{"id":172266,"date":"2024-10-09T11:51:49","date_gmt":"2024-10-09T09:51:49","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.erasmusmagazine.nl\/en\/?p=172266"},"modified":"2025-12-19T11:27:30","modified_gmt":"2025-12-19T10:27:30","slug":"osmosis-high","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.erasmusmagazine.nl\/en\/2024\/10\/09\/osmosis-high\/","title":{"rendered":"Osmosis high"},"content":{"rendered":"

Since moving to Rotterdam, I\u2019ve had to learn to love techno music. Under <\/span>low ceilings, I try to enjoy a different kind of dance floor. The repetitive <\/span>movements gradually make the dancers become one, moved solely by the <\/span>same bassline. It\u2019s a sensuality of community \u2013 not sexy, but physical.<\/span><\/p>\n

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\n\t\n\n<\/svg>\n<\/span>\n\tImage by:<\/span>\n\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tPauline Wiersema<\/a>, \t\t\t\t\t<\/span>\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tLevien Willemse<\/a>\t\t\t\t\t<\/span>\n\t<\/p>\n<\/figcaption><\/figure>

Each night develops its own culture, where all sorts of things are <\/span>exchanged. Normally, I can\u2019t keep my eyes open past midnight, but that <\/span>Saturday we spent an hour and a half in the queue, it\u2019s three in the <\/span>morning, and I still want to keep going. With three friends, we slip <\/span>through the crowd in a train formation, holding hands until we find a spot <\/span>where we can accustom ourselves to the music. I close my eyes and start <\/span>letting the rhythms guide me.<\/span><\/p>\n

My friends head to the toilet one by one, and even though I always stay <\/span>sober, my energy changes with theirs. They get giggly and lift me up with <\/span>their newfound energy. We call it an osmosis high; you start imitating <\/span>behaviour without having taken any substances yourself. It\u2019s not like I\u2019m <\/span>pretending, I\u2019m not acting, but I share their joy before I even realise it. <\/span>Dancing with our sweating bodies up against each other, it\u2019s as if our <\/span>bodies are transferring substances and energy amongst them. I rub my <\/span>hair over my face and it feels nice.<\/span><\/p>\n

By sunrise, I look for some cool air. In the smoking areas at techno<\/span>parties, I always find the same people, telling each other the same things <\/span>again and again. I talk to the kind of guy who calls a club a \u2018space\u2019. As in: <\/span>\u201cI was in a \u2018space\u2019 in Berlin that changed my life.\u201d Someone who\u2019s eager <\/span>to tell you all about the queer-feminist books he\u2019s read and expects <\/span>admiration in return. I turn around and speak to a girl who tells me that <\/span>sometimes she sleeps with her best friend and her boyfriend, but no one <\/span>is allowed to know.<\/span><\/p>\n

The DJ plays one last song to close out the night: <\/span>Skin<\/span> by Madonna. <\/span>Around me, I see people chewing gum, glancing nervously about, unsure <\/span>of what to do. \u201c<\/span>I\u2019m not like this all the time<\/em><\/span>\u201c, sings Madonna. My throat is <\/span>hoarse, my osmosis high is fading and I think I\u2019m coming down with a <\/span>cold.<\/span><\/p>\n\n\t

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Lees meer<\/h2>\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t