This Is How My Body Said Yes

I went to a club for the first time in my life. It wasn’t something I planned or imagined myself doing. A friend invited me to tag along, and I said yes without much thought. I had just come from a family dinner and showed up in a simple outfit—short jeans, a button-up shirt, and heels. Nothing special. Nothing prepared.

The moment I stepped in, I realised this wasn’t the kind of club people usually talk about. Almost everyone there was much older—mostly aunties and uncles, probably around my mum’s age. But surprisingly, the atmosphere felt warm. The music was from the 80s and 90s—songs with stories, emotions, and lyrics. Not just loud beats to fill the room. There was something grounded in the way it carried the crowd. And somehow, it carried me too.

I’ve always believed I couldn’t dance. That my body didn’t understand rhythm. But that night, I didn’t overthink. I just moved. I didn’t care how I looked or what anyone thought. I let go of everything—judgement, awkwardness, the need to belong. And to my surprise, I danced.

Strangers came up to me with kind words. A few said I danced well. The DJ pointed at me during his set and gave me a thumbs-up. At one point, I was dancing almost alone on the floor when an Indian uncle started dancing beside me. We didn’t speak. We didn’t even look at each other. But we moved together—quietly in sync, facing the DJ, sharing a rhythm that needed no words.

When my friend had to leave early, I stayed. I didn’t feel out of place. I wasn’t there for the people. I was there for the feeling. Aunties I didn’t know kept pulling me back onto the dance floor every time I sat down. They reached for my hand, smiling, asking me to dance again. I followed their lead.

By the time I left the club, my feet were sore from the heels. I stopped by a 7-Eleven for a drink, and one of the club staff recognised me. He smiled and said, “You danced really well just now.” I laughed, not knowing what to say. I didn’t remember talking to him earlier, but somehow, I had left a trace.

The whole night still sits in me in a strange, quiet way. I didn’t go to that place expecting anything. But I left feeling something had shifted. I didn’t need to be good. I didn’t need to be seen. I just needed to let go. And when I finally did, my body responded. My spirit followed.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt free in a way I didn’t even realise I was missing.