Dancing, to me, is a sport, the only one that I’m good at, the only one that I know.
Tomorrow will be the first special Saturday for me not to wake up 2-3 am, to dress up fast to catch up with my 4 am call-time. I will no longer spend the early hours of tonight to prepare my costume for tomorrow’s event; instead, I will be preparing clothes, not for costume, but for laundry day.
Thousands of people are here to celebrate and to watch, what I was before competitive as I anticipate dancing. I was walking with JE on my way home earlier and I envy, as much as I disgust way before, the people and all the preparations for tomorrow. I envy them like crazy. And then I realized, I still want to be a performer.
I was a performer. I once dreamt of doing this my whole life because I know I’m actually good at it. But something made me think that performing isn’t me; rejection. I got this over my head already, I have totally moved on but is this normal to feel?
I remember spending my money on costumes, counting “5, 6, 7, 8…”, exposing my body in a frying pan while I glance and run, screaming for props, costumes, instructions, counts, steps, making face at my mentors back while she seriously give funny and cliché lines to us, dance, perform, dance.
But all these are gone. I am now accounting not the performance’s financial positions but learning it instead. My name is now written in a tarpaulin not for achieving artistic excellence but for academic excellence. I am now holding handbooks and big books, not scripts and wavers.
And now I conclude, I want to bring back the performer in me.