Zero-Proof Fun

Listen to this story:

I grew up with teen movies featuring wild house parties: Superbad, Mean Girls, 10 Things I Hate About You. I got this impression partying would make my life exciting. I wanted the drama and chaos.

So, when my friends and I got to the legal drinking age, we would have casual hangouts at my best friend’s house that started with us quietly working on group projects and ended with at least one of us black-out drunk and sprawled on the floor. 

Getting that A+ in our media class? Drink. Graduating with the same group I started university with? Drink. Getting jobs right after graduation? That’s right, drink. We always found a reason to get together and grab a round. 

You’d think I’d learn my lesson, but I didn’t. 

Waking up in a trashed house with my friends and no real repercussions made me feel unstoppable. I didn’t even care when I vomited all over my best friend’s bathroom because she cleaned it up before her parents got up for work the next morning. I’m still their daughter’s perfect best friend in their eyes. “What else can I get away with?” I wondered, as I stumbled toward the kitchen to get a glass of water to wet my cotton mouth. 

This went on for over a decade.

Working for a fashion company in the heart of Metro Manila’s business district didn’t help. Friday nights would turn into Saturday mornings when I’d get dropped off in front of my house, fumbling for my keys as the morning sun hit my eyes. 

After spending 10 hours a day shackled to my office desk frantically making merchandise plans, copywriting marketing assets, and sending hundreds of e-mails back and forth, drinking reminded me I could let loose. The only thing I looked forward to at the end of the week was taking a shot and getting that burning sensation down my throat.

Office parties meant open bars, karaoke competitions with my co-workers, and our boss making us drink whiskey straight from the bottle. “We’ve all worked so hard this year! We deserve this,” we would all say as we downed another sorry bottle. It was a badge of honour to come to work the next morning wearing dark-tinted sunglasses and holding a cup of black coffee. 

When I did get a chunk of time off work, my friends and I would book flights to Singapore, Taiwan, or Hong Kong. A day of walking around exploring gardens and museums would always turn into a night of hitting up local bars, night markets, or even convenience stores with specialty alcohols and craft beers.  

For quick weekend getaways, we would take road trips to local beaches. We would gather around a small bonfire at sunset with a cooler full of our favourite San Miguel Pale Pilsen and hear crashing waves amidst our drunken laughter. 

Alcohol helped my shy, quiet self become more comfortable in crowds. There was an amazing sense of belonging when I clinked glasses with my friends. When I’d usually listen timidly and laugh at maybe a joke or two, I could now participate in conversations. That is, if I’m remembering it all correctly.  

With alcohol, I would feel no inhibitions. I wouldn’t think much about the consequences of a “fun” night. Whatever I did I could blame on the alcohol, then shrug it off and sheepishly say, “I was drunk. I wasn’t thinking straight.” 

One night, I made a horrible decision and got behind the wheel after convincing my friends I wasn’t too drunk to drive. I woke up the next day not remembering how I got home and saw my car parked diagonally across our driveway. 

It finally hit me. This lifestyle was wearing me out. I needed to get my act together and take better care of myself, so I made an appointment with my doctor. I did the usual check-ups, and she said that if I didn’t hear back from them within the week, I was good to go. 

I remember I was in the middle of an important client meeting when I got a call from my doctor. “Please come down to the clinic as soon as you can. I need to tell you this in person,” she said as I stepped out of the boardroom. I clutched my phone tightly as I struggled to let out an “Okay,” before hanging up. 

I got into my car, white knuckles holding the steering wheel. I was driving on autopilot, and I had to remind myself to breathe. 

One… Two… Inhale. 
One… Two… Hold it…  
Exhale. 

I urged myself to knock on the door. Three soft knocks were all I could manage. She called out for me to come in and told me to grab a seat as I closed the door behind me. It took everything to keep me from swinging that door back open and running as fast as I could. Maybe I could still avoid whatever was coming.

As I sat down, she asked me, “Have you been eating a lot of sugary food?” I tried to remember if I’ve been stuffing my face with chocolate. I shook my head no. “Do you feel weak or cold when you don’t eat every three hours?” I nodded and wondered how she knew to ask such a specific question. She paused a beat too long before asking one last thing. “Have you been drinking a lot lately?” I stared at her with my eyebrows furrowed. Seeing the confusion on my face, she said, “Your average blood sugar level for the past three months is way too high. I’m afraid you’re diabetic.”  

I was a little familiar with diabetes through knowing people diagnosed with it. I know it is a condition wherein the body is unable to produce enough insulin or cannot process it properly. I’ve seen some of my family keep this illness under control by regularly taking medications, but I also know it has no permanent cure. Add heavy drinking to the mix and it’s no wonder my blood sugar skyrocketed like that.

All those years of chugging down one more ultimately caught up and my body was paying for it. This is one consequence I can truly, fully blame on the alcohol. 

She handed me the prescription note scribbled with medications that promised to help regulate my condition, and I dragged my feet across the hall to the pharmacy. 

This was it — I had to embrace my newfound title: a retired party girl. 

Less than a year after this diagnosis, I uprooted my whole life to move to Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada where I would study communications. Life as I knew it changed drastically. It felt like the last 12 years were from a different lifetime. 

I became a college student again. I was learning about my new home and making new friends. I promised myself to get my priorities straight and to swear off drinking if I want to live out my dreams of seeing the world. 

In the Philippines, you can buy beer in every supermarket or corner store in your neighbourhood. Late-night beer runs are as easy and cheap as buying pop. But in Winnipeg, you can only buy alcohol in designated liquor stores that close relatively early — and alcohol is much more expensive, which also helped control my impulse.  

I was moving to a place that comes with a lot of changes — different seasons to get used to, different people to make new memories with, different places to explore — but will it be as fun without booze in hand? 

First Fall 

My first trip outside Winnipeg was to Riding Mountain National Park in Onanole, Manitoba. Endless rows of green and orange trees were all I could see as we sped through the winding roads in my brother-in-law and sister’s Jeep. I rolled the passenger window down, wanting to feel the autumn air on my skin while Valley’s Lost in Translation album blasted from the speakers. Who knew the insulated mug I had filled with warm green tea would come in handy after all my scream-singing? It was exhilarating. Maybe having fun without drinking is possible. Embracing my new lifestyle wouldn’t be so terrifying after all. 

First Snow 

“Who wants to go to a cabin in the woods?” I stared blankly at my phone screen when I got this message. I thought to myself, “I’ve seen Cabin in the Woods. Is this going to be safe?” I opened our group chat with one eye closed, scared of what the message meant. I let out a sigh of relief when I read through the thread about an end-of-term trip to Lac du Bonnet with my new friends. We were renting out a beautiful cabin with a big hot tub. 

We got to the cabin, and it was even more beautiful than what was in the pictures. High ceilings, a pool table that doubled as a huge dining table, a bedroom overlooking the living space right below. We sang Coldplay’s “Yellow” under our breaths while sitting on the balcony and staring out into the starry night sky. 

Before dinner, we played a few board games as songs I’ve never heard echoed through the cabin. Nassia, one of the friends I’d made in college, sat down beside me and asked, “What’s your go-to karaoke song, Christine?” With no second thoughts, I told her, “You can’t pry a microphone out of my hands when Britney Spears comes on.” We laughed as I popped the tab of my hard cider and raised the can her way. 

Zoe then called out from the kitchen, “I’m making mulled wine! Who’s drinking with me?”  

I hadn’t finished my cider yet, and I didn’t even know what mulled wine was, but I excitedly got up and grabbed a glass. I knew I shouldn’t be drinking. But since they all were and I was in a new place with new people, I convinced myself it was okay.

We woke up bright and early the next morning to frittatas and sausages for breakfast. And what’s breakfast without orange juice… and Prosecco.

First Spring 

Having only been in Winnipeg for six months at this point, and my old friends being thousands of kilometres away, I struggled to completely quit drinking. Was I really supposed to get rid of alcohol — the only familiar thing I had — when everything else was so unfamiliar?

Alcohol to me was what caffeine is to a corporate employee. Every single inconvenience would call for getting tipsy, and every single milestone would mean getting drunk. 

Finishing the first year of college meant my classmates and I had just survived a year of on-camera news reporting, madly writing up essays and ad copies, and getting tons of footage to edit into artistic videos. That definitely warranted a round. And a round of pink tequila shooters, we had. Or were they pink vodka shooters? It doesn’t matter; we gulped down whatever was in those shot glasses and washed it down with a pint of Stella Artois. When I’d guzzled every drop of that beer, I went up to the bar and got myself a glass of my favourite whiskey cola. 

What was I doing? It wasn’t even 6 p.m. yet. 

First Summer 

For my first birthday in Winnipeg, all I really wanted was a nice, quiet celebration. Maybe sleep in ’til noon. Maybe go to a park and read with an iced hazelnut latte. Maybe order in a bucket of Jollibee fried chicken and spaghetti while we watch She’s The Man. Simple. 

I did all those things on the days leading up to my birthday. But on my birthday? Not quite. 

“Come on, it’s your first birthday with us. We should do something more than that!” My cousin shouted as he told me his plans. “Let’s have a real party! We’ll play pool and party games. We’ll get you a real birthday cake and whatever food you want. The karaoke machine is set up and ready to go. I just need to swing by the liquor store to get you your ‘gift.’” He was grinning so wide, I wondered if the “gift” he said he’d get was for me, or him. 

The quiet birthday I wanted turned into the kind of wild house party I used to have in the Philippines. Bottles and red cups toppled on the bar counter. Stale, half-eaten pizza slices in boxes. Then there was me, slumped on the couch, still wearing my red dress and birthday girl sash. 

Some people get older, but not wiser. 

Second Fall 

Sticking to my decision to not drink was becoming more difficult as I tried new things. A week into my second year of college, my whole class went to a Winnipeg Goldeyes baseball game. Some of them got popcorn, poutine, and beer bats. I wondered if I needed a beer bat to get the full experience. I shook off the thought and quietly sipped my lemonade instead. 

“We’re going to this pub after the game for a karaoke night, Christine,” Angel, one of my classmates, said. “Don’t ask questions, just say yes.” I laughed as I dismissed any questions I wanted to ask. I just walked with my classmates without knowing where we were going. 

We reached a set of stairs that led us to a basement pub called Wee Johnny’s Pub & Eatery. I was surprised — karaoke was different here. It wasn’t a private room where only you and your friends can hear you sing, or make weird noises you try to pass off as singing. It was a dingy place so packed it forced us to share sticky tables with a group of strangers. It was a microphone on a stage. It was a performance in front of all the patrons of that pub that night. 

I am NOT drunk enough for this, I thought. I could use a tequila shot to get rid of my nerves right now.

Though I was really wanting to drink, I asked for a glass of cold water instead. I busied myself with taking videos with my friends and singing along at the top of my lungs. It turned out to be a completely different Friday night from what I previously would’ve had, but it was the first night in a long time I had fun without drinking. I went home proud my friends did not need to wrestle me into an Uber. I got up early the next morning with so much energy even though I was out late the night before. 

December 31^st. The last day of the year. 

I have this New Year’s Eve tradition of sitting with my thoughts. I hold my journal in one hand and my phone in the other as I reflect on the past year and write down my goals for the coming year. 

I was so disappointed with myself when I saw my top goal last year was cutting down on alcohol. I did lessen my drinking, and I was keeping my diabetes under control, but it wasn’t without struggles and my efforts were surely not enough.

This year needs to be different. 

Dry January 

I was scrolling through Instagram when I saw several spots across the city would feature non-alcoholic drinks for an entire week. “Up for a girls’ day out this Saturday?” I asked my friend Kiana. She texted back, “Absolutely!” and I sent her the DrinkSense Mocktail Week map. 

The new Canada’s Guidance on Alcohol and Health, released in early 2023, brings more awareness to the harmful effects of alcohol, especially on health. When a person has three or more drinks in a week, they are increasing their risk of getting life-threatening illnesses like cancer, heart diseases, and stroke. I for sure had more than three drinks a week in the past, but here’s hoping it’s not too late to change that. 

Downtown Winnipeg was so beautiful and white that Saturday afternoon. When we got to Amsterdam Tea Room and Bar, we were guided to a table for two beside the huge windows. Crossover jazz played throughout the place when I got my peach and mango oolong tea and bitters mocktail. Two empty mocktail glasses later, we went outside to our next stop and admired the picturesque, wintry streets. 

As we walked down Bannatyne Avenue, we saw a red brick building that stood out against the whiteness of the snow. It looked so cozy and warm, a nice contrast to the chill we were feeling. We hurried inside Peasant Cookery. The first thing we saw was the inviting fireplace at the far end of the lounge and got the table right beside it. I looked over the mocktail menu and ordered the non-alcoholic gin and spiced fireside chai tea. Fireside G&T by the fireplace — sounds perfect!  

It was already dark when we made our way to our final stop: Darling Bar, a dimly-lit basement lounge filled with couples capping off their date night and groups of friends hanging out on black leather couches. We took our seats by the bar so we could chat with the bartender and sing along to the old-school R&B songs they were playing. 

I went home without a buzz, but with the same happy feeling I associated with nights when I did. I was slowly finding my way back to my shell and it no longer felt like a cage. That’s when I realized the root of my drinking. It’s not that I wouldn’t have as much fun as when I’m drunk. It’s that I was terrified to face my anxieties alone and clearheaded. 

I kept going back and forth because I thought getting drunk and forgetting about my problems was the same as facing them head-on and solving them. But all alcohol truly gave me was more problems. 

Looking back on those drunken nights, there was one thing I failed to see then. I didn’t have fun because I was intoxicated. I had some of the best nights of my life because I was with people who mattered to me. 

My friends were still there during the days when I didn’t feel like talking. They would gladly yap enough for all of us, I wouldn’t even hear myself think. 

They were still there when all I wanted to do was lie in bed, shovel ice cream at my face, and watch rom-coms all night. They would come over in their pajamas with a gallon of mint chocolate chip, shove me to the other side of the bed, and get under the covers with me. 

They were still there when I pulled up in front of their house unannounced, ambushing them with a long drive to nowhere and dropping them off two hours later just to sit in the car and talk some more. 

They were still there the morning after. 

Celebrating the next milestones of my life like graduating from college or turning a year older is going to be even more exciting now that I know true happiness does not come from a drink in my hand. It comes from sharing these moments with people who cared about me. 

Who’s up for making memories we won’t regret and forget? First round is on me!