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I was sitting and watching people in a gay club, in a foreign country. The club was full of people – there were men, women, short, tall, beautiful, and not so beautiful. Some were born in that country, others have moved there recently. Black-haired, blonds, blue-eyed, green-eyed….they were laughing, having fun, leaving their houses to have a drink or two, to see friends, to meet new ones. They were smiling, dancing. I was looking into their faces, into their figures, their clothes demanding an answer, why they have gone to such a club, why they were gay? Whether a defect or lacks of charm made them turn to their own sex? Was it possible that they saw a way out of their social group or on the contrary due to their money, the luxury and boredom they started looking for something different, something more interesting? Their faces were different – diverse emotions could be seen – sadness, happiness, love… Some of them were fat, other had very attractive bodies, to which few would stay impassionate. Women – wearing make up, beautiful and kind. Women elegant and with almost no make-up. Women with striking clothes, fashionable colors. Women casually clothed. Women with furry jackets and military shoes. Women with tattoos. Men nicely shaved. Men having their beard unshaved for several days. Men with moustaches. Men with kind, almost female faces. Some of them wore costumes, ironed shirts and ties. Others wearing sporty and in some cases eccentric clothes. There was such a huge diversity.
The gestures of some were careful, showing calmness and good education, others were blunt and expansive showing their emotions and temper. Some were shy and embarrassing. The people there were the same as one can meet on the streets of this city, of this country, people one can see walking on the streets of each city, of each country…but those people were in that club, those people were gay.
I was trying to look into their faces – to see their souls, their thoughts, and story behind them, to seek for an answer why they were there, why the girls smiled and flirted with other girls, why men were men for other ones? Being a foreigner in that country I had the cleanest and pure aspect of view. In my head questions approached, whose answers I was trying to read through the faces of those smiling people. What was the mother of that guy with Armani’s costume, which of the parked cars belongs to him? Where had the guy with orange pants and braces studied English? Ooooh I think he is smiling and dancing for the elder gentleman with glasses. His movements were plastic, with passion coming from inside. The gentleman kept drinking slowly, enjoying his cigarette and smiling to the young man. Maybe to his vivacity…or…
In the corner, the dance was watched by an unattractive girl who just from time to time was looking at the blond girl, standing on the bar and attracting the company of 5-6 people, and then being worried she was looking away. Another visitor started talking to her and out of a sudden she stopped – she almost dropped her glass, her face became worried, and her lips moved in an attempt to find and say the word. It was dark and I couldn’t see very well her face, but I was sure that her redness was enough evidence. Could it be true that when she was little her father tried to beat her up? Did she have a father at all? And a mother?
On the dance floor there was another star. Beautiful, attractive and maybe having a little bit Latin American blood, but definitely with lots of passion and temper, typical exactly for those countries. They were dancing as they dance for a first and last time, as this was the way to describe their characters. Almost all of the visitors were staring at that girl. Her movements were exact and careful, and her face serious and smiling…it was concentrated …..concentrated in the dance, in the emotion which she was describing through it. A face on which both pain and happiness have left their mark, sadness and joy. A woman who has went through failures and triumphs. What has she gone through in her life? Has she been beaten by some guy? Did she have to choose between a career – yes, but first she had to sleep with somebody? What has life face her with?
Was there a “drama” in those people life’s’? Was there pain? Did this pain bring them up to her, up to this club? Did the raping, the torture, the insufficient love from their parents or someone else, or others unacceptable for the human mind and humanity actions hadn’t brought their life to this point, hasn’t made them gay?
The girl next never stopped talking – for her childhood, parents, for her first love, the love of her life. For the nicely spent summers on an island, which island name you never remember. For the lessons in yachting, given to her by her father. For her student’s years in another country. For the boy she has spent the most amazing romance there and for whom she almost married, for the letters they sent to each other even those days. For the woman she has been waiting for long years, for the fact that whenever she reached her she felt like she is flying, as happy as never before.
My eyes tried reading, memorizing each face, each emotion written on the faces and my ears were listening to their stories, stories told on a foreign language, in front of almost unknown person, a guest in that country. I was asking her questions, laughing with her, listening to her, getting into her story. She was beautiful, with a normal family. She had a brilliant education and career. At a certain point it looked like something took me out of this – what on earth I was looking for? I knew the answer…There were many young people. Yes, different reasons have brought them there…..but they were there, they wanted to be there, they liked it there…they were simply there…they were gays…
I walked away on the street to smoke a cigarette in the cold night. I was enjoying the night, the calmness, and the quietness. On the opposite of the street there was another club. It wasn’t a gay club. I looked at the people being there. With parents, without parents, successful, and not so successful. They gave gone through some crises into their lives. People who have went out to enjoy the evening, to have a drink or several, to see some friends or to meet new. I smiled, throw away my cigarette on the street, I stepped on it ….and kept walking on the street….the street which was the only thing dividing the two clubs and the people into them. september
2005
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