I watched a Jackie Chan movie tonight. In it, Jackie Chan is this guy who keeps having flashbacks of his past life. Past life as in 2000 years ago, when he was a Qin dynasty general. So yeah, in his past life he was a great warrior, performing heroic deeds for the Emperor, slaying his enemies and, of course, getting the chick(s). Okay, so the movie sounds lame, but the idea was kind of cool.

Anyway, so I started wondering......Who was I in my past life? Was I strong? Powerful? Just? A hero to the common people?
I sat down, closed my eyes and channelled ancient memories through my mind... (*play dreamy harp music*.....Who was I in my past life? Who was I in my past life? Who was I........)

........A procession of horses travelling through the lonely countryside. On each horse, a soldier adorned in a bronze plate and helmet, spears and swords glinting in the sun. And there, drawn by two horses, is a red and gold carriage.
Inside sits a beautiful princess, on her way to marry some prince in Xi'an. Okay, so I'm pretty sure I wasn't a princess in my past life, or a female for that matter. Perhaps I'm that prince. But nah, there's no royalty in my blood.
Wait. The General who's leading the troupe. (He's secretly in love with the princess, and she with him...they're planning to run off into the wilderness...) Zoom in on him. Look at his stern face. That steely jaw. That could be me. Is it? Oh wait. I wish. He's tall. And broad-shouldered. Damn. Can't be me.
What about all those other soldiers on horseback? Too fat. Too lanky. Head too big. Fingers too stubby. Nope, none of them.

They're entering a small village now.
'Hey mate! Make a meal for us!' shouts one of the soldiers to the restaurant owner. What a rude prick. See, told you I'm not one of the soldiers.
Hurriedly the owner runs out the back and selects a pig from the pen to slaughter. No I am nowhere near fat enough to be a pig. Not the restaurant owner guy either - my eyes aren't that slanted.
As the soldiers eat, some old guy plays the Er Hu (Chinese violin) outside. The music is slow, lilting...the old guy is totally entranced by his own performance...eyes closed, head rolling from side to side. Gosh could it be? Could THIS be me in my past life? I mean, I can play an instrument.
And then he starts singing. A sharp, crooning voice, like chalk scratched across a blackboard. Okay, I don't sing like that. That can't be me.
'Shut the hell up old man!' yell the soldiers.

Outside, a young scholar strides hurriedly down the street, muttering under his breath. I don't talk to myself (I think. Do I? No, I'm sure I don't. Not usually. No.) He kicks a rock as he goes. Zoom in on rock. No, I am not an inanimate object. Zoom out.
The scholar bumps into a peasant farmer carrying a sackful of rice on his back.
'Watch where you're going,' the scholar whines.
'Sorry, sorry.'
A monkey scampers across, picking at scraps in the dirt. You can guess who that monkey is.
Back to the peasant. He's taking the rice to sell at the village square. Look at the way he's hunched over, staring at the ground. His hair is kind of spiky and matted, as if he put gel in it. Well there was no such thing as gel in those days (no dirty ideas please), so it must be all the sweat from not washing his hair in twenty years. He shuffles rather than walks. He looks lost. His caved-in head, vacant eyes, Neanderthal face......yes, that could be me. A woman walks by. He turns and gawks. Okay that's me. That's definitely me. Aidan the rice farmer. Aidan the peasant. Aidan th.......(*play dreamy harp music*)

Okay, I don't know why I wrote such a long pointless story. Guess I haven't written here in a long time, and thought I'd make up for it. With no less than a long pointless story, of course. But it doesn't matter, because I've got time. I've got all the time in the world baby*.
Why?
Because I've finished my thesis!!! I've finished ALL my assignments!!! I'M FINISHED!!! I'M FUCKING FINISHED!!! I'M FREE!!!
FREEEEEEEEEDOM!!!

*Not quite. I've still got a presentation and two exams. And then I have to find a job. Work. Save up. Buy a car. Have kids. Etcetera. Etcetera. Damnit.

"Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, but the very next day, you gave it away...This year, to save me from tears, I'll give it to someone special (special)..."

And so sings George Michael as we drive down to Maroubra Beach. Not a cloud in the sky, got the sun in our eyes...is this is a dream?
"Wouldn't it be funny if someone pulls up next to us and hears us listening to Christmas songs?" asks Michael from the front.
I slide down the window and yell 'Merry Christmas!' at two guys walking on the street. We all laugh.
We arrive at the beach and bring out the buckets of KFC we had bought earlier. We sit at the tables, the sound of waves interrupted intermittedly by the sound of chicken being torn apart and consumed, mixed with muted conversation.
Enjoying the breeze, the companionship, the pretty girls in bikinis (and of course, the KFC)..... I guess this is my escape, our escape, from the pressures of uni, of relationships, of life.
Wednesday lunch is a time where the only thing that worries us is "What should we eat?" and afterwards, "What should we eat?" Nothing else matters.

I want to thank Brian and Michael. For being my friends. For being there.
"What about me?" you wonder. "Haven't I been your dearest bestest friend?" Yes, I'm sure you have, and the time will come for me to show you my gratitude.
But in the meantime...Brian and Michael are the two guys who are always around, and who know how much I, and we, suffer through uni. They're always there to talk to, to complain to, to pay out and be stupid with. And yes, even though sometimes (most times) I don't approve of them, it doesn't matter, because they treat me like a friend and they will always be such to me.

Okay now, on the count of three everybody........
one...two...three........Awwwwwwwww....


"I thought you were here to stay.... How can love be for a day...."
sings George Michael in the the background.