Every year since I was 16, I heard talk about raves by the beach and mind-blowing parties. Even though I lived half an hour from the international music festival that tourists fly from all over the world for, it was worlds away from me. I plainly didn’t understand the hype… But one year, I was given the opportunity to cover it and the first day opened my eyes.
It changed my perspective on the festival. The collective of souls enjoying one other’s presence and energy was breathtaking. I went back eager for more, every snapshot I took impressed in my mind the beauty of each moment. I relished in being alone in a crowd.
This year, I went with my kindred heart and we screamed when she took a bend too sharply and swerved into oncoming traffic. Thankfully, we made it to the resort in one piece, giddy in a way that we are only when we are together.
It feels different, being there again, but not by myself. I waited for her and she waited for me. The sun was glaring and I am impatient. It was stops and starts until we fell into a rhythm of us. How nice it would be if we were elsewhere, with a cold breeze and cheap beers. We fantasized on an over-sized burger mat and squeezed into the sea of writhing bodies while avoiding their sticky touches. I found an old friend and I remember how it was like, dancing with the stars. Old feelings and new, all coming together… And then it was over too soon. We haven’t even had fun yet. But the fireworks were going up and we were going home.
Perhaps next year, we could convince the whole gang to come with us. Spend three days in the hot sun, drinking our days and sweating our nights. I think it would be lovely and magical and definitely unforgettable.