‘I came here to dance’

A sight of a two huge muscular security guards both wearing black shirts and pair of jeans standing side by side at the widely opened entrance door will welcome you as soon as you jumped off the car. Outside, there are pairs and groups of people wearing their best suites for the night either just waiting for someone or just taking some fresh air from a suddenly, ironically quiet world outside. You haven’t gotten near the entry yet but the music from the inside is already so loud as if a headphone was actually stuck in your ear.

As soon as you get in, an even ear piercing noise would bolt from the blue, vibrating from every corner of the place up to the floor, with strips of lights zigzagging through the people up to the ceiling. The scent of cigarette smoke has blended faultlessly with the air conditioner temperature below 17 degrees. Everyone’s jumping in sync with the crazy beat as you make your way to an impossibly empty table, you’re lucky if you’d find one.

DJ

Nothing in this club would make me come back—people with chimneys stuck in their throat, dance partners dry humping, drunk strangers, an intoxicated bouncing disk jockey, snotty waiters, girls doing sexually satisfying dance number, among many annoying things.  But I kept coming back. Still, I kept coming back.

I came here to dance.

That’s would I always say. But it’s more than that. I know I’m better than that person who keeps on using such a lousy reason. So, I tried to figure out what kept me going back to that kind of place.

In a club, or a bar, people do crazy things like drink a lot until they get lost, so much that they no longer recognize the pain they are carrying with them. Over the years, I realized that music and alcohol is a match made in heaven but it could also be as deadly as hell. It’s that sort of pair that gives you the freedom to lose yourself by literally losing yourself even amidst a sobered crowd. You’d be lucky if the people you were with also got drunk but a slightest touch of regret will hit you once you’ve learned you’re the only person in your group that completely messed up that night.

A few weeks ago, I was there again but not to dance and lose myself. A company official brought us there, a group of business reporters, after a Karaoke get-together.

What was he thinking?

Although we were relatively chummie chummie with this official, I still don’t get it why we were there. Eventually, almost everyone in the group started half bouncing to the ear-piercing music. Seated on a couch inside the VIP area, God only knows how I lost my pacing against my bonding moment with my dear Jack Daniels mixed with cola. I drank a lot that night. I was trying to get rid something off my mind that was brought about my decision to join the group there. For some reasons, I regretted becoming the person I became a few years ago up to now, the person who secretly has a passion for dancing but tried to miserably unleash it in a wrong place like this.

I’ve always been a person with so many issues spanning from near-term to long-term. Way back then, I dealt with one of my issues by rebelling against what I dislike doing. I went clubbing and dancing with people I barely know right after I broke up with my ex. Before that, I wouldn’t forget how I told him I’d never ever go to a club and dance like a mad person as if doing so is such a disgrace. I said I don’t like drinking but I did and enjoying every bit of the habit now. I’ve turned myself into a different person. Pain injected changes within me that did not make me better.

As I sip the last drop from the glass of jack-coke I have been caressing within my palm the whole night, I realized I don’t want myself anymore, how it looks, the way it thinks, and what it has been doing.

That time, I did not come to dance. I was there to realize that I do not belong to that place. I should be somewhere better like in a coffee shop where I can stay with my friends and talk about life and random, intelligent things. But even if loathed myself a little bit more, by going there I also figured out I’m still not a hopeless case. I could still change for the better, dig what has been left behind and carry it with me in the present. Even if I can’t be a better person, at least I can be like someone that I used to be… not that I have been perfect before.

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