Hello and welcome to my new bi-monthly column ‘Quarter Life Single’ where you are going to get to accompany me, a gorgeous and brilliant queer woman who is single for the first time at the age of 25 after a long-term relationship ended. Join me on my adventures in navigating the adult dating world. That doesn’t sound like a big deal until I tell you that the last time I was single was when I was in the 11th grade and demonetisation had not happened yet. Yes, it has been almost 8 years since that fateful day. And yes, we are all officially that old.
When my best friend (S, who is also queer and fabulous) and I signed up for the Queer Salsa Classes that were going to be held at a venue that we frequent, I was hoping to do something fun on a weekday instead of following the whole ‘wake up-work-sleep’ routine. I always made time for my hobbies and interests even while I was in a relationship, but break-ups can be particularly hard. Even though I did not realise it then, I definitely needed to be around my community in an affirming and joyous space.
It was immediately a wholesome and welcoming environment, with the mirror-walled dance studio showcasing some fun queer posters and shelves with affirming books. Our dance instructor was phenomenal and kept checking in with us in terms of pace. S, who is a trained classical dancer, later told me that they had encountered many toxic dance environments before this. Along with a lot of rigidity and the glorification of being burnt out, there was a lot of focus on everyone looking and moving exactly the same, with absolutely no regard for accessibility or inclusivity of different bodies. Here, the instructor focused on helping us become comfortable with the movements first. I also learnt that everything that I thought I knew about Salsa was wrong. And the second thing that I learnt was how amazing it felt to not have someone assign dance steps to you based on your gender.
In the second class, we had to practise dancing in pairs, and our dance instructor prompted us by saying, “People who want to learn how to lead can form a line this side, and people who want to learn how to follow can be this side.” The best part was that there was absolutely no rigidity – you could learn one role in one class, and the other in the next. S and I both stood in the Followers’ line and waited for instructions. It was a lovely way to practise, with all of us moving in a circle and changing partners to practise the choreography with everyone who wanted to practise the Leader’s steps. Most of the people came by themselves or with a friend, though there was one adorable couple who made me kind of wish that this was date night for me too. Then I reminded myself that it is not a good idea to pause having new experiences until a romantic partner comes along and went right back to twirling.
At the end of the class I walked over to S and asked if they would practise with me before we left. They looked at me and said, “We could, but we are both bottoms.” “Being a Follower does not correspond to being a Bottom. And I am a Switch*”, I laughed and offered them my hand so we could dance together. And the thing about being best friends with someone is that this immediately became an inside joke that we have referred to again and again, ever since.
Our next class started with some new joinees, including a hot butch. This turned out to be a dangerous class because we were now informed that an important part of Salsa is making eye contact. As fate would have it, she was my first partner for the day. As the new hot butch attempted to lead us to the choreography, I learnt something interesting about myself – if I am even a tiny bit attracted to somebody, I find it tough to dance gracefully and simultaneously make uninterrupted eye contact with them. Turns out, I am only human and my human-ness led to us stepping on each other’s toes. This probably wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t single but I was! The dance instructor was very confused and her re-explanation was followed by a puzzled statement directed towards me, “You should know this…?” So, I decided to stare at our feet – my plan was flawless, I could pretend that I was confused about the footwork and get away from having to look into my dance partner’s eyes. “No looking down”, the instructor directed, “you have to look up and at each other.” Once we changed partners, I could dance perfectly again. S and I had a quick debrief during the water break, “The eye contact”, I whispered. “It’s very intimate”, they agreed.
All of us got over the awkwardness after a practice or two, and I quickly learnt in the following classes that my favourite dance partner was our instructor because it was while moving with her that I would actually learn which steps I needed to practise more. But that did not mean that I did not have fun with other people – with some I developed inside jokes and with others I learnt how to coordinate with a partner gracefully. We were all learning and teaching each other at the same time, and the sense of community was strong in the air. Our last class included a Salsa DJ and a free-for-all floor to practise, and there was laughter, conversation, and lots of twirling. The truth is that as queer people, the world so often forces us to come together to fight for our rights, that it feels like absolute magic when we are able to come together to dance.
*This is an oversimplification, in reality I do not experience sex through these labels.
