It was past midnight. I should have been in bed, but there I was, stepping out of the U-Bahn stop at Warschauer Straße. I trekked through the snow, the dark, empty streets reminding me that I was alone. I approached an expanse of barbed wire and empty footpath, littered with broken glass and cigarette butts. I looked up to see a large concrete building contrasted against the night sky: I had arrived at the Berghain.

Around 45 minutes later (almost 4 a.m.), I reached the front of the line. Then it was my turn to face my fate. This time around, my heart wasn’t beating out of my chest. I was just shivering uncontrollably and hoping that they wouldn’t think I was having a seizure. With a stoic look on my face (my actual resting face), I stood still and silent, barely making eye contact, waiting to be judged. Time froze, though probably only 7 seconds passed. The bouncer ushered me in with his right hand without gibing me a second glance. Finally. Acceptance. I felt the overwhelming sense of relief, approval, and euphoria wash over me.