On the Vacuity of Clubbing.

Clubbing in Singapore is a sordid affair. While in theory (and on TV), we see people enjoying themselves as they dance all night to the groovy music, making friends, making out and living the life like they’re supposed to, in reality, it is nothing close, at least for me.

So I enter a club after paying cover charge of $38 dollars with my heart bleeding from the entry stab. I navigate through the club with my friends, bouncing to the Dum Dum Dum of the EDM simply because it’s something to do, not because I feel the music or anything like that. Cheap. We found a table that’s opened by our friend and we start to drink. Soon, someone will suggest we go to the dance floor and we’ll move through the thick, annoying crowd again just to get closer to the ear-deafening speakers and into a bigger crowd of autobots who raise one hand up and jump like idiots. At this point, I would often look at the crowd and marvel at their communal stupidity. Look how pathetic you people are, I would think, before moving into the back of the crowd and raising my hand up and jumping along idiotically, until I grow so sick of myself and my conformist tendencies that I would puke all over.

Halfway through the night, I will move to the smoking corner to take a puff. Interestingly, the smoking corner is perhaps the best place to have a conversation with someone as it is the only place in the club where you can hear yourself. I dream of finding a girl who happens to be as disinterested in clubbing as me, who is smoking and looking melancholically out at the Singapore river and wishing she was in Switzerland – but it never happens. The girls I see there are either drunk, or are complete sluts (or the worst kind: drunk sluts), and so I always smoke by myself quietly.

The rest of the night passes slowly. Either I get drunk and zone out for the rest of the night, or I spend my time checking instagram on my phone wishing someone I followed will post something life-changing. The point is, by around 1 to 2 am, I am bored to death. Can there be any activity in modern life that is more vacuous, I find myself repeating this question two hundred times. By the time I step out of the club, my soul would be emanating despair.

I have never walked out of a club happy, and I don’t think I ever will.