I AM NO DANCER
I am no dancer. I’m pretty good at memorizing steps, but my body moves like a log despite the correct footwork.My dance instructor tells me again and again, “Elok, it’s all in your head. If you believe you can, you can”.
“But indeed I can’t. I can’t shake my torso like you do; can’t wiggle my bottom like you do; can't wave my hands like you do. Every imbecile knows it”, says I stubbornly.
The funny part is, I do believe in self-fulfilling prophecy. And my case is exactly that.
My mum first took me to a traditional dance class when I was little. I remember the joy at the beginning— dancing with my peers and having great times swirling about the room. That was until I heard what my dance instructor said to my mum.
I wasn’t actually eavesdropping. My dance instructor was talking to my mum, but he was fully aware that I was there listening to every word he said as well. My dance career (or what could have been) ended right then, right there.
He told my mum that I couldn’t join the other girls in the next performance because I wasn’t up to their level yet. My mum argued that the girls and I joined the class at roughly the same time—but to that, the dance instructor shook his head, saying that it wasn’t a function of time. Simply put, I was no dancer, and no matter how long I practiced, the sad fact would remain.
Finally my mum nodded, if quite gravely. I stared at the two of them -at the agreement they made- with innocent eyes, thinking that if two grown-ups said so, then it must be true: I was no dancer. I was silently accepting my “fate”.
This ghost of my past haunted me in good many years that followed. Every occasion that included dancing saw me running home or elsewhere. I wouldn’t dance because my dancing sucked—and to be forced to dance in public was my worst nightmare.
Even to this day the ghost haunts me still, but I can see that it has reduced itself from a gigantic no-no to an obstinate, tiny prejudice towards myself. The fear of being humiliated has evaporated somewhere along the fight. I was on the stage last month-- line-dancing with several other ladies in IPA Cocktail Party. I dance in every social event my function arranges. I attend a regular dance class and somehow bear with being the stupidest in the room (trust that my being the stupidest is a very rare occasion *cough*).
Ten years ago I would never had dreamed of enjoying dancing very much to the point of buying pricey dance shoes. I do now. But the thought that I am no dancer obstinately lingers. I guess it means that I have to pay more respect to Freud-- childhood trauma does leave a lasting mark.
As I’m writing this, one of Jewel’s songs quietly plays in the back of my head, “I have this theory/ that if we’re told we’re bad// That’s the only idol we’ve ever had// But maybe if we are surrounded in beauty/ someday we will become what we see.. //”
And I dance to its tune.
Labels: personal
posted by eloque @ 3:06 AM
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