Our conversations always began late at night.
Sometimes, he’d send me a song and ask if I liked it. Other times, I’d share a draft of something I’d written, seeking his thoughts. Occasionally, we’d critique people’s outfits (I know it’s wrong, but we shared an unspoken, meticulous standard for fashion). We’d also swap stories of quirky friends and laugh at their antics (yes, I know that’s wrong too).
And then, there were the nights when the air turned heavier. One sleepless night, he asked, “What are you listening to right now?”
Wan Qing Nian Lv Dian (Omnipotent Youth Society), I told him.
"Qinhuangdao?"
"Yes."
"Me too," he said.
I told him, “It’s a strange question, asking what I’m listening to at a time like this. It’s like when someone says they watched four films on a plane, and I ask which ones. They’d probably think I was weird. Most people don’t care about films or music.”
He replied, “But I care.”
"I know," I said.
With him, it always felt like our shared interests created little coincidences. Still, in a world with millions of songs, it’s remarkable to find ourselves listening to the same one at the same time.
One day, I shared a new song I’d just discovered on Facebook. Moments later, he sent me a message. Even before opening it, I guessed what he’d say: that he liked the song too. But instead, he asked, “Did you just discover this today?”
"Yes, just a few minutes ago."
"That’s unbelievable. I just heard it for the first time and was about to post it when I saw your update. This song is so addictive.”
Then he asked, “Radiohead is playing in Tokyo this August. Want to go together?”
I’ve always had trouble turning people down. The idea of watching Radiohead live with someone who loves them as much as I do felt better than going alone. Besides, he might’ve been asking casually, not expecting a real answer.
So I said yes. I agreed to travel to Tokyo with a guy I’d barely met, which turned out to be our graduation trip. Crazy, right? I’d already planned to visit Tokyo in June, but going back just for Radiohead seemed entirely worth it.
It reminded me of the wild ending of The Graduate. Madness fuelled by youth, madness propelled by uncertainty. As a social science graduate, I’d seen countless cases proving that confusion and chaos are intricately tied to societal conditions. The Graduate was released in 1967, a year of riots in both the US and Hong Kong. Norwegian Wood, set in the 1960s, unfolds during Japan’s student protests. And in Hong Kong, the massive student movement of 2014 has profoundly shaped our generation’s outlook on the future.
Benjamin: “It’s like I was playing some kind of game, but the rules don’t make any sense to me. They’re being made up by all the wrong people. I mean, no one makes them up. They seem to make themselves up.”
As for why The Graduate came to mind—besides agreeing to such a reckless invitation—the song we’d both stumbled upon at almost the same time was Graduate by Handsome Ghost.
"Around we go, dreaming that we'll leave this town
And if we don't, we'll both go down together."
