk I am -- as I operate through life with a heavy filter on what I say and what I do, I am afraid to learn of what kind of a creature I become once all my filters are gone.

Other reasons include the fact that I simply don't like the taste of it and the fact that having cleaned up after one too many friends, drinking past a certain limit is not at all classy or cool. I wonder if those who binge drink would have second thoughts if they ever considered the ones who have to take care of them after they indulge.

Long story short, last night one of my friends drank to the point where she vomited multiple times throughout the night -- including on the bus, which led to us getting kicked off the bus back to West Campus. When it reaches that point, there is nothing glamorous about drinking. It is messy, it is disgusting, and it is always somebody else who has to clean up the mess. And usually that somebody is me.

Reflecting more on last night, it has become more apparent to me that my refusal to get drunk is heavily influenced by my grasp of self-identity. Perhaps I am more sharply aware of this than others, but your appearance and behavior shape the way others view you. I have never identified myself as a sorority girl; therefore I ran into some odd issues when my friends tried to (and still try to) convince me to rush for a sorority. Doing so would jeopardize my sense of who I am; nevertheless the fact that my friends are in these sisterhoods makes it very strange dynamic. Similarly, I feel I have a subconscious desire to appear classy and cool. Whatever drunk I may turn out to be -- angry, boisterous, mellow, depressed, happy, sassy -- there is no such thing as a classy or cool drunkard.