Love – The Tragic Queen

The best part about having a summer birthday is being able to spend it by some body of water, enjoying the sunshine and beautiful summer weather.

The worst part about having a summer birthday (in the realm of first world problems) is that no one is ever around for the summer, making it difficult to actually have any company around said body of water to enjoy the sunshine with.

But a few of my friends would still be in the city for my birthday this year, so I planned to get a girl gang together to spend the day at Long Beach.

It would be a “hot girl summer birthday,” as Megan Thee Stallion would probably put it. Me and my friends would be soaking up sun and saltwater, lounging on a clean, pristine beach, while fantasizing that we were in San Tropez instead.

The plan was to make a pitcher of sangria in a half-gallon reusable water bottle and distribute it using mason jars. We would get lunch from one of the fabulous dining establishments that lead up to the beach, and at the end of the afternoon we would walk down the boardwalk for soft serve ice cream, covered in artificially-colored, confectioned sugar, and swirled prettily in waffle cones. We would have the makings of a perfect beach day, having everything but tiny paper umbrellas to stick in our drinks.

There were several issues with this plan.

First: no alcohol was allowed on the beach.

Second: no glass was allowed on the beach.

Third: it was raining on the beach.

My hot girl summer birthday party was off to a rocky start.

The backup plan was to go to a karaoke bar, get a private room, and scream-sing angry girl music from the 90s while downing a pitcher of margaritas. Once it was obvious that it was going to rain all day, that was the plan we stuck with.

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We decided to brave the storm at RPM Underground, a basement-like karaoke bar in Hell’s Kitchen that looks how I imagined it would if a bomb shelter had neon lights.

My friends arrived one at a time, wind-blown and damp, but ready to sing.

If the experience taught me anything, it’s that karaoke is one of the best ways to spend a rainy day and one of the best ways to spend a birthday.

RPM Underground didn’t have a pitcher of margaritas, but they did have a bucket of soju and there was plenty of angry girl music to go around.

My go-to karaoke song is “Bitch” by Meredith Brooks, the perfect song to let off steam as a woman. There was also Avril Lavigne, Alanis Morrisette, Taylor Swift, Pierce the Veil, Sade, Chappell Roan, and, at one point, Megan Thee Stallion. Singing in front of other people will make you realize just how talented those artists are.

Everyone had different taste in music, but we could all enjoy an off-key rendition of “Hot n Cold” by Katy Perry. We bopped around the room singing as poorly as we wished, downing the fruity bottles of soju, which are deceptively alcoholic.

Once the party started to wind down, we cut the cake. I ordered a lavender chocolate mousse cake that I got custom-made with a fun inscription.

We left the karaoke place after our two hours were up, full of chocolate cake and Korean alcohol, with our voices shot, but having had a fun time. This birthday party was one for the books, since it was spent in good company, cheering our drinks and serenading each other.

*The smoothest karaoke song of the night*

Once my birthday was behind me, I was ready to feel the lobotomy that apparently happens when you turn 25. Your prefrontal cortex is finished developing and finally you have common sense, or so I am told.

Unless I am imagining it, I thought that I could feel the chemical change that my brain underwent. In some ways, it was like completing a level in a video game or taking a hit of someone’s ADHD medication: you’re locked in like never before.

Turning one year older feels strange when you’re concerned about the state of the world and I am more concerned with the state of the world than ever before, which is saying something. It makes it hard to understand my future and for the first time in my life, it felt like I couldn’t see my future all that clearly.

I still don’t know what to make of this other than the fact that this might just be a part of what it means to be 25.

No matter what, I intend to be hopeful as I enter into my 25th year. Everyone that I have spoken to about it has said that 25 is a great age. You’re close to 20 and you’re close to 30, with a quarter of a century lived, and hopefully, at least two more quarter centuries yet to live. The important thing to remember is that at 25, you’re still just starting out. There is still plenty of time for mistakes, new beginnings, career changes, breakups, breakdowns, and other epic highs and lows.

And hopefully, many happy returns.

Thank you to all of my friends who showed up for my birthday and made it truly special! And to everyone else who has a summer birthday like me: happy birthday!

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

P.S.: Check out my most recent blog post about how I did spend the day at the beach when the weather was permitting.

It’s official: I have graduated from Columbia University!

My friends and I sat outside in our full regalia in 90 degree heat— meaning that we earned our degrees and then some. Everyone was sufficiently irritable by the time that our group was called, but happy, nonetheless with our accomplishment.

We sat around in this apocalyptically warm weather, listening to existential speeches on the dangers and trappings of AI all while celebrating the creation of art in troubling times.

My friends and I sat in the tiny but mighty writing section, shaking our tambourines. Every school was given a prop; ours were tambourines for reasons that would soon become obvious.

*Official picture from Columbia’s instagram page. Note how I am the only one not looking*

The highlight of the ceremony was John Baptiste’s surprise musical performance. As an honorary doctorate of the School of the Arts, Baptiste stopped by on his way to the final taping of Late Show with Stephen Colbert to treat us to his musical stylings.

He sat down at the piano, opening with Für Elise before moving on to a truly modern rendition of “if you’re happy and you know it” to which the writing section got to shake their tambourines. His fingers fluttered over the keys like it was nothing, while singing effortlessly, like he was just opening his mouth and pouring out beautiful music.

That night, we had a separate graduation ceremony for the School of the Arts in which me and a few of my friends walked across the stage and accepted empty envelopes for diplomas that will be arriving in the mail in the coming weeks.

One professor semi-praised AI in his speech and was promptly shouted down (praising AI to a group of students who just went into hundreds of thousands of debt for a job in an industry that will probably no longer exist in a few years during one of the worst job markets in recent history seems like peak tone-deafness to me).

I had a fun time as I celebrated the last graduation of my life (though I would not turn down an honorary doctorate one day).

My time at Columbia was extraordinary. I met some pretty amazing writers, and with that, some pretty cool people, but most importantly, my writing has been shaped and sharpened, more than I ever thought possible. Sitting there, in the blistering heat, I thought about all of the work that I put into it, how I hardly slept as I rushed to finish submissions, gave and received feedback on novels, and read all kinds of fiction.