I get off at Akihabara station and see a group of girls in French maid costumes. There are about ten of them and photo op is just screaming. I left my camera at home because I’m going to Womb, which is a no-photo club so boo-hoo. I hear the announcement that sticks to my ears every time and works like an LSS so I run down the stairs to catch the Yamanote train to Shibuya.
I find a seat. I didn’t have to wrestle my way onto it. It’s Saturday night and the crowd seems chatty than usual and very loudly at that. The jumbled foreign conversations swirl across the train. And for an unknown reason, I feel my muscles form a smile in my face. Maybe I still can’t get over the giddiness that I’m in Tokyo even if I’ve been here for a little more than two months now. The Lost-in-Translation feeling is something too exciting to let go.
I watch two Japanese girls make fun of a sleeping salary man. Three seats away from them, two black girls are crying in laughter. It feels so Sex and the City when Carrie misses her girls.
It’s drizzling in Shibuya. I walk towards the always-crowded smoking area. I walk past sleeping men in their work suits and one man throwing up on someone else’s bag. I always make a pit stop to have a clearer, more vibrant feeling of the now. Tokyo kids are everywhere in their coolest getups. The energy is pumping that you could almost feel the ground move. Just how can you not love this city?
I got lost the first time I went to Womb. I found it with the help of fellow gaijins. I still don’t know exactly how to get there, I just kind of know. No wrong turns this time around. There’s Womb! I open the door and hello, thick line. The door is just behind me so no space for more. The Womb guy tells everyone to compress. He reminds us that every thirty seconds. That part of the club reminds me of the now defunct Mars because of the silver chrome finish on the walls that resemble the inside of a spaceship. Thinking about Mars gives me a reel of memories. _insert long, deep sigh here_
I show my ID. I pay Y4,000. I’m in.
From the locker area I can feel the pulse of the hard bass so my energy is flying. Like a rocket, I blast my dancing ass straight to the massive dance floor. Repetitive beats and repetitive dance moves. 1999 is oozing from my pores. Kids wearing glowing bracelets stamp that era minus the rave outfits of course. The beats keep tickling my bones. I throw my own beat back by dancing in reply to every boom I receive.
The crowd gets thicker and thicker very quickly. Sometimes it’s just too impossible for me to communicate with the music because there’s always someone pushing or trying to pass every five seconds. I’m not kidding. It’s the same case everywhere I go. I reduce my dancing to a mere shoulder-to-head banging.
Everyone dances here. They enjoy the music. Hell, they respond to every boom and the energy is just too fantastic. That alone is something to get high on. I watch their hands in the air being back lighted by the laser lights as they scream their lungs out. It’s just too beautiful. The mirror ball descends and the spirits take off to a higher heaven.
It’s freaking amazing that I can say I’ve been to a Shinichi Osawa + Yuksek event! In Tokyo!