Ramadhan Oh Rah Rah Rah

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Today is the first day of Ramadhan, the holiest month in Islam calendar; the time when people deprive themselves from any temptations: be it hunger, thirst, anger, lust, anything that is basically your basic needs in day-to-day living. The only thing that it's not deprived from you is air. I guess it's because air is not sexy or filling at all.

Facing the holiest month, some people pray, some people visit the dead, some people make family/office gathering to say and give forgiveness and some people go to their local clubs and get seriously pissed. Because starts from today, you have to resist every temptation. So, I should have expected to see a club on a Friday night, two days before the fasting month starts, to be full-packed, right? Well, d'oh.

Two friends insisted in dragging me along for their weekend's clubbing agenda. I, reluctant as I ever be, tried to wriggle myself out of this plan to no success. I told them that with no heels at all on my shoes, the door bitches wouldn't let me in in. They were stubborn. And for sure, the door bitches didn't let me in. Plus the sinister look on one of their fully make-up faces at me. As if I was a mere flea, improper and disgusting. But the place itself was full. People outside, people inside... there were people everywhere! It was the same on the second club we went to. Less than 500 metres away and several floors from the first club, the smaller club was very much alive. All was excited to celebrate the coming of Ramadhan. Or they just carried on like it was any other Friday: the last day of drudgery, the coming of a short time-off.

Everyone is a little bit drunk and horny in the club, just like the usual. Nothing's changed. I was on the dance floor, sipping my gin and tonic, avoiding people crashing into my drink, while watching girls in tight-fit dresses dancing on a long higher platform in front of me. The music thumped and roared behind me, sending invisible pressure to my chest, making me feel I was going to have a heartache anytime soon. And people danced danced twisted turned leaned and swayed. Falling down into the rabbit hole. Oblivious to other things, their senses were blunt. I was entertained. I guess this is the literal interpretation of celebrating the coming of one holy month: to celebrate as hardcore as possible before you are told to repress yourself. All clubs will be shut anyway for a couple of days. I'm sure when it's open for business, the same people will go back to the dance floor (or table) and dance like they don't care.

I guess moral of the story is like always, holy or not, it depends on one's way of doing it; whether it's going to matter or not, it will depend solely on the individual, not the society, the thugs in white robes, or the so-called high ulema. I am now thinking about the waking up before the crack of dawn... THAT is going to be painful.