No Regrets

This story that I’m about to tell you is still recounted as an amusing anecdote within my social circles. Though the main beats of the story are consistent, the level of hilarity derived from the tale differs from person to person. For me, on a personal level, it does bring a small modicum of enjoyment, though I cringe every time I relive it. My best friend called me his hero for this story, and I still think he considers this a true statement.

And the strange thing is that, for all the embarrassment that I’ve suffered for it, I did find myself enjoying it at first. Over time, the thrill of the performance did wear down and life continued to get in the way, making it a less regular occurrence. But the first time…

My first time…

I didn’t want to feel like a freak… and I’d been drinking. It was my eighteenth birthday after all. It wasn’t easy. The fear was overpowering. I have this common and inconvenient desire for people to like me; for them to accept me. I’m hoping that, one day, I’ll grow out of this, but back then, the feeling was very strong. It didn’t help that, at the time, only a few of my friends were of the legal drinking age and couldn’t come to the bar with us. Other than the four of us, which nowadays would be too much for me to go out for, it was a bunch of my family members and many of my mom’s friends. So I was already uncomfortable and there was this kind of social pressure that I felt to engage in the usual rituals: specific drinks, playing pool, and this… the big one.

But I will admit, I feel a little betrayed by television: they always portray alcohol as a depressant, or a formula for apathy; but it did nothing to undo the knots in my stomach. On the other hand, it is an accurate portrayal for a catalyst for doing stupid things, so I guess it balanced out.

I was informed of the ritual and that I must take part in it. Being a novice, and feeling uneasy, I turned to my friend to assuage my fears.

This… was a mistake.

He gathered everyone around to plan in secret. I didn’t like the look of that, but I figured he wouldn’t let me down. When I asked him what they had planned, he told me “you’ll see.” How ominous of him.

I finished my drink, waiting for the inevitable. Looking back on it, I don’t know why I was so worried. Ever since, I’ve always had fun, enjoyed myself and even started doing my own thing. Plus, no one but my friends and family really pays attention to me anyways, so they are less stakes than I thought there were that night.

And then, it happened. I was summoned.

At the time, even walking felt like an impossible task: every moment seemed to take an eternity and my legs got heavier with every step. Butterflies fluttered within my stomach, my heart pounded in my chest, and not even my then girlfriend could absolve my discomfort. After what felt simultaneously like an eternity and yet no time at all, I found myself on the stage.

And then the music started. It was invigorating. More intoxicating than the alcohol. I could feel the urge taking over. I couldn’t control myself. I could hear the audience cheering… or were they jeering? It wasn’t long before I stopped caring. Every ounce of my inhibitions were being shredded from me with every beat that pounded in my ears. I carried on, never once breaking character, never giving up. I am my mother’s son, and if I was going to do something, doing it halfway was not an option. It didn't matter that I couldn't sing or dance. It didn't matter that I was embarassed. In that moment, all that mattered was how much fun I was having.

Then, the song ended. I was done.

I was sweating, my pulse racing, and my breathing heavy. By the time I stepped off that stage, I had become a different person. I eagerly signed up for more.

Over the years, I often find myself reminiscing about that night, especially whenever I attempt to replicate it. For a while, I craved it: the attention, the applause, the adulation. The thrill.

For that was the day that I did my first karaoke performance: dancing, gyrating, and singing (terribly) to the Aqua song, “Barbie Girl."