Dance aftermath

So it's the day after.

Last night was fun. I enjoyed it heaps, missed out on one event because they kept screwing up the schedule and we were forced to wait to present ourselves 2 events before our actual ones, got two certs, can't ever seem to get 1st place, danced with a junior who won 1st place for ALL the dances we competed in (muahahaha) and had a teams match which was probably the best part of the evening. All the dancing, can can lines, clapping and whooping that went on was the best.

Plus, comments from senior members from other studios and comp teams about how lovely my cha cha and waltz was made my day. They even yelled out my number for the teams match, supporting me, which was awesome of them and it put a smile on my face. Unfortunately, the waltz music ended, I kinda tripped and did a half split on the floor. But laughed it off. It was fun.

The rest of the day was filled with me trying to fan myself and dry my incredibly soaked shirt (it was boiling in there!), dancing with a 9 year old girl and doing a really crap cha cha where she kept me in time with the music, and playing up the cha cha where LatinLady and I cranked up the heat and added awesome arm movements.

I'm getting there. Definitely.

And here it is for y'all to read.

Soft 2

Same scenario, snuggling on the couch.

 

Baby ah, sing me a song.

 

"What song do you want, hon?"

 

You think la. Haiyo...have to do song request one meh?

 

"All right all right....hmm....lemme see..."

 

*sings* If I said you had a beautiful body, will you hold it against me?" *sings*

 

WHACK!!

 

"WALAUEH! What the hell was that for?

 

And she's completely bowled over laughing.

 

Cilaka one you! Kanasai...sing that kinda song to me! Hahahahaha...

 

-.-""

 

Women. Honestly. First, they tell you one thing and then second, they smack you for no good reason. That was a song, was it not?

 

 *****

There's nothing better than seeing yourself kitted out in a tailsuit and noticing the way the fabric drapes over your shoulders. The cufflinks set sparkling against the white cut of the cloth and the dark, sombre fabric outlining the dancing pose that you pull in the mirror. The tails flutter lightly and land on your behind, as they do. You smile as it floats gently and decides to caress the floor. You can't wait to see yourself photographed in that. Or photographed doing a spin in that.

 

Oh, except for you. You're always a sight for sore eyes.

Treat.

I pushed the door open. It was deathly quiet in that little room. Air billowed from an air duct under the floor beneath me. The fluorescent light was bright and harsh.

 

I washed my hands at the white sink. All I could hear was the sound of air filling the room and the trickle of water as I soaped my hands.

 

Scrub the palms, the nails, the back of the hands. Remember the webbing between the fingers. Rotate one way, rotate the other.

 

I turned on the tap and the trickle became a little waterfall as I washed my hands under the flow. The water felt hot, slightly too hot to touch but hey, we're sterilising.

Turned off the tap and it was back to that deathly silence again. I dried my hands on rough brown paper towels, the paper rustling beneath my drying hands.

 

I grabbed a plastic gown and as I pulled it over my head, I wondered what I would do if I was to die. Curled up on the wooden floor, coughing out my last breath, the name of my beloved formed on my cold, dry lips.

It seemed meditative somehow to tie the straps of the gown behind you without having to look. Fingers fumble and hands stumble, trying to find the knot, the little hole where you slip the loop through and everything's secure.

 

Gown's on.

 

I let my hand drift into the plastic bag with the masks. I pulled one on, trying to get my glasses out of the way. It fitted a little tight around my nose. I breathed in and out, instantly feeling the moisture form on my cheek and nose. It felt a little harder to breathe, somehow, underneath that mask. I was breathing okay. But it felt odd. It felt weird.

 

Mask's on.

 

I pulled on my gloves, taking care not to touch anything apart from the little rubbery bits at the end, trying to guarantee a sterile procedure. It snapped satisfyingly, just like in the movies when the doctor pulls his gloves on. Checking to see that there were no obvious holes in my outfit, I turned around to face the day.

 

I opened the door.

 

The man whom I've seen for the past 3 days lay on the bed, looking up at me with slightly dead eyes. I stopped, wondering if he really had carked it until he cracked a smile and pushed himself up in bed. He adjusted the whopping big breathing mask on his face and tried to tidy himself up, brushing his unruly white hair out of the way.

 

I quietly breathed a sigh of relief. Live to fight another day.

 

"Morning, Bill. How are you?"

 

Oh, you know. So so. This swine flu isn't killing me yet."

 

 

 

 

Peaced out.

A colleague plugged in a CD full of orchestra music. So at 8am in the morning, there were four of us, two on the computers and two walking around getting things done listening to grand performances of Pachabel Canon and My Heart Will Go On with the occasional Pavarotti performance.

 

Beautiful stuff.

Carbo.

After a stressful morning, nothing beats having a chicken roll, a chicken sandwich and a huge mince pie for lunch. At least I can look at descending peacefully into carb-induced sleep at 3 this afternoon. Oh wait, no, I'm working. Shite.

 

And oh, hey. Hello, darling. I love you.

 

 

When I thought…

Michael Buble was the end of all jazz and slow dance pieces, she appears.

Jane Monheit. She’s like the female equivalent of Mikey, except you can lust after her and its okay.

She sang a version of “I won’t dance” with Michael and man. Sh|t.

Honestly. She’s sinful as hell.

Dear you,

You may never read these words. Or even if you do, I wonder if you’ll ever tell me about it.

I know that you mean well for me. And I know that it is perhaps, foolish of me to think of trying to aim for the stars when all I know is that I’ll fall and end up eating dirt. You watch out for me. And as Higher Authorities, I think its is your right and your responsibility that you do so.

But I don not think you would ever see how much I love this. How much this means to me. Perhaps, it goes way beyond your dreams.

Maybe it goes back to the time when you still had the passion for other things. When your friends and your colleagues thought you would become actors and singers or writers or something more than what you are now.

I wonder if you looked back at your lives, would you regret it?

Maybe not. This is probably the life you wanted to lead. The life that you had dreamed of.

Or maybe not. Maybe this is not the life that you had dreamt of. This was not the way things were to turn out. But here you are. And maybe it isn’t as bad as you thought it was going to be. Or maybe it is. But you push through it, you plod through it. Day by day. Week by week. Year by year.

And maybe this is not the life I was meant to lead. No. Perhaps this is not my destiny. Not my calling. None of it is.

But at least I can dream. Can’t I?

And perhaps, my dream can come true in the fog of all my other unanswered dreams.

With all my love,
Me.

Dance with me.

Dance with me
Won't you come dance
Fall through this rain
Let this mercy come falling
Sing to me
Sweet lullaby
Sing to my soul
As your mercy falls on me - WorshipLeader

 

 

Sometimes, listening to old songs and memories bring up the unpleasant.

 

I had a great time doing a performace to this very song with the Sociologist but I also recall that I was asked secondhand to do this performance. There was a better dancer out there than I was, better at performing, better at dancing, better at expressing the song, the dance. He was picked first. And then I was asked because this dancer was unable to do this song. I wonder sometimes, whether this was His way of giving me a chance to show off. Giving me a chance to dance this as I wanted to do this so much.

 

But even then, sometimes, I guess there is this whole thing about forgiving and forgetting and letting go and letting things happen and not to hold grudges and just bear with it.

 

Of course I will. I will do it.

Not out of the fact that I came from a family or was brought up in a religion that preached forgiveness and amnesia.

 

Just because I can. And because it means that I have control over this part of me.

 

Sigh.

 

I'm actually having a relatively okay day today. I just feel like whining a little.

 

 

 

 

Goal-setting.

Everyone should set goals and aim for it, as the saying goes. We head for the future of productivity and dreams. Hah. Sounds like propaganda to me.

 

But all right. I shall set my goal.

 

I want to be in the future A-list International book.

 

What this book entails is a collection of stories from all the greatest ballroom dancers in the world, showcased in exquisite artistic garb and in their most stunning forms. A short Q&A session also involved asking them their greatest achievements, their steps to fame and greatness and current awesome careers.

 

*Tried finding a cover picture to show you just how awesome it is but I can't seem to find one. D@mn unpublicised book covers!

Soft.

We snuggled on the couch in the slightly darkened room. Hushed.

 

"Mmm..." as I nuzzled against her neck and hugged her really close. "I missed how soft you are."

 

"Sorry, there are people outside. Can't be too loud, you know."

 

"What?!?!"

 

"You said I was soft. There are people outside okay?"

 

"Walaueh! I meant you feel very soft la! Sh|t....spoil the mood only." *pout*

 

"Ohhhhh.......come here, bao bei..." *evil grin*

*****

 

Honestly. Sometimes women want you to be romantic and then blame you for not being romantic enough.

 

Currently very addicted to, "You'll never find another love like mine" from Michael Buble but that's apparently only half the song. I'll need to get the Lou Rawls version.

 

And there is no one else, no-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, no one else...

Made it through the rain.

Sometimes, its nice to leave work knowing that you have done a job and a good one at that.

 

Its nice to know.

 

I'm on the weekend roster this week so as my personalised message on gmail reads, "I am still at the mercy of WDHB. Damned oncall cellphone!", I'm tied hand and foot to the hospital. Oh yay.

 

But today was cool. It was somewhat relaxed yet panicky, busy yet calm and I could take things in my own time, in my own way. It felt nice to do that without having to feel that I was being summoned from every angle of the room.

 

Not to mention the pay. +D

 

...

 

On another note, sometimes, we fight so hard to achieve what we just can't get. So why do we even bother?

 

Jokes and funnies aside, is it due to our damned stubborn attitudes and our refusal to give in that we keep living this life, loving this love, singing this song, lighting that cigarette, playing that game, stuffing our faces?

 

Then one day the sky appears and we'll come shining through those lonely years

 

I've done what I can today. And I've lived to fight another day. As always.

Insanity/Happiness at the End.

And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music - Friedrich Wilheim Nietzche


Indeed. All the people who don't hear it. 

And at the end, isn't it all about whether you're happy? 


Honestly, no matter what happens, no matter who says what, if you're happy, doesn't that mean anything?

Guess what...

!I've got my glasses, I've got my glasses!

Woke up one morning.

And I suddenly realised..."Oh, crap, I have to go to work today."

So work was average. Just the usual. Patients need seeing, patients need to be discharged.

End of the day, I walked out, hitched a ride with an acquaintance for a dance lesson down in Palmy.

Danced for a bit and headed back up again.

Got home, and cooked myself dinner. Two packets of indomee with three crumbed fish fillets.

As I showered and got myself into bed, I thought of the fact that I'll have to wake up a little bit earlier tomorrow.

And oh yeah, Happy birthday, me. Its just another day, another year. Halfway there now.

Halfway there.








No, my birthday was NOT that sad and pathetic. I had lovely texts from everyone around, including Tofupuff, Sis, the Sociologist, the Higher Authorities, the Pharmacist, MedicallyJazzGirl, Apple/Pear Girl, and Timone. Funnily enough.

But honestly, every year I grow older, I think I'm honestly losing my touch for celebrating birthdays. Just something quiet. Something contained. A little time spent with special people.

All I'm asking for.

Gotta tell me when I fall.

So I sat my ballroom exams yesterday. Three dances, I flew through them (not because I was good, just because there's something called "bodyflight" which means that you're constantly on the move whilst dancing the foxtrot/waltz) and I honestly must say that I was disappointed at my performance.

Not only did I keep bumping knees with my exam partner which was highly embarassing, I could tell she was doing a fair bit of work to keep me under control most of the time.

Marks were non-commenting on my poor technique but I felt as though there wasn't really much chance.

Potential and talent are two different things and lacking one, I'm pretty screwed in the other.

I've got a dance party on Monday night, which will be the THING to look forward to at the start of next week. But apart from that, we're back to where we began. Square one. Thanks.

But apart from a certificate, my exam comments sheet, and a social dance pin, I got a book (written by the examiner, who is a pretty impressive persona in the dancesport world) too from a very very random rhythm foxtrot dance competition. Which was pretty cool and I can definitely see that the examiner's outlook and fastidiousness at dance rivals my own. Oh, how lovely.

But apart from that, I've got nothing really interesting to say.

Although I must comment on a lovely lovely skirt I saw yesterday that twirled in the most enchanting manner.

Suffocate.

This morning, I was walking around when I noticed that I've been holding my breath for the past at least 3 minutes or so.

 

Maybe it was just me, maybe it was the sensation of holding your breath, or maybe it was the feeling as THOUGH I felt like I was holding my breath.

 

But work flowed and work flowed fast today. I panic, thinking off all the paperwork and things I need to do.

 

Medical terms and words leap out at my face, ready to pounce and swallow me alive if I don't submit.

 

Discharges leapt off the board, no doubt to be filled up completely by the time the clock strikes 5 this afternoon. I thank the Lord somehow that I can leave slightly earlier today.

 

It doesn't really help that I've been reading articles talking about "When do you know if its time to leave your job?" and "Step up and take the plunge: The Business Opportunity" and "Do you like working here?"

 

Maybe its a sign.

 

In a way, I want to apologise to the Higher Authorities. I was never really the person they wanted me to turn out to be and even with the job that I'm holding down now, 5 months into it and I'm ready to crack and spill military secrets.

 

But "Oh, let me dance!" will never ever be an option.

 

Its funny how sometimes, such a wide space can be so claustrophobic. Its funny how I forget to breathe when I'm stressed out. Its funny how I sit here, wondering if I've made the biggest mistake of my life to date, and I still wake up the next morning.

 

Its a 4 day week. And I'm ready to call this day 4.

 

In a way, I feel I need to toughen up. In a way, I feel as though I need to suck it up and just do it. Face the paperwork, the stupid medical terms one after another, let it all crumble around in my brain and drive me insane and I'll automatically send you out, give you rehab, send you out, see ya later, send you out, rest and recover, and then go home at the end of the day and shovel food into my mouth and play a stupid computer game.

 

This is life, folks.

 

But in a way, there's so much more to life. We don't live for work, we don't chase the cash. Where the only music that plays is a Gershwin tune and not the beeping of an IV drip.

 

Baby depressed again, ah?

 

Yalor.

 

Come here, sweetie. It's going to be okay.