Coming up as a baby-gay in 2014, under the impression that every gay knows how to dance, I assume by proxy, I know how to dance. In addition to being gay, I also overestimate my ability to keep in rhythm because of my Latinidad. At 18, driving down Halsted St. in Chicago, and sneaking into my first gay bar, I realize how wrong, so-so-so-so very wrong, I am about my dancing abilities. It’s only 11PM and a man is holding my hips in place, keeping my body from falling to the level of my two-left feet.
“Feeling Gay in Spanish” contains songs I keep on repeat, songs I spend hours practicing simple dance moves and adding choreography to. This playlist reminds me of my clunky youth, full of moments I should have, or should be, embarrassed about. But I’m not. I admire people who dance, giving zero-fucks about “looking-weird” or feeling “out-of-place.” Chances are, you’re not.