Tucked in a hidden corner on Toronto’s south shore lies Cherry Beach. It’s known for its seclusion. To lay on its hot sands or test its warm waters, you have to escape down a long, bottlenecked street. Travelling there is a clarifying experience. At the outset, you’re trapped in the concrete labyrinth of the city, where construction sounds fill your ears and carbon fills your nose, becoming a part of you. Then the skyscrapers melt away and the horizon becomes visible. With a jolt, you find yourself truly outside.
Last summer, I wound my way to Cherry Beach not to tan, but to dance. The queer event organization Yohomo was throwing a sunset rave on a Sunday afternoon. Speakers and a bar were erected on the beach, wires strewn everywhere. My community, the people I had grown accustomed to encountering in dark clubs downtown, looked different in the sun’s orange glow. The sweet smell of fresh water wafted through the air as the soft rush of waves mingled with the DJ’s prickly house beats. It felt as if the music had always been there, like the people and the water and the sand and the wires were equally natural.
