Last night I had people give me attention, and embrace me. I went to a college party stone cold sober and stayed that way for 2.5 hours before going home.
Despite the moronic debauchery occurring in several overcrowded apartments, it was a refreshing evening. I will be inventing something called ‘College Party Bingo’ incase anyone is interested. For those who choose not to imbibe it can make a game out of people watching. Categories will include ‘spilt drink’ ‘stupid dangerous stunt’ ‘white boy yelling incoherently’ ‘drunk selfies’ ‘asked for cigarette’ (and more to come). I figure the winner can get a prize of some kind maybe a candy bar or a movie ticket.
I just ask myself what it must be like to live for the purpose of these kinds of parties you know? Like they wait all week just to binge drink with buds and pals in crowded overheated rooms with Christmas lights hanging from the ceiling. What purpose does this possible serve for society? I mean maybe letting off steam but it creates a lot more problems that in solves don’t you think? And I get the urge to want to be a part of it all. That is what we are socialized to want, to go to these parties and be popular and well liked and well known, not the ‘loser.’
These events are also so heterotoxic. Girls looking at boys looking at girls, who all occasionally stare at the gender bending freaks who all seem to hangout together. And this is a phenomenon I have observed countless times, one can only hook up within ones designated space with others who occupy that space. Queers in one, gay men in another, lesbians over there, and everyone else is heterosexual. Sometimes the gays and lesbians mix if there are friends or roommates in groups, and sometimes the queers and gays mix if the cultural expectations overlap. Bisexual white girls have it made for the most part, they have the most freedom to move from group to group. However they also face the most ‘slut shaming’ which is terrible but that has been getting better overtime. But non-binary non-sexually labeled individuals remain invisible on the outskirts of the party, the ‘loser.’
Fast forward a little, later that night someone gave me a back massage. They recommend I go to see a professional because of all the knots in my back. The funniest thing was, it had been so long since someone put their hands on me that I forgot I was ticklish. My body jumped and I had no clue what on earth had just happened. That was a huge part of my being for so very long, and in the last four years of my life it was all but erased, because no one had touched me. Because I have been on the outside looking in. Seeing all these patterns and people repeating themselves over and over, never thinking twice about giving someone like me a chance.
I forgot. I forgot part of myself. A part of myself that functioned around others. What a weird night.
Photo: Francis Pony, CPH, 2016