Choosing kizomba is choosing another world

We all know how difficult it is to explain what the hell we are doing and why. And yes, I am talking about kizomba again, or any dance if you like, that you fall in love with. My previous post was an attempt to communicate some aspects of that special relationship and its consequences. For me, kizomba is certainly not always just easy and happy, however it is the thing that has brought most happiness into my life ever, so therefore this post will focus on some of the good things.

Silvio and I at French Touch Festival.
Silvio and I at French Touch Festival.

This love that we develop for the dance and dance lifestyle is so great and powerful that it might take over the human love, or at least challenge it. And when you are constantly given those enormous doses of joy, feeling of self-fulfilment and wholeness, you value it highly and protect it like your baby. And sometimes you might even think: “I don’t need anything else”.

Let me just give you a scene. On a regular Saturday night in Sweden, the normal procedure for young people would be drinking a lot of alcohol at home or in a bar and then go out clubbing. And if the champagne and beers have been sufficient during the early night, they might dare to dance. So there is dancing and partying and more drinks. Anyway, the main goal is usually to find SOMEONE, it is the underlying filter that accompanies the night’s actions. Who you talk to, who you buy a drink, what you are wearing. Scanning the room, and when it’s about closing time people might hook up, or go to McDonalds to eat with their friends. Then take an Uber or the tube back home, crash and prepare for the hangover. I meet them on the tube at 4 am. I see girlfriends leaning over boyfriends’ laps, puking on the floor while the boyfriend is busy texting not paying her attention at all, both wasted. I hear hick ups from young men with blurry eyes, dressed in stained suits. I get people in my comfort zone all the time. Suddenly the cold individualistic Swedes want to reach out and talk, they are curious, sociable like never before. They are happy, they are angry, they are sad, and most of them are drunk. The tube stations are getting filled with McDonalds trash, bottles and puke.

I am sitting there on the green line with my big headphones and very VERY loud kizomba beats in my ears, I feel warm, tired and my feet aching. My heart is singing and the movements are still in my body as I am making my way home. I feel at peace and I feel like I am flying. Like I am above this world and blessed because I have a secret, a happy place that is warm, healthy and fun. And that takes away the hunting, other than the best dancers. I see the girl puking over her boyfriend’s lap and I have to say I feel privileged. And now all you who know me and heard me swear about bad dance nights, yes they come and go. Sometimes you take the tube home with an empty feeling, but somehow you know it will past, and that the next night can be better. And I don’t mean to judge. I’ve been out clubbing, drinking, dancing – and I had fun. But I also remember when it started to give me that empty feeling. When I saw through the whole concept. Even if I had fun I often found myself hovering above the scene with difficulties appreciating it fully.

Sofia and I in Paris.
Sofia and I in Paris.

It may sound like the kizomba scene is a sober sect. That is not the case. Alcohol does for sure exist in the scene but it does not make the central part and it is not what keeps us going, keeps our feet moving, keeps us brave. Because that, we have in our hearts. And maybe that is why we are so eager to inspire others and make our friends discover this amazing world.

Love – Anna

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