My Moshpit Baptism

The experience I had last Friday was legendary. (I'm sorry, Barney. I can't afford to use your joke this time.) It's no joke because it really was legendary--at least for me. Wow. A rockfest. Never, in a million years, will my mama imagine herself in one. My brother might, but he's too lazy to even join the fun in the mosh pit. My sister--well, let's just say she's too innocent for this shit. But she would go. If I dragged her into it. The amazing thing is I was in a great one that night--my first concert ever. That one with Ciudad and Ang Bandang Shirley at UP Diliman was too small so it doesn't count. Haha. It was unbelievable. My concert companion, Penny, got us free PRESS/SPONSOR tickets from her officemate at the last minute! It sure as hell is better than my VIP and Penny's General Admission.

We were right there. In front of the stage. In a crowd I later realized was a mosh pit. I was in a mosh pit! The fact that I'm at least one and a half feet shorter than the people around me didn't matter. I craned my neck all night just to see the faces I only see in music videos, listen to the voices I only hear in my playlists. Constant neck craning and head banging left my neck in a most miserable condition. But it doesn't matter. I felt pure liberation. 

It was surreal that I was there, singing along with my rock heroes while they set the stage on fire. And instead of pissing me off, the nuisances around me only drove me to the brink of insanity. Assholes were pushing me--at my both sides and at my back. Some jerk was constantly pulling my hair, and some bitches kept hitting my shoulders and my head. I did not mind them. The collective sweat, the heat, even the smell only made the experience more tangible, real. But at that moment, it was just me, the music, the night, and the utter bliss in seeing my heroes perform live. 

I read somewhere that the ultimate support you can give to the bands you love is to go and watch their live performances. I'm sorry if I can't give proper credit to who said those words. I forgot where I read them, and I'm too lazy to make a Google search. Sue me. Anyway, the only way I can do that is when they come here. Actually, one of the reasons why I wanted to work in Manila is because of those freakin' rockstars. So that I can see them perform live all the time. But I gave up on the idea. I mean, Cebu is already a lot of work for me. I might turn into fish feed if I started working and living in the metro. Hay. C'est la vie. 

So, anyway, it was one of my wildest nights. I wasn't drunk, by the way. Me and Penny couldn't afford to be drunk. There were just the two of us, no male company. If we were kung fu experts, then being a woman is not a problem at all. Unfortunately, we're not. We need caution with every person we bumped into. We left the concert grounds at around one in the morning. It seemed that most of the men who populated the concert were not acquainted with the concept of chivalry (I was not surprised). So we had to wait for another hour before finally pushing our way into an available (thankfully!) bus. The funny thing is Penny still had to work on Saturday at 8:30 a.m., and we got home at around 2:30 a.m.--still plenty of time for sleep if you ask me. When my insomnia strikes, I mostly manage to force myself into two hours of fitful sleep. 

When I woke up the next morning, I was greeted by a fever and a sore throat. I'm still suffering from them now and a few other body discomforts, but I think I'll manage. You see, independence has its perks and consequences. You can absolutely go crazy at concerts without the restrictions you hate so much. But you get sick, and you'd wish you never left home. Me? My situation's perks outweigh the bad vibes. So it's all cool. I feel sad and alone all the time. But I never regret choosing independence. I never regret being free.