.


BASICS

teach your children
to dance

before

you train their feet
to shoes


by:

.




.

Lights on.

1…2…3…

The bamboo beats, the smell of lipstick and the heart beats of my family from afar. Hair nets. Orchids on it. Ternos. Baro’t saya. I learned the castanets earlier than the very first day I braved to write my name under poetry.

Then there were claps. Chin up, I and the rest of the troupe danced bare footed, with smiles of zest and passion.


Lights off.

10…9…8…

Latin taps, gleaming light balls, showing off the curves and some skin, my partner grabbed my waist, as I pouted and did some flirtation for Samba.

7...6...5…

Hiphop. Cheerdance. Interpretative. Dirty Dancing.


But the best dances do not need choreography. Like those tribe dances despite the intrusion of modernity, those old men in baylehans and the smell of tuba, lovers’ foreplay, on-the-spots, out-of-joys-and-drunkenness, kids during their PE classes…

Yours. Nobody’s watching.

In those nights when solitude grew lengthy fingernails and my innermost crouched, I danced and in those mornings when I felt so unpretty and fat, I grooved to music. Lately, I taught a group of kids, not how to win but how to dance, not how to raise the chin but how to smile to the world, not to move with the beat but how to dance on...from a fumble.

Last time, I reunited with the dancer in me, collected hugs from aspiring souls, gathered gratitude from supportive parents, and clapped my palms as if I could sore them.

Last time, I found my self standing far from the stage as little dreamers inspired the crowd. Children have their way to touch lives, to move their lips and sail hearts, to throw a smile and melt the galaxy. And their way is what most of us, yes, (even me) tend to forsake.

Last time, I stopped questioning the existence of things and creatures. I went home with happy tears, turned the music up danced with my little siblings Kai, Kuj and Kin.

Their laughter and their awkwardness paved the way to the alley where I stand now.

Come near, smell the ash, let’s shirt the sunset and slipper the humming birds.




DO YOU DANCE?







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CSS by:
Danilo Guillano