Robin Frolic

The last Hulla. There's just too much to say.

When I first got into raving, I was so excited about the whole thing. I believed we were going to change the world. I remember making an animated PLUR icon for my website. What we were doing was truly important.

I met Frolic online between the first and second Hulla parties, and I moved up to Toronto in time for the first-year anniversary party. I was thrilled to be a part of this because this, I felt, was really a way to change things. We were going to make the world a better place!

Over the next few years I gradually lost that sense of wide-eyed wonder and excitement. I realized that for many people the rave scene wasn't about improving the world, it was just a place to dance (and for some people, just a place to do drugs). I became disillusioned.

But then I found something happening over the past two years or so - really, since we moved to the Opera House and began throwing smaller parties. I began seeing that the people attending our parties were there because they cared about Hullabaloo and wanted to be a part of it. Although I still felt frustration and anger every time somebody was outside the venue puking because they'd overdone it, I started to understand that for many people, what I considered to be the spirit of raving was still alive. We still had the potential to make the world a better place.

What I know now is that we accomplished that. We didn't end a war or find a cure for cancer or do anything dramatic; but we did a lot of small things. All of us, together, we accomplished a lot of little things. Every time somebody met someone at a Hulla who would later become their best friend, their world was changed for the better. Every time someone was hurting and found solace at one of our parties, their life changed in a positive way. We know of at least five marriages that have occurred after the couple met at a Hullabaloo; and we know of at least two babies. Those are unique individuals who would not exist as they are if their parents hadn't had a chance meeting at one of our parties. The world is forever changed because of that.

There are so many people who have found comfort in our parties after tragic events in their lives, or healing after painful experiences. There are so many people who were lonely who found friends at one of our events, so many people who felt isolated and then found somewhere they felt they truly belonged. All of their worlds were changed for the better, and when you change one person's life, it has a ripple effect on everyone that they touch.

That, more than anything else, I think is the legacy of Hullabaloo. We have touched people's lives, given them hope and fun and the experience of joy. Our partiers have been able to, for a few short hours, live in a world where they can be their true selves; their best selves, the side of their personality that is open and loving and genuine. We keep those selves hidden in our everyday lives for fear of scorn or vulnerability, but every time we can safely share that side of ourselves, it makes us better people. And I have the pleasure of knowing that for tens of thousands of people, we gave them a place to be who they really are.

In the end, though, we were only a small part of the magic. We gave you a place; but all of you were the ones who decided to take us up on the offer and share yourselves, your warmth and laughter and energy, with us and with each other. You were the ones who came out and danced your asses off, handed out hugs and bracelets and friendship, and made the soul of Hullabaloo what it was. Without you, it would just have been some DJs playing to an empty room.

For me, there was a bittersweetness to the entire night of All Good Things. Every time I crossed a name off my will-call list I was aware that this was the last time I'd ever be doing that. Every time I stopped to take a picture with a raver I was aware that this was the last night that I would be asked to pose for a photo. Every time I greeted a familiar face in line I knew that this would almost certainly be the last time I'd ever see them. When I danced with Donny and Frisky, shouting song lyrics at each other, I knew this was it: this routine we've done so many times before was going through the final rendition.

It was a constant thought: This is the last time Friendship Crew will hand out whistles. This is the last time people will wave me over to tell me how much Hullabaloo means to them. This is the last time people will be giving me bracelets. This is the last time I'll see a Friendship Crew person put the N stamp on a newbie's face. This is the last Hulla costume I'll ever wear. This is the last time I'll ever put a wristband on a DJ's arm prior to letting them into the party. All the tiny little things I do seemed to take on an importance, a meaning that I had never felt for them before. When it's the last time you're ever going to do something, even something insignificant feels precious.

The night seemed to pass both exhaustingly slowly and shockingly fast. I was caught between my sorrow at seeing Hulla end and my relief that this is finally drawing to a close and we can move on to the next chapter in our lives. Hulla takes a lot out of us both physically and emotionally, and there is a certain sense of relief in having that over; but at the same time, Hulla has always given so much in return, and it was painful to know I'd never feel that again, never share in that incredible outpouring of energy and happiness.

I wish I could magically make you all feel what I felt when I stood onstage while Shooting Star was playing. I looked out over a packed crowd, hands in the air and candy-braceleted wrists everywhere, watched you all cheering and crying and whistling and living in that moment, and I knew that this was the last time I would ever stand onstage and see that. I waved our photographer over and asked him to stand next to me and take a picture. He said, "I'll go behind the DJ booth and get you and Chris in it too," and I said, "No, right here. I want it to be exactly what I'm looking at right now." He took the photo, stood there for a few seconds, and then said reverentially, "Wow." And I knew he understood why I wanted that photo, why I would always want to remember that moment standing there, feeling a sense of loss so great I thought my heart would break, but also feeling gratitude and awe and love just as intensely.

That, for me, will always be the defining moment of All Good Things. Standing onstage, looking at all of you, feeling the pain and joy and awe of that moment. It was one of the most profound moments of my entire life, and I can't even imagine how much more poignant it must have been for Chris. Although I have had the privilege of sharing in the experience, in the end Hulla has always been and always will be Chris' baby.

I am so very grateful to have been a part of Hullabaloo, and I am grateful that I was there to experience that, and that many of the people I love were there to share it with me. I am happy that we were able to have a final party like that, to give Hulla the amazing, awe-inspiring, incredible ending it deserved. I am glad for all the newbies who got to experience the magic of Hulla; even though it was only for a single time, I've no doubt they'll carry the memories of that one shining night with them forever. I am especially thankful that so many of you supported us over the years, through both the good years and the difficult years, and chose to be with us for the end.

I was there, and all of you were there, and we were there together, all of us together in that moment, and that is what I'll always remember.