Last night was the best night of my life. On Friday 18, 2016, Troye Sivan played at the Tabernacle in Atlanta, the last show of his Suburbia Tour. Not only did I attend with four friends, I feel as if I truly came alive there.

It wasn’t my first concert—I have also been to shows for Ingrid Michaelson, Taylor Swift, and Broods, all of who put on phenomenal performances that left me screeching in happiness—but last night’s concert was the best I've been to. Troye Sivan stepped in and blew all of them out of the water.

Fearing that the line for the show would cause us to be pushed into the back of the venue, away from Troye, we left school Friday afternoon right after the bell, hours before the show started at 7:30. There was still the nagging, realistic reminder in my head, however, drawing me back to earth--there were kids skipping school completely that day in order to arrive at the concert early, and it was the Friday before Thanksgiving break, so traffic on the way to Atlanta was inevitably going to inch by at a snail’s pace.

Sure enough, even before we skidded onto the highway, right after we left the school building in fact, we saw the endless line of cars glinting in the sunlight, vehicles that were hardly moving. But even the traffic couldn’t dent our exalting emotions, the acute anticipation of seeing our beautiful Troye Sivan live and in person, flesh and bone and all. As we rode to the Tabernacle, we played music—many Troye songs, some songs of the show opener Dua Lipa, some miscellaneous melodies.

As we skid into Atlanta, our happiness began to soar (but it was still nowhere near its peak). We ate a brief, early dinner at the CNN center and then joined the long, snaking line leading into the Tabernacle. There was still over an hour left till the show began, and the queue already spanned across over two city blocks.

I was amazed by all the bright personalities and passions of all the Troye Sivan fans—there were people donning glitter or face paint, people sporting shirts with memes of his face on it, people flourishing around rainbow flags. Standing in line, we anticipated his setlist, marveled at the fact that he was in the Tabernacle building less than a mile from us, that he today had breathed Atlanta air as we were doing now.

Around 7, the line began to pick up pace as the building began to allow people in. Gradually, picking up speed, we ambled to the Tabernacle doors, where radio station trucks for Q100 and Star 96.1 were perched outside. After getting through security and scanning our tickets, we were allowed into the building.

And suddenly everything went wild. (Pun intended). Fans milled around everywhere, up and down the steps before us, weaving in and out of vision. We saw the massive merchandise heading above us and behind it the room where shirts and posters were being sold, yet we decided to return after the show. The priority was to see Troye as close as possible, wasn’t it? Hurriedly, we stole onto the first floor of the Tabernacle, where the open, free admissions pit stretched right before the stage where Troye would come out later to sing and steal our hearts.

We were lucky--it seemed we were near the back of the pit, but regardless, we were in the pit instead of on the second or third story, and it was so, so close to the stage. For a while, I cursed my short, five-foot-one stature, as virtually everyone around me was a good bit taller than I was, and I knew I was going to be destined to hobble around on my toes for the next three hours, viewing the stage clearly in the gaps between others’ heads (which I would do happily just to see Troye). My friends were extremely generous, trying to pinpoint the best spaces for me to stand for the optimal view, and the strangers around me became friends, shifting slightly to accommodate me. One particularly tall person apologized to me in case he was blocking my view.

Music throbbed from the speakers, playing songs such as “Roman Holiday” by Halsey and “Magnets” by Disclosure featuring Lorde. The crowd was a ball of frenzy and excitement.

And then, finally, the lights went out—all of a sudden the entire crowd surged forward, pressing upon one another’s bodies--whereas before I was near the back of the room, I was now halfway across it. Dua Lipa appeared like a goddess through the mist and introduced herself, and we all listened to her, entranced by her charisma and beauty. When she began her setlist, the crowd went wild, dancing and jumping and screaming to the music, worshipping her powerful, passionate voice. Much of her songs were new and had yet to be released, but she also played more renowned favorites such as “Hotter Than Hell” and “Blow Your Mind (Mwah)”!

During the second to last song, the screaming of the crowd abruptly intensified, the crowd pushed again and moved me further forwards, and all heads turned towards the left of the stage. I craned my neck, unable to see above all the tall figures. Next to me my friend clarified, “It’s Troye!”

Instinctively, I screamed and tried to jump higher to catch my first glimpse of our favorite singer. Through the moving bodies, I finally could make out Troye in a white t-shirt, dancing and snapping his fingers to Dua’s music. Troye’s dancing is unique, awkward in the most endearingly cutest way possible—it captures all attention, not in the way that a professional, fit dancer with his shirt off would, but in the way that he gives off a vibe of freedom and strength, of spirit and unabashed youth.

After that song ended, Troye left, and Dua noted, “Thank you to Troye! Just so you know, he didn’t tell me he would come out and do that! That was totally unplanned!” At her words, the crowd cheered over our love for the antics of Troye Sivan. Dua finished her last song, thanked us all for a wonderful tour, and exited.

Then music again blared from speakers as we waited on tenterhooks for the main act to come out. Everyone would scream every time someone brought out an instrument or tapped a microphone to ensure it was working, and especially so when the drummer came out.

After what seemed like forever, the room darkened and erupted into the loudest hollers and shrieks and screams thus far—the horde rushed forward and pressed together into the tightest knot yet, a tangle of limbs and hair and bodies that would be too close for comfort under any other circumstance. My friend noted that we were so close that she didn’t have to even zoom in on her phone camera to capture a clear shot. We heard Troye’s voice welcoming us to the Suburbia tour, and he burst into song, singing “Wild”.

White streams of light seared across the room and illuminated the stage, and through cavorting bodies I saw him, Troye Sivan, the person who I’d been dying to see live since I bought tickets the day they came out in May and even before then. I bellowed song lyrics at the top of my lungs, almost too delirious to comprehend anything.

The crowd was urging its way forwards still, not in abrupt surges all at once, but there was a constant pressure forwards of everyone gravitating towards Troye, towards our hero, and maybe some people were even unintentionally leaning forwards, unconsciously magnetized towards him. I took the opportunity every time there was a little free space in front of me to move a little closer, such as when others moved and made a bit more space around me up front. I don’t even know how I did it, but soon, eventually, I was literally two feet away from the gate up front, two feet away from the first row of standing fans. There were only three rows of very tight-packed people in front of me, fitting into a minuscule width of space.

As the show progressed, Troye sang song after song from his album Blue Neighbourhood, each line drawing up screams like wildfire. I noted how Troye was one of the best performers I have ever seen. There was nothing calculated about him, and every move of his was natural and authentic. There were no ostentatious gimmicks or skits or costume changes, and though those are often very nice in concerts, the simplicity of Troye’s show gave it its allure, its intimacy.

The bond Troye has with his fans is incredible, too. Between songs, he spoke to his fans as one, directing his words towards each individual, thanking us for how we had brought him so much happiness, how we allowed him to live his dream. As a mark of spontaneity, there was a point in the show where a group of people gave him a pride flag, his name in large letters emblazoned upon its face. And soon after, another girl gave him a paper, which he read aloud to the crowd: “Though the Suburbia Tour may be over, you are never really leaving our suburbia.” In one song with a rapped bridge, he offered the microphone towards a girl in the front who delivered the part with finesse and fire—as she uttered each line without fault, he broke into the broadest smile at how she knew all the words.

It’s not uncommon for older adults to scowl at new adults for their inexperience, but Troye’s concert was a celebration of youth. Though the world may insist on keeping us apart and lost, we have each other, and that is all we need. Troye’s dance moves echoed just this sentiment, allowing ourselves to let go, let go of all the responsibilities and superficialities that society stuffs in our heads, and instead to live, truly live and soak up the music and breathe in the lyrics. Troye’s songs come from the heart, too, drawing upon real-life experiences and weaving them into metaphors and impassioned melodies. It was a reflection of life, of humanity.

As the last show of the Suburbia Tour, Troye even made a few pleasantly surprising tweaks to the setlist. He covered “Monster” by Nicki Minaj, all the while swinging to arms and dancing to it, and proved the flexibility in his musical talents with the smoothness and flow of his rapping. Instead of delegating “Lost Boy” to the outro as done in most previous shows, it was the last song of the regular set. After he left and the crowd began to cheer for the encore, he returned and played “Swimming Pools”, a rarely-performed bonus track gem off the Target edition of his album, and everyone squealed in delighted surprise. Finally, he closed with his biggest hit, “Youth”, an anthem towards this chaotic, convoluted stage of life and the love and amity you can find in the midst of it. Near the end of the song, he came down from the stage to touch the hands in the front row, and he walked towards the right to touch everyone's hands there.

I saw my chance. The two people right in front of me had left in the middle of “Lost Boy”, so I had basically squeezed my way to the front, albeit as a massive surprise. As he came down, I rushed to the gate and extended out my right hand as far out as I could, as the fans around me did them same. A cloud of flying limbs surrounded my face, pressing into my neck and pinning me towards the gate. When Troye walked passed us, my hand touched his arm. Wildly I exclaimed over what had just happened (was it even real?), and though my throat was starting to parch from the amount of screaming and singing I’d been doing and the lack of water in the past few hours, my last worries peeled away to make room for the radiating joy throbbing through me. It was impossible for me to be happier. If I had died right then, it would have been completely in peace without regrets.

The concert was one of those memories you can’t let go of, a movie you want to rewatch again and again for what it makes you feel. More than anything, Troye establishes a personal, emotional connection with his fans, makes them feel included, like they are his friends. It's through his message of love and humor and strength that allow so many to find the happiness that makes life worth living.