The Darkroom
Catalina Reyes Navarro
The sun had already announced my arrival by the time I returned to the room.
I come back sweaty, wearing sunglasses and with the smell of beer and cigarettes. Purse, keys, and headphones. All tossed by the bed. “Thank God,” I think.
I undress fast. The cloying smell and some black liquor stains on my cargo pants reveal Salmari.
After a quick shower, and all curtains closed, I prepare a glass of water with electrolytes and pop in a Xanax. In exhaustion, I go through the last routine for the day. Pat on the toner. Apply two drops of serum, brush teeth while it dries. Then face cream and body lotion across all my crevices.
I check one more time if the visa results are in. To stay or not to stay. A Dutch person makes that call, unaware of the 20-hour trip back to Mom’s.
Eyes half closed, I glimpse the screen: still no answer. I can’t let myself drift yet, sleep hasn't felt entirely safe.
The night and the Club have become my refuge.
The night is when everything comes alive. In darkness, we are more free to become. I can explore. I can hide. Disappear if the moment feels right.
The first time I tried any kind of drug was with a former lover in Valparaiso. We got together to have a pre-party. “Let me know when you feel anything,” this lover told me, when he handed me the water.
It started as a small tingling in my stomach. “Hey, something feels odd”, I said, half an hour after drinking the powdered water. “Let's call the Uber now”, this lover replied. What came next became a blur. We left the apartment very quickly, and while we were in the car, something transmuted.
The air changed outside and also inside of me.
With my hand outside the car window, and the air breaking against my skin, suddenly the world no longer felt like the hard shell I was always pushing against. The night became like water: warm to the touch and malleable.
It didn't last long with this lover, but that evening became a guiding light, and for years to come, never to be lost again.
The night is when everything comes alive. In darkness, we are more free to become. I can explore. I can hide. Disappear if the moment feels right.
The first time I tried any kind of drug was with a former lover in Valparaiso. We got together to have a pre-party. “Let me know when you feel anything,” this lover told me, when he handed me the water.
It started as a small tingling in my stomach. “Hey, something feels odd”, I said, half an hour after drinking the powdered water. “Let's call the Uber now”, this lover replied. What came next became a blur. We left the apartment very quickly, and while we were in the car, something transmuted.
The air changed outside and also inside of me.
With my hand outside the car window, and the air breaking against my skin, suddenly the world no longer felt like the hard shell I was always pushing against. The night became like water: warm to the touch and malleable.
It didn't last long with this lover, but that evening became a guiding light, and for years to come, never to be lost again.
“There’s still so much to unfold,” I tell myself.
It's dark and it's only three thirty in the morning, and looking around, I can see the luxury of falling apart and together next to strangers.
I take a deep breath in. Out. And then another one in. Out. I repeat.
The air, warm against my lips. A slight breeze coming from a fan and into my arm. I am trapped between wet shoulders, a secretly lit cigarette, and the lights changing from red to blue and from blue to red, and then to pitch black.
In the shadows the air is filled with smoke. Bodies dissolve like ships fading in the early morning fog. I cling with my gaze to a stranger’s chain necklace. She smiles. I smile back. And for a moment, I feel my hands becoming anchored to the dancefloor.
In the trance of techno, while my heartbeat syncs to the bass, the DJ introduces a new creaking sound.
I close my eyes.
The sound drags me to Mom’s. The house was built from scratch in wood and whenever there’s a storm the house moves with the wind. It dances, and it shivers. And it creaks.
The night, it never felt warm like that one time in Valparaiso. Tonight in Amsterdam, I let that beat hold me, it feels close-ish.
And tonight, awake, I feel safe-ish.
“There’s still so much to unfold,” I remind myself, as the music becomes a prologue for danger.
In five hours of work, I have only managed to smoke one cigarette, when the building was still silent and the dancefloor empty.
A sudden touch of a hand on my shoulder puts me on alert. One of the runners arrives at the bar. “It's time for your break,” he screams over the music. “Don't worry about it, darling,” he says as I try to tidy up the bar station. I hug him, he gives me a kiss on the cheek.
Amongst the chaos, my smoking break throws me into a vocal storm. I watch a sea of naked torsos running on looks and compliments: a warm breath of desire.
It's only as I put out my cigarette that I remember my toe, which still throbs.
“Casi lista”, I text Mom.
“Animo mi niñita hermosa”, Mom answers almost instantly.
For a second, I picture Mom laying by herself, in her kingsize bed. Inside our wooden house on the hill, above the forest, over the sea shore.
I do the math: it is 11 p.m. there. I imagine her with the lights off, only her phone screen shining.
She has a hard time falling asleep, she knows I do as well. She hands me a Xanax box whenever I visit her. We don’t discuss why or what keeps us up at night.
“Que tengas buenas noches”, I text Mom before heading out again into the bar for the rest of the shift.
Dancing at the Club resembles a marathon. Through intervals of dancing and resting, the music guides me in between transitions. I’m wearing shorts and a bikini top, and with the heat and humidity, it seems like the best choice.
In search of some fresh air, I rush for a quick smoke.
I see friendly faces from the Club. Someone suggests a group trip to the bathroom. It's a physical intimacy with a group of strangers you don't usually get anywhere else in the city of Amsterdam.
“Everyone looks so cute”, I tell them in the small cubicle. And I say this because I can witness their beauty at this very moment. A few are wearing colorful makeup, one girl is wearing a low-rise jean that shows a glittery thong. We are all fueling ourselves with the desiring gaze of one another.
I get out of the stall and wash my hands, the cold water exquisite against my skin. Their laughter echoes in the background. It’s only through the thick air that I become myself again.
It’s a lot, and I tend to forget.
Friends like to pretend. Sometimes friends pretend you are asleep. Sometimes they pretend they are friends.
A group of what seems to be new friends, not ready for the party to end, beg for one last beer. They offer cash to hold on a little longer. But this routine is unbreakable: orders close as soon as the music stops playing.
Cork the bottles. Soap and water on all surfaces. Wipe down with a dry cloth. Disinfectant. There are some corners that resist and hold on to the dirt.
Repetition becomes an anchor. When the night threatens to pull you under, routines help you crawl out of darkness.
The light coming through the yellow curtains reveals sweaty bodies that seem to dance out of inertia. No one smiles anymore.
I can breathe the communal fear of a night that must end. The music is only as good as you allow for it to permeate you. You’re only as present as you can let go of the past. And we're all listening to the last beats of the song.
We cheer, the past is now near. The sudden memory of a friend who no longer is, and knowing that this body that tonight I claim as my own was once stolen from me. That someone I saw as safe turned that belief inside out.
Again, tonight, I stayed awake. I had to.
When the music finally ends, it's time to think about the outside. A place where protection comes only through a long list of documents, permits and authorizations.
The bright screen under the morning light reveals a new email from my lawyer:
Dear Ms, Please find attached the IND-decision in your extension residency case. I am afraid the decision is negative due to the fact that your freelance income is too low. We have 4 weeks to object to this decision.
I stare at it, hollow and frozen.
Mondays are always hard, but this time, its unforgiving nature dawns on me. The sun greeting is only a breather for when the next night begins.
The Darkroom was developed during a three-month residency at Club RAUM (July–September 2025), kindly supported by AFK.
Thanks to Lucia Fernández Santoro and the RAUM team; Indi, Ismay, Sven, Diego, Youssef, Glauco, Charlotte, Tjeerd and Ross; for their support throughout the residency.
Thanks to Andoni for production assistance, and to Aron, Risk, Molly, Verena and Joaquin for their guidance.
To the club staff and friends who appear in the photographs: Miguel, Mika, Elliott, Shanzae, Murat, Rex, Anahit, Mirre, and Sander.
And to Jerrold, Camila, Pancho, Bobbi, Moné, Montse, Michelle, Megan, and my family for their support and care.