Royal Academy of Dance

It has come to that time of the year again, when ballet dancers all over have their examination with the hope to advance to a grade higher. It is one of the crucial moments in the life of a dancer, for while they experience the adrenalin of going through the examination, any kinds of low esteem or nervousness must not be running in their blood, so as to show a solid performance and engage with the examiner. I don’t know about you, but it has always been difficult for me, especially in practical examinations like this, where my body would stiffen for no reason and giving a good performance would mean tearing myself into pieces.

Recently, I played the piano for the ballet school I have been working for almost 3 years now. Before the examination I went through a brutal phase of having to play the piano for 7 to 8 hours on weekends, practicing the pieces, repairing them to the point of having satisfied myself. The seriousness of this has kept me away from leisure, but the beauty of the whole picture had drawn me in.

There are many dancers in line but the best ones often few. Among the dancers was a young girl about eleven or twelve years old, of delicate frame, very promising and persuasive. And another, whose first appearance was so timid and wistful, that I felt constrained to notice more than the others. But this was not easy, as I was told to be less demonstrative during the examination. In fact, I was not suppose to talk or make any gesture, rather my only purpose there was to provide music accompanying them in witness of their dancing. How atrocious!

The examiner this year around was about 5 ft 8” minus 3” of platforms. Each time we began, life was reduced to ballet and piano. Usually after two songs, my mind would settle, and I will begin to focus on the coming pieces. The playing became more than an immediate task; it was my memories and experience. Sometimes, the examiner took a great deal of time to make her comments on the dancers, giving my mind time to wander during the intervals.

From time to time, she will hum along with my music, perhaps expecting a change in tempo or clarity, and often shifted her position on the seat. When I began to watch her more closely, she appeared to be a very reserved person, seldom smiled. She would look at the dancers with a kind of authority, sometimes petrifying as they faced each other with reverence. This kind of arrogance, I cannot understand. For most of the time, they told me it is the style of a dancer, elegance even in examining.

Eventually, the last ballerina came and went with much excitement in my part. What not, with the pressure of being capable of killing those dancers with my bare hands (if you get what I mean). At the end of the day, while I was happily packing my last music book into the bag, the examiner shifted her position and looked around the empty room. She gazed over the building opposite the window, then back again to her writing. I turned and took one last glance at her, this time around; her face was unlike the cold stone I had seen earlier. She looked relieved.

She lay down her pen and lifted her head; which then I realized that she looked quite elegant indeed. She offered a smile (finally) and we exchanged words before I left the room which had taught me so much about life. Among them to be humble, especially in the presence of someone who knows so much more, like the examiner, whose whole life is dedicated and prepared for art, for a new field of play which I never knew of, and for a creativity that I couldn’t match.

Comprende, si?

If this is only the beginning, how come it feels so much like the end?

The cow and i

When you pray for a better life, what do you actually pray for?

You ask me, what satisfaction I get out of studying, and why do I go on working at the same time. I suppose I go on doing the things I do for the same reason that the cow goes on giving milk. Although at some point i think she prefers giving cocktail.

My dream, is to be a well known writer, whose writings seize to have a certain effect on people. But then if you ask me if it matters, I suppose it won’t. I write not to please others, I write to satisfy myself. Just as when a cow gives milk, she is not trying to satisfy the milkman, but to satisfy herself.

Next to that, is I am quite devoid of religion. All of my life, I have never done anything out of religious impulse. I don’t steal, don’t smoke, and don’t drink because I doubt I would find any satisfaction in such indulgence. On the contrary, I do believe god treats me with vast politeness for I have never experienced any serious disputes or poverty. However, I simply can’t imagine revering to the god of war and politics, or cancer and osteosarcoma. Just as the cow is grateful to god for grass, but never like the idea of worshipping during Hari Raya Korban.

Last but not least, I do not believe in immortality for the same reason that a cow never looks right or left when crossing the street. She never bothers to look if the little man in the traffic light has turned green because she knows if she is destined to die she will die, despite obeying the law.

If you ask me what the meaning of human life may be, I don’t know. I incline to suspect there is none.

All I know about it is that, to me at least, it is very amusing while it lasts.

Not sure about the cow though. What about you?