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19:45
The air had a minty kind of crispness as I walked down a dimly-lit road through the business district. Nobody was to be seen around. The last car I saw passed me ten minutes ago. I had been dropped off about half a kilometer from where I needed to be, and all through this time one question pervaded my mind: “Why?”
I had exhausted all my options earlier, and willingly doomed myself to whatever was to come by stepping out of my mother’s car. My friends were unable to understand why. My parents were unable to understand why. I was barely able to understand why. But I had a better understanding than anyone else could, if that could amount of anything significant. A part of me kept telling me to turn back, to stop this outrageous charade. Yet, if compelled by some kind of cruel fate, I subconsciously treaded on.
19:53
The lights of venue were almost in vision now; the only lights in what otherwise was a dark row of concrete bastions. A limousine drove past me. Though I had no idea of the people inside, I presumed that they were all here for a very different purpose than I.
I was almost at the venue now; I could make out the figures of the silhouettes I saw from afar. Young men, who were crossing, though many would profess to have already crossed it, the line from childhood into adulthood, wearing mostly the same uniform – a cheap black dress shirt with a tie, were chatting. All the while their dates, who were also chatting, stood abreast from them. They had the all the awkwardness of girls who were physically mature, but not spiritually mature. Despite this awkwardness, they all took pride in embellishing themselves to almost unrecognizable lengths. Their hair was towered up in various curling masses. They had on dresses that almost seemed to shine in the dim light, and I could only guess that they were having some cruel contest to see who could have the shortest dress without passing the limits of morality.
The parking lot was full of cars that were all stuck circling around the lot in hopes of finding an empty parking space. Obviously the planners of the event had no idea that there would be such a strong turnout. The lot teemed of all the chaos of inexperienced and impulsive teenage drivers enclosed in a very limited space. A crash had already occurred; a boy and girl, who were probably a grade younger than me, were arguing, spewing curses at each other, while their passengers awkwardly stood beside them.
19:58
A few vacant eyes of people who were bored of waiting for the rest of their group happened to glance at me as I walked to the line to buy tickets at the door. I could tell that they were staring at me, not for my dress, for I was in a suit, and probably over-dressed, but for the fact that I was alone. I knew what they were wondering. Is he waiting for his friend? Are his friends inside? Have his friends already bought tickets? Are his friends still trying to find a parking space? Is he actually here alone?
I was aware of the risks, of the negative publicity, and of the possible embarrassment of my solo escapade. As I handed over the eighty dollars for the ticket, I was thinking of the purpose of my coming here, and the things that those eighty dollars could have accomplished otherwise. I was so deep in thought that I was caught unawares when the vendor asked me, “Are you here with any particular group?”
Subconsciously, I mechanically answered with all the naïve truthfulness of a criminal who just admitted his guilt. “No, I’m here alone,” I replied.
After a second I realized what I had said. A horrible mistake on my part, and I could already tell what the receptionist was thinking before she even replied. I knew she was going to ask about why I was wasting money, and about why I was alone. Nobody understands me.
The last time I had ever been to a social was three years ago, when I was still optimistic but naïve. I purposely contorted my personality and image to be able to dance with others. It took me the better part of an hour to gain that mindset, but I still enjoyed the night. I felt as if I would become socially normal within a year, but fate struck again, and we had to move.
The first year after my move I spent alienated from everyone around me. During that year, my former friends and classmates changed. While I rotted in a state of stagnancy, those friends matured. Their get-togethers started to become more about attracting the opposite sex. Some even started relationships. I was stuck trying to find new friends in a hostile environment. Now those very friends, whom were just as childish as me when I left them, live a life nearly akin to the people in the music video “Like a G6.”
I was unsure about my purpose of even attending this social. Perhaps I felt that I needed the experience, yet I had already pledged myself not to contort myself into something that I was not. Plus, there was no way that I would be able to wedge myself into friendships that had lasted since elementary school, and couples hopelessly lost in love. I felt that I was on a quest to define myself, to find my identity. The cruel fate of a coin flip had led me here; it was now fate’s turn to offer a reward. To others, I was simply wasting money. However, paying eighty dollars to discover a piece of your identity is a cheap price to pay, for knowledge that will last a lifetime.
20:05
I was the in foyer. A sparkling chandelier overhead was starkly out of place with the rest of the furniture, which mostly consisted of wooden and plastic arrangements. A few sickly planted palm trees stood beside an open door through which a kind of smoke festered out of. The pounding sound of bass also came from the door. Through the darkness of a dimly flashing disco-ball, I saw the silhouettes of couples awkwardly waiting. That door led to the dance floor.
The other door, through which mostly larger groups walked through led to a larger room, a kind of conference hall, had banquet-style tables laid out. Sprawled on the tables were refreshments and beverages. Most of the groups congregated against the walls and began bickering as if it were just a normal lunchtime meeting at school.
The third door led to the arcade, a small conference room, which had all of the latest game consoles on huge projection flat screens. Mostly groups of three or four boys populated this room. Some had on a look of disgust, as if their turn to play had been skipped. Some openly talked about how they were “forced to go by their friends,” and how they were the odd ones out, since they did not have dates.
I saw a few people whom I knew, yet they were all too self-absorbed in their game to bother to greet me. I simply walked over to the edge of the room and sat down on a couch, and decided to watch them play.
20:4X
Had I dozed off? Those boys were still playing their game, evidently a new one, for they were playing on a different map. As I raised my sleeve to wipe off some drool that had accumulated on the left corner of my mouth, I noticed a wet spot on my sleeve. Guess so.
I had no intention of watching people play violent games all night, so I decided to once again return to the room with the refreshments. Having not eaten since midday, I decided to snatch some stale crackers and half-baked cookies. Someone offered me a drink, which I accepted without thinking too much of the matter. After one sip, I heard someone on the other side of the room greet me, and he beckoned me to join them for their photo, probably out of sympathy of my being alone.
20:5X
After the photo, a wonderful way to superficially capture and more superficial event, the group, which consisted of mostly my classmates, with a few people whom I had never seen before, dispersed. I heard someone mutter something about the dance floor. For no apparent reason, I decided to follow them.
The dance room was still a choking mess of smoke, rancid perfumes, and blasting music. The people in the dance room were mostly all dancing now, caught in some contagious fervor. They were all in grotesque positions. I spotted a few people whom I had I known to be against this kind of suggestive dancing, but they too had become engulfed by the maelstrom that was the dance floor. Without really knowing why, I tried to enter into the center of the dance floor, which was nearly impossible for it was guarded by a hundred swaying barriers. I felt slightly dizzy…
The song changed, from some slow, sleazy love song, to a drum-and-bass remix of some popular song. There was something absurdly enchanting about the rhythm, as the disease began to take root in myself. It started from the rhythm that I walked, which soon attached itself to the very rhythm of the song. Then my feet started tapping to the beat, and before I knew it, I was in a state of ecstasy, hopelessly lost in the swirling vortex of hundreds of bodies also dancing to the beat. Everything became more blurry and relative; the lights of the disco balls overhead blurred themselves into one continuous rainbow…
22:XX
I was rather rudely broken from my euphoria, as the vortex had dumped me off the dance floor. I tripped, and fell straight on a packaged condom, which was I was probably more sorry for than it was sorry for me. Looking, once again, at the panorama of hundreds of people engaged in pseudo-sexual acts, smelling, once again, the nauseating mix of body odor and fragrances, hearing music that seemed distorted and off-balance – it was all too much. I had ended up on the completely opposite side of the dance floor, the side near the emergency exit, and in a state of almost unnatural rage, I left through it.
Only when I completely left the venue, and entered the parking lot, which was deserted except for a few people who were smoking, did I bother to check the time. I had been dancing for over an hour. I expected to feel some kind of high, but it never came, and only left me more depressed than I had been entering the place. I felt that there had to be something more, something more rewarding. Is this all that life had to offer? Was this all that there was to be?
As I walked away from the event, my head was spinning, in some sort of conflict between the emotions of hate and depressing, my mind disoriented from whatever substance was in that drink I had. Yet, I came to the realization, as the music faded away, until only a faint pounding of the bass could be heard, that it was all not worth it. All the things that I had, in jealously and selfishness, revered of others, had come exposed in full view tonight. I had even had a chance to experience those things tonight, but like the anemic, was unable to swallow the harsh reality of how disappointingly mundane those things were in practice.
I had come with a purpose, a purpose to find out who I was. I felt like I had accomplished nothing, but in accomplishing nothing, had discovered something. Perhaps I could wait, perhaps I was not meant for it, and perhaps I was never meant to find out.
In some kind of depression, my mind in a haze, I walked on, through the silent streets of the business district, not having a purpose or direction. I felt like the spiritually dead, who are dead inside, but forced to rot and anguish inside their corpses until their physical life gives out…
00:22
I must have walked in almost a perfect circle, because the same classmates, whom I had posed for the picture with, were now driving home. They waved at me, and boisterously shouted my name. I had no choice but to step into their car.
They were incessantly talking about how awesome the night was, laughing about the stupid things they had done, everyone generally having this immense gratitude towards whomever it was who planned the whole event. I could care less about their conversations; the horrible smell of sweat pervaded the car, and even after asking the driver to lower the windows, still persisted. It was as if the air also had to have this same rancid smell.
Suddenly, someone, as if disturbed by the fact that I appeared to have been knocked out, my eyes completely red, asked me, “How was your night?”
“Horrible,” I replied.
“Sorry for handing you that drink dude… I didn’t know what was in it. Must have been some pretty bad stuff.” They once again resumed their conversation.
As the car drove down the half-deserted highway, I could not help wondering what my purpose of my life was, and by what means was I to discover it.
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