I spent Friday and Saturday clubbing at Supperclub and Rebel respectively.
Just last week, I’ve graduated with a diploma in Accountancy and I’ve received an amended enlistment letter that shortened my conscription time. Despite the many reasons to be glad, melancholy and gloom has seeped into the cracks of my soul.
More than ever, I’ve contemplated the definition of happiness and how societal expectations robs me of my free will as an individual. I’m not a bad person, but I’ll be forced to do unthinkable things. It kills me to know that the choices presented to me will end up hurting someone.
I realised that as you grow older, especially as a guy, it becomes difficult to cry. This doesn’t refer only to the facade of machismo that society expects us to maintain. The emotions feel so familiarly numb that you hesitate to react.
Drunk At Supperclub
Last Friday, the sorrow finally manifested in uncontrollable sobbing when I became high at Supperclub. I continued to drink, hoping to drown the sorrows and attune my body to the beats of the nightclub music. Before long, I felt the mood to dance but was drunk for the first time.
Based on the night’s events, my mind was conscious of what happened and I was able to assert control over myself. I was able to recall everything that happened (except when my eyes were shut). However, in my drunk state, my mobility was affected. I remember being walked to the toiled when I suddenly collapsed. Feeling the firm grip of Eugene and Zhen Xing, I knew I was in good hands and spent my time observing my drunken stupor till I was overcome by the urge to vomit.
As I hadn’t eaten the entire day, except for 2 buns at BreadTalk, I wasn’t able to vomit. I had to dig my fingers into my throat to induce vomit while kneeling in front of the silver toilet bowl. When I was helped back to our table, I layed down sideways. Occasionally I tried to sit up so that I would recover, but I was unable to due to the strong urge to vomit.
When I finally managed to sit vertically, I grabbed the garbage bag that someone had gotten for me (I could hear them talking earlier even though my eyes were closed). I remember puking into the garbage bag, with Brenda beside me patting my back. I then hoped that someone would get me a glass of water. After what felt to me like milliseconds, I looked up and there Brenda was with water. That was when I realised that my sense of timing and thoughts were very sluggish.
When I was drunk, it felt so easy to drift off into my own world and ignore my surroundings. Everything felt spontaneous because I lost the ability to hesitate. Yes, I must have taken some time to process information. But once I knew what was being said, my response was given without further thought. I wouldn’t say it was bliss, but having a diminished mental capacity to hold only a few thoughts at a time does help in reducing the pain of melancholy.
By the time I recovered, it was 3.27am. My friends took me to the dance floor and it was over within 15 minutes. I hadn’t danced the entire night.
Dancing At Rebel With A Ripped Plastic Bag
Determined to dance at the nightclub, I decided to go clubbing again on Saturday after my graduation dinner. It was unfortunate, but I had no desire to discuss University, work, or the future with my graduation mates at a pub; I hadn’t applied to a university, I wasn’t working and my future is painful.
Since none of my graduation mates were in the mood to club, I met up with Jhansi, Bala and his NS friends. We sat at the bridge near Liang Court at Clarke Quay and had some strong Whiskey. I declined the second bottle when I felt extremely high. Both Jhansi and I headed to the toilet and my body’s coordination was wobbly.
Managing to jump the queue at Rebel because of Bala’s friend’s connections, I entered the club without much fuss. Yet, I was dancing with a plastic bag on my arm (with Norton Antivirus won during the graduation dinner lucky draw). The rest of them was too high to wait for me to lock the plastic bag up.
By the time I left Rebel at 4am, my plastic bag was ripped and I was still high. I felt lonely at then. Bala and Jhansi had already left the club an hour ago because Bala was drunk. And I had been hanging around Bala’s friends.
I stumbled to the vending machine and looked for my wallet, realising that the pouch containing my IC and EZ-link card was missing from my pocket. I panicked and looked through the ripped plastic bag and felt damn lucky that I found the pouch. The hole in the plastic bag was big enough for the pouch to drop out during my 3 hours at Rebel.
The one-hour wait for the Night Rider (bus) was not that eventful, save for the arguing couple that was hitting each other. I had to summon my efforts to walk stably upon reaching home as my dad had just returned from cab driving.