I remember the place like this: black chalkboard walls and low blue light, people and live rap and then whenever someone took a picture, everything would go pure white for a full second except for whatever I had been looking at at the moment the flash hit, imprinted in white.
The latter half of the evening was like that, flashes of white and the memory of an image floating in my eyes, like capturing little bits of eternity. It was a fundraiser for detainees and the heart of the urban art scene here, spoken word poetry and performances, on the spot rapping, some crazy reggae style Khmer band, and DJs, in a little random bar where the bartenders juggle the bottles while making one of the three cocktails available.
I was there until about two, dancing and as happy as a clam, but at a certain point I was getting tired and my feet were hurting, having worn heels (and jeans, it's been positively cool), so I managed to head outside precisely as a rainstorm was hitting and was absolutely thoroughly soaked by the time I arrived home.
The night didn't begin there, though, it began in a really too-cold auditorium at a show that started a half hour late and ran an hour late for the closing of the Youth Arts Festival. The show itself was an eclectic mix of things -- a somewhat too-long but nevertheless interesting shadow puppet performance, a duo of old, extremely good musicians singing apparently hilarious stories in Khmer to judge from the audience reaction, and a blind, very old man sitting in a chair and recounting a story with at least five characters -- by himself, each character with a distinct voice and style. It was really quite surprising.
What followed then were a couple of attempts at contemporary dance, one made by the kids I worked with in Siem Reap (who have been a joy to see around at the festival, as they are also so happy to see me and so sweet) which left me with my hands over my face and solemnly swearing I had nothing to do with the piece (which I didn't), and one choreographed by someone I don't know but danced by a couple of my students, which left me scrambling for a notebook and a pen.
I don't want to say they were bad, but they looked to me like what someone thought contemporary dance should look like. It looked like people doing technical movements without having the backing or the training to do them cleanly and well, and the second piece was essentially taking what the two kids do best -- for one, looking statuesque and sexy, and the other, bending in all sorts of crazy ways -- and doing it for five minutes.
In any way, it told me exactly what I need to teach them, so that was fine.
The coolest part for me was afterwards, when one of my other students was performing with her band outside, and I got to have some dance bonding time with the kids. I did notice sometime halfway through that I was the only white person around, but no matter, they didn't care and I didn't care. It ended strangely with the group very angry because apparently the organization was terrible and they were frustrated with CLA because of it. I guess drama is everywhere you go, and as always with drama I'll be staying very far away, especially if it's between an organization I am intimately implicated in by working for the ED, and students to whom I am very tied to as well. As always, I'll just stay on both sides and let it play out as it will.
But in any case, the night continued for me in spectacular fashion, as I saw another student, now more friend, at the event and got to chat for a bit before hitting the dance floor.
Good music, good friends, and dance, dance dance. That is all I will ever need.
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