The Lost Boy

I can't dance

There was another Mexican party in Dili recently. That makes two such parties in the space of a few weeks. This one was much the same as the last, only this time I was more drunk and decided to dance.

There was a lot of salsa dancing going on. I was happy to just bop by myself, but at some point a lady, she may have been Portuguese, started teaching me to dance.

The other couples on the dance floor were flinging each other around in circles, twisting and turning with ease. You have to lead me, said the lady. I’m freaking trying, I replied.

I was taken back to about 10 days before, when I had been taught Timorese dancing. I quickly mastered that left-left-right-left-left-right shuffle. But this salsa had me beat.

You have to lead me, said the lady again. I could see she was frustrated. My years of dancing to house, techno, trance and drum n bass music were no help. I felt like a kitten stranded in the middle of a highway.

After two songs the lady decided it would be better to leave me to my own devices. I’m not built for salsa dancing – I hate it. There may come a day when I change my mind about all of this, but for the foreseeable future I don’t want to dance – I can’t dance.

The big question is, Would I like salsa dancing if I could do it better? I don’t have an answer.