To Make The Seen Unseen

wpid-wp-1438756193368.jpegTraveling enhances your mind, they say. You grow, develop, and improve – but what I didn’t know until now is that this process actually does not stop once you come back. In fact, coming back all grown and developed and improved lets you see the world you’re coming back to from a totally different angle, the one where you can suddenly see all the flaws and damages you have been uncontradicted adjusting to so far, probably not even noticing. And now you are in a dilemma – do you want to go back blending into these flaws and errors, adjusting gradually by regressing, or do you want to stay all enhanced? But how to bear those flaws and errors then? It’s the dilemma of suddenly knowing more – always a tricky situation.

For me, this dilemma was noticeable when I went out, back in my city, after a long vacation. And now, thinking about it, I wonder how I could ever cope with this nonsense that is happening in local bars without going insane. Probably because I was used to it. And maybe because of alcohol consumption.

ID-100216967You would think that going out is the same in every place, right? People dress up nicely (strangely enough, given the fact that it is dark in clubs and others are drunk; probably it’s a self-reassuring thing), meet with their friends, and go to a bar. They drink a bit, they dance a bit, they talk and flirt a bit. For some the night ends in some “adventure”, others just go home or return to their happy family life. Normal stuff.

But oh, not here! Here, everything is exactly the same in the beginning – and then it’s all different. People dress up nicely, meet with friends, and go to a bar. They drink a bit, and then a lot more, and then some more still. They don’t dance, but if they happen to end up on the space that could in other occasions be defined as dance floor, they try to present themselves from their sexiest and most available side. For girls that means boobs out, ass out, elbows out. Elbows? Yes, to chase away eventual competition (which is everything else that breathes besides themselves), or then just because it might be fun to punch people in the sides. For guys it means staggering around those girls, waiting for the ones who are ripe to be taken home. Usually, the best harvest time is around 3 am. Then everyone pairs up, the ones that are still left drink a bit more and become a touch more desperate (and aggressive), and try their luck until the bar closes. You could think their brains are programmed to satisfy a mysterious need of spending the night with someone, no matter the expense, and even if it means one of them is sleeping on a sofa. Just like their brains are programmed to buy yet another drink when walking straight, or simply looking straight, becomes an unsolvable challenge. Autopilot on. Autopilot takes good care of you.

ID-10048846What happens then is left to our speculation, but one can only assume that the night with two completely wasted people trying to get it on cannot be very close to what might be called a great sexual experience. Unless waking up in each other’s vomit is what accounts for a good adventure.

Unfortunately, this is not the saddest part of the story. The saddest part is the one where I try to share my horror about the newly discovered insights with my friends who, unluckily, did not leave for a month on a trip. And guess what, they see no problem in this whole disaster. They find it normal. One even refers to this humping-race without any flirting, talking or any other communication whatsoever as “getting the best piece of the cake right away”. I would rather call it eating an entire sugar bag instead of mixing it up with other ingredients and actually producing a cake.

You might ask yourself now, why not follow the live-and-let-live approach? Well, doable, but not in the same environment. Try to have some fun around a place where people systematically punch each other and desperately try to hook up with someone. The entire bar is filled with a smell of desperation, running-out-of-time panic and, oddly, fart. Maybe it’s supposed to work as an aphrodisiac.


Even ringing my newly acquired shame-bell does not make it more bearable…

Then you either get drinks over your clothes, an elbow into your throat, or someone mistakes you with one of the ripe fruits. In a usual night, probably all three of them together. Also, if you’re friends with guys, the chances are high you don’t even see them anymore after entering the bar because a swarm of desperate girls already buried them with their not-dancing bodies, or your friends themselves are the ones staggering around a group of not-yet-drunk-enough (and thus not yet ripe) fruits. So the only option, it seems, is to quit going out in this place and delay it to other places, where this behavior is not seen as normal. Because, believe me (and you people living in other countries, please second me) – it is not.

Image courtesy of vectorolie, Worakit Sirijinda and cjansuebsri at, and myself.
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One Response to To Make The Seen Unseen

  1. afooldreamer says:

    Next time I go out can I try my luck with your bell of shame?

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