Dance Away Your Heartache

June 29, 2003 at 3:54 pm | Posted in Ennui, Kule, Writings | Leave a comment

The shot of tequila crawls down my throat. The liquid starts probing my body like a tongue on fire. It inches its way to every pore of my skin, my cold sweat a contrasting testament to the burning sensation I feel. For a moment, I forget the memories of a man I love so deeply, and banish my thoughts of him to the ruins of my shattered mindscape.

The mobile revolves above the dance floor, splintering the light into teasing colors of red and blue and green. The music blares and people gather with their feet on the floor. This night is not about to end.

This is la vida loca, and it comes with a price. Here I am, spending a boring Saturday night in the company of strangers who are looking for a great time. Conversation centers around nada and much nada which is nada into nada with nada and a nada. Here, solitude is a sickness and inhibition is the only sin. We leave our worries at the doorstep and step in to the dark embrace of the dance floor.

Laughter provides us with a transient cure for the loneliness we are all trying to forget. We dance the night away, our bodies gyrating with mad abandon, only to wake up with the weight of the previous night hanging over our heads. Here, companionship resembles a leaving lover�s last kiss — feigned and mechanical. The thought that I came here of my own volition makes me hate myself as much as I despise this place.

Because here, the art of dancing has been bastardized, customized to cater to our need for human contact. As a tool of concealment, people make use of dance without understanding why they move their hands and feet around, except that it provides them with a reason to be away from their troubles outside. In effect problems are relegated to oblivion, if only for a moment. Maybe I am only talking about myself. Or maybe I only think too much.

After all, the allure of escaping is too sweet to resist. So I might as well give in. The rhythm kicks in and soon I am swinging my arms and shouting like an angry banshee. My feet start to trace an invicible pattern on the floor and my hips begin to grind to the tune of George Michael’s Fast Love. I feel the shots of tequila I had earlier start to take effect. My sorrows catch up with me, and I begin to have delusions about him.

I start to think back to a night that never happened, when I revealed to him how I loved him, and how he loved me back as we danced to a song whose title I now cannot recall.

Tonight, however, I dance alone. The crowd goes wild when the jock plays an REM staple. In unison, the audience croons the lyrics in a mangled tune “Losing my religion..trying to keep an eye on you..and I don’t know if I could do it..” I lose myself in the song trying to erase his images from my mind. Everyone seems to be having a good time, so why can’t I? But he haunts me like a phantom, and a part of me aches for his presence. This place reeks of pure, unabashed hedonism but in the middle of the dance floor and surrounded by people, I have never felt so alone.

[writing as Simon Nathaniel F. Macario
published in the Collegian way back in 1999]


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