Spill the Veritaserum

We all carry the salt-rimmed ghost of a night we’ve sworn to forget.

Ask anyone and they’ll offer a shuddering “Never again” as they speak of tequila as if it were a thief that stole their dignity, followed by a blackout that erased the map of their evening.

But humour me for a moment: what if the reason why people don’t like tequila is because it brings out their inner desires? And on top of that, the inherent ability to remove all inhibitions, no matter how ingrained it may be?

Tequila is no thief. It is a locksmith.

We blame the spirit for out-of-character chaos, but what if the bottom of the shot glass is a portal? What if it wasn’t a departure from the self, but an escape into it? It is the ultimate insurance policy encapsulated within a facade — a costume, a character, a mask — to protect any unfavourable desires, as perceived by society.

If the night shines, a resounding toast to the tequila echoes into the night, burning throats with one swift gulp. But more often than not, it makes the perfect scapegoat for the crime of being human.

Maybe tequila is a mirror. A key that universally unlocks the door that is keeping all our inhibitions at bay.

Maybe tequila is the answer to unleashing raw, real emotion into this guarded world.

Maybe… I am tequila.

I’m not everybody’s cup of tea, but maybe I’m everybody’s tequila.

My company is infectious and the world loses its grey edges around me.

People enjoy how I make them feel.

How I see the world.

How I make them think.

How I make the ordinary extraordinary.

How I make the mundane interesting.

How I make the boring exciting.

How I make the dark look bright, and the bright look even brighter.

I say yes to bad decisions in the name of self-discovery and character development. An advocate for the “lesson” hidden in the wreckage.

I say “There are no mistakes, only lessons,” which acts as a caveat.

A caveat that could potentially be the catalyst of a pivotal learning point in someone’s life. The pivotal moment where someone finally decides to crash, burn, or fly.

Maybe I am tequila.

To be experienced for one night, and one night only.

And in that night, I make them see versions of themselves that will never be unseen.

People drink my spirit to access the holy trinity they cannot find elsewhere: comprehension, empathy and humanity.

The mirror that reflects a version of them they are too afraid to see. A version that is wild, understood and free.

I provide the cohesion for everyone’s inner self, mending their cracks with salt, lime and a throat burn so divine.

The biggest irony is that this mirror, while it shows everyone their own beauty, it remains blank and bleak for me.

Maybe I am tequila, but even the strongest spirit has a shelf life.

And this bottle is running low.

I have only a few shots left in me and I am hope it reaches the people who need them most. The people I need most.

Because I am losing the strength to be the reflection for a world that refuses to look at itself.

I am losing the capacity to fill everyone else’s glass while mine sits empty on the bar.

I am tequila. I am a one-night revelation.

Maybe, I am tequila. And I definitely see the bottom.

The hope is that there is life beyond the confines of this glass chamber, because I am almost gone.

I’m done being everyone’s tequila. It’s time to be someone’s cup of tea.