It’s a rainy Saturday afternoon, and I’m in a cafe reading a book when I noticed, not far from where I was sat a boy and a girl. “I’m scared,” he says, “that if anyone were to find out, I’d be damned.” She saw the fear in his eyes, extended her hands out and held his in hers though she didn’t understand - not yet, anyway - why he felt the way he did. A moment passed.
“I’m gay,” he announced. The tears that he had held back from the time he sat down to the time he uttered those words had finally passed. She tightened her grip on his hands as though to assure him that nothing had changed, and that he was loved for who he was.
That was the moment for me because two things happened. One was that I realized, “Oh my god, I don’t feel like that anymore but he does and I get it!” and the second was I knew that I had nothing to be afraid of, but he didn’t. I wanted to go up to him and give a hug, tell him I was where he is now before but that I had gained strength from it, and he will too.
I’ve, for some time, wanted to quit clubbing but I keep going back to it. Two weeks ago, I was at Taboo, a gay club in Singapore, and there was this moment of clarity, amidst the loud music and the dancing, when I asked myself, “What the hell am I doing here?”
Except for just one person I was with that night, I was spendingtime with people I didn’t care for. I looked around on the dance floor and saw the same faces from week after week, and that terrified me. I didn’t want to be them. I didn’t want to be forty and still be hitting the clubs.
Perhaps it is time to slow down. I’ve decided that to quit it completely isn’t going to work out in the immediate future (considering the many failed attempts at it over the past six months); cutting it down to once a month, however, seems to be a viable option… Wish me luck!