Karaoke, the Universal Language

I am stuck, I am wounded

I am drowned in a bar

Desperate in oblivion, love

I am drowned in a bar

A bit later, the hostesses took a break in a side room.

For Jenny Segovia, 24, who left El Salvador two years ago in search of better opportunities, it was a thrilling gig.

But for Ana Torres, 22, it was a way to forget everything. That's what drives many to the microphone, she said. "They have fights with their wives. They come from work tired. Sometimes they feel sad about their countries," she said.

She wants to get ahead, but she lacks the means. Every spare dime, she said, goes to her twin 6-year-old daughters in El Salvador. She last saw them four years ago.

Her head dropped. She fought tears, then wiped them away.

Then she headed toward the music -- to sing, and to forget.

The front tables were empty at Cafe Muse, in the heart of Annandale's Koreatown. But in the back -- where groups sing in private, windowless rooms -- a slice of the world lay behind every door.

In one room, kung fu teacher Hon Lee sat on a hard black bench surrounded by his nine students, who are originally from Japan, Iran, Korea and the United States and usually gather at a Reston martial arts center. A strobe light bounced multihued disks of light across the checkered linoleum floor and the blank walls.