blocked again

I have writer's block again. And therefore, I have blogger's block, since the frickin' writer's block is in the way. Anyway, even if I haven't added even a single word to that frickin' writer, I'm gonna blog. I don't care if I have nothing to submit to my editor.

Which is a good segue to what I want to blog about: my freelance work. Meaning to say, I don't want to pimp my pen anymore. I've long, long ago decided to not pimp my body (hehehe, I mean I decided I'm never going to dance anything that's not ballet for money, or create dances for ballet students' intermission numbers or direct whatever corporate eklavu) and I've properly stayed away from that, thank God. Now, I'm so turned off from pimping my pen that I'm thisclose to minimalist living (no more dinners out, no more new shoes, no more Time Out Chocettes). I'm glad I still have parents who ask me, "Do you need money?" I may start to say yes, one of these days.

Mikah and I were talking about this new aversion of mine, and asking about my aversion to racketeering in general. This is something I'm not used to, but I'm slowly enjoying - he is often asking me why I do things, why I don't do things, why I feel the way I do about certain things, and these things I usually take for granted as just things I do just because, well, I'm starting to figure them out because Mikah is looking at me and waiting for an answer.

So, I've figured out why I don't like freelance work, or any kind of racket. It takes time away from the things I do want to do and that I'm interested in. And currently, there are a LOT of things I want to do. Well, not a lot, but I have a full schedule. Never mind that these things don't make money. I've spread myself too thin a lot, to know that this is no way to live. Who needs Time Out Chocettes anyway?

I'm not poor yet; I'm looking at the future. My harassment-free future. I think God is trying to tell me, "Hey, you quit your job, and all the money that goes with, to dance. If you're gonna do something for money, it's not gonna ever be easy ever again." He's right, it's not easy. Can't blame me for wishing so.

I have to attempt to write that darn article now. I have no data. I called a dozen places today and if their numbers were not yet in service, they weren't helpful or cooperative. All the while, I wish I were revising my thesis (which is due tomorrow, aaargh). Or blogging. Or answering one of Mikah's "But why?" questions. But here I go. *brave face*

i know what you did last holy week

Or rather I know what I did. And you shall too.

Holy Thursday, Day One.

• We set out at 4:30 in the morning because my Dad believes in leaving margins for error. Meaning, in case we get lost... you get the picture. We didn't get lost. We did get landsick. I never get landsick, that is, dizzy in car rides, but with Edoy the Reckless the Driver at the wheel, well, there's a first time for everything. We actually didn't need an extra driver because Lucas could have driven, but Dad decided to ask Edoy to drive us because he's my Dad's mechanic and it would be good for him to be around in case either of the cars breaks down mid-mountain. See what I mean about leaving margins for error? I thankfully was able to sleep halfway through, which is weird because I hardly ever sleep during car rides. I only do so when I'm very tired or lack sleep. Thank God Mikah came over last night, bearing Spirited Away on DVD.
• The drive took only about four hours. I remember it used to take six or so, but then that was 12 years ago when the roads weren't paved. They are now. I also remember being sick in the car because Daddy would play Pink Floyd and Ozzy super loudly. Ironic, don't you think? We took the roro to cross the ocean to Polillo, which took three hours, according to Jacqui, "the longest three hours of my life." But we didn't get seasick, so it's no biggie.
• Reaching Polillo though, well, let's just say that the end justifies the means. We got there at lunch and headed out to the beach after our meal. It is GORGEOUS. The sand is so fine (not quite white, but, well, sandy) and the water so clear that you can see your feet when you're swimming. This photo will probably say it all.

Damn, I'm the color of labanos.

• The only bad thing was I became embarassingly aware that my bikini bottom is too big for me. I lost that much weight, I guess. Jacqui panalo hirit of the day: "Joe, passe na yung tanga." Bastos!

Good Friday, Day Two.

• March 25 is my Dad's birthday. Happy birthday, Daddy!
• Guess what. It rained on and off all morning, foiling my Dad's plan of staying at the beach all day and foiling my plan to be a different color by Saturday. I'm guessing the Lord does want us to remember what happened to His Son so that sins may be forgiven. We instead spent the morning becoming better acquainted with our relatives (we couldn't do anything else because the electricity on the entire island operates only from 2 in the afternoon to 6 in the morning. Which is a welcome change from when there was no electricity at all. Ah, those were the days).
• We stayed at the house of my Dad's cousin instead of the hotel, which was fully booked because this year was the scheduled alumni homecoming of Mount Carmel High School. I remember clearly the house we stayed at, even if it didn't used to be the house they lived in the last time I was there. It was the house of another relative who died; they had moved into it sometime ago. I have cousins who are now so grown up it's shocking and disorienting (I have nephews!!!!), although after a while you discover they're the same people we used to hang out at the beach with some time ago, who used to say in their accented speech that we can't swim today or else we'll turn into stone. The biggest difference is they now drink. This seems to be the pastime of the island: they work all day and drink their heads off at night. I'm thinking, that used to be understandable when there didn't used to be electricity, though my mom surmises that it had become a habit. Ah, to live in a land where lambanog is 10 bucks a bottle.
• We went to the beach after lunch, when the sky cleared a bit. The wind was cold so I didn't swim, just waded around a bit, collected tiny seashells and helped Lucas build a sandcastle. It's actually more an Egyptian city. I liked this day at the beach as much as I did yesterday, so it was all good.
• Strange thing, I realized today. I have no desire to use the bathroom for number 2. At all. And in Manila, I never skipped a day. I guess when your body becomes traumatized from holes in the floor, it never forgets. Though, to be fair, they have actual toilets now. A lot can happen in 12 years. Still didn't make me want to go, though.
• Of my Manileno second cousins, one of them is now a resident of Polillo, with a wife and kid and thriving living entering cockfights. When we were younger, his brother kind of had a crush on me. Half drunk (they all drink, even the women), he whips out his phone, dials a number and says to me, "Joelle, kausapin mo o." It's his brother. Guess you saw that coming. He is on his way to Polillo tomorrow. I leave tomorrow. I'm thinking how cool that is.
• Back at the house, with everyone sort-of-drunk-but-not, my cousin Roy puts in the DVD of The Passion of the Christ and we're all gathered around watching. I never watched it before because I heard about how painful it was to watch. Now that I've seen it, I'm thinking it wasn't all that painful. I guess I think that because I've more or less believed in all the pain and passion He had gone through to save us from the fires of hell. And I've always been grateful.
• I was also distracted by the fact that the guy who played John looks like a certain guitarist with blue eyes. Omygod, what color.
• Panalo hirit from Roy, while watching Jesus fall for the second time, with the cross toppling on top of him: "Eh talaga yang mabigat, iya'y dalawang troso."

Black Saturday, Day Three.

• We go home, catching the 6am ferry. It's the ferry this time, not the roro and is only supposed to take 2 hours instead of 3. But boy are the waves fierce. We used to always sit outside the cabins and now I remember why. I threw up out the ferry door in the middle of the ocean and my Dad immediately displaced us to sit at the deck of the ferry. Jacqui said to me, "Sumuka ka? Cool."
• More dizziness in the car, with Edoy the Reckless Driver. I swear, he's so fired. Ha, as if I had the power to. Anyway, Infanta (where the port to Polillo is, the same Infanta that was in the news for massive landslides and troso and dead bodies that littered the ocean and beaches) is dismal, which got me more depressed and sick. I was feeling bad also that there are more bald spots on the mountains than I remember. When I was younger, Mommy used to pull out plants from the sides of the mountains to take home and I used to think she was gonna pluck the mountain bald one day. Illegal loggers beat her to it! It was a high point when we stopped at a plant shop on a mountain road and Mommy bought a fern.
• At Pagsanjan, we stopped at Ernest Santiago's restaurant for lunch. He's this good friend of my parents from the 70s and the rents' disco days; he used to own a notorious club called Coco Banana. Since then, he retreated to Pagsanjan and has made it his business to beautify Pagsanjan and the neighboring provinces. I love him. I hardly meet people as cool as he. His restaurant is also a gallery - if you like the furniture you're using while having lunch, you can buy them. And he has such beautiful furniture. Actually, everything is beautiful. We looked at his garden (his restaurant is outside his home), and it's like a small paradise in his backyard. It kind of reminds me of the Gallardo household, but on a bigger scale. Then, when we finish lunch, he whisks us over to Lucban to look at his current project - a Lost Horizon type garden restaurant overlooking the most majestic lake I've ever seen live. The garden is something else - more grand and gorgeous than the garden behind his house. I can't describe it adequately in a short paragraph, you just have to take my word for it. I'll take you there some time.
• After all that gorgeous sightseeing, I go back to being dizzy and dismal as we continue our journey home. It actually got worse. Reckless Driver Edoy has taken over the CD player and has put on Scorpions. Oh. My. God. I realize though, that maybe it wasn't really Ozzy and Pink Floyd that got on my nerves all those years ago, it was being in a car for a very long time. Cabin fever. I think I may have killed Edoy during the chorus of one of the lesser known (read: more irritating) songs if I wasn't getting text messages about being missed. All you need is love, love, love is all you need.
• (In fairview, Edoy's okay. He's just better at fixing cars than he is at driving them).
• Home sweet home!!!! I hit my laptop as soon as I had the chance and tried to start my thesis proposal, the one that had been, all this time, unstartable. After wrestling with it considerably, I was asked out and I happily spent the night meeting "the friends" and learning how to play Tekken. It is so romantic when your boyfriend lets you win.

Easter Sunday, Day Four.

• I spent this entire day slaving over my thesis proposal. It turned out great (according to my Research Prof, during our class' marathon 6-hour final meeting the next day at her house) and I can start requesting for a thesis adviser from the Department. I'm excited. And happy.

making myself scarce... and golden brown...

My family and I are going to Polillo Island, my father's birthplace, for a few days. There is no internet there, well I assume there isn't because the last time I was there (maybe 12 years ago, or so) there was hardly any electricity. But it's a fun roadtrip and an adventure, plus some of the most undiscovered (read: gorgeous) beaches in the country. I'm leaving my laptop behind, even if there might be electricity in most houses now, and hello we're staying at a hotel. But I've stumbled into a kind of writer's block and I figure the opening paragraphs of my thesis will come to me somehow, no sense in forcing it by sitting unproductively in front of my laptop. For the rest of this week, I will read actual books (I plan to finish Beauty this week), write in my offline journal, talk lengthily to my family, swim and soak in the sun.

I'll dig you guys another day. Happy Easter!

hormonal thoughts

Recent talks of how insecurity can make you do evil things (we were talking about other people, being evil to us) has gotten me wondering if I do evil things as well. I don't like that I'm insecure - I try to curb it, but it manifests itself anyway.

I feel I need to explain. You know how you can chalk up somebody's evil actions to their insecurity? Take a person, the most irritating person you know. More often than not, s/he is irritating, spiteful, loud, abrasive, protruding, mean, et cetera, because s/he is insecure about her/himself.

So anyway, I know that I am insecure. I know I don't really have anything to be insecure about, but I still get that way sometimes. Force of habit, I guess. And a very high standard that I set for myself. Am I, or do other people find me irritating, spiteful, loud, abrasive, protruding, mean, in any combination of two or three or all of the above?

I hope not. I worry too much about my self-worth, already.

i haven't watched a ballet video in ages

I'm watching our school's recital from two Decembers ago - Swan Lake, with me dancing as the Black Swan. I made a point to watch it because there's a bunch of pictures of that show in our studio and I was looking at it and thinking, how nice. So as soon as I had time I sat down to watch the video.

Of course, I have thoughts from watching it. First, me as Black Swan.

It was okay. It could use more work, more rehearsals, more centering. I definetely needed more time working on my technique. I figure, I'd probably do a better Black Swan today, given a year of daily ballet class and constant improvement, more weight loss, and hopefully more time for rehearsals. Rehearsals are super important. Rehearsals are humbling.

I'm thinking I'm a better dancer than I've ever been. Which is good. My biggest worry, as usual, is age catching up with me, will I be able to dance my best for at least a while yet? Knees and ankles, cooperate!

The company I'm dancing for is presenting Swan Lake in July. Already, Anatoli is making his own tentative casting. He does that a lot - before the ballet is mounted, he casts the ballet on his own and tells the dancers he wants you to dance this part, etc. And then Tito G comes around and makes the final casting and it's not always what Anatoli had in mind. You can imagine the disappointment this usually inspires but Anatoli goes on and casts his own anyway. So, even if he keeps promising me that I'm going to do this part or that part (not Odile or Odette, of course), I'm not holding my breath.

Watching my production of Swan Lake, even if there are hardly any sets and it's mostly done by kids, it's a pretty good staging. It's exciting and pretty and interesting and it tells the story and it's full of happy people dancing. I want ballet, and all the dancing I do from now on, to be exactly like that.

-------

I haven't been blogging lately. Things have been happening, but not stuff I feel should be blogged about. I guess I was getting ready for the long vacation. Will blog more interesting stuff soon.

spinning out

thesis journal entry # 15

I'm holding all fiction for this non-fic that I'm reading. It's called Private View: Inside Baryshnikov's American Ballet Theatre. It chronicles an entire year in the life and times of ABT as it was headed by Baryshnikov during it's 1986 - 1987 season. It's soooo engrossing, I'm literally stopping and starting while writing this blog entry because I get lost reading the book when all I'm doing is looking for quotes to post here.

It's not exactly what my thesis is going to look like when it's done - it's juicier than my thesis because I plan to be very bland and just-the-facts-ma'm with my thesis. This book, written by John Fraser, is like a movie, discussing the complexities of a ballet company, jealousies and rivalries and conspiracies and blisters and all. I'm being very inspired by a lot of things in the book, I'm able to relate to a lot of the stuff that's in it.

Some of the stuff in it is riveting, particularly the inside stories about the dancers. It's interesting to read how Susan Jaffe was being built up to be the quintessential Baryshnikov ballerina at that time, only to succumb to injuries and was forced to put off stardom for an entire season. I have a recent video of her performance in an ABT gala, with her looking really old and about to retire - in fact, she retired the season after that particular taped performance. Well, she didn't look that old, but set against Paloma Herrera, ABT's new "star," well, you know what I mean. Anyway, I would have loved to see what she looked like in her prime.

Another interesting thing to read about would be the grief that Martine van Hamel was getting from all her artistic directors at ABT, including Baryshnikov. He was harping about her age (she was 41 in the 1986-87 season) and she was pissed off and asking, What the hell does my age have to do with anything? I've seen Martine van Hamel do Raymonda (the best Raymonda ever) and Myrtha from Giselle and I am such a big fan. By the time this book is written, she's now fighting for parts that Baryshnikov would rather give the new ballerinas, the new stars he wants to push, like, say, Susan Jaffe. When she gets injured all of a sudden, guess who easily slipped into the roles reserved for Susan with the greatest of ease? I love how she gets vindicated in the end, like the universe smiling on her in the best way.

And finally, my quote. I love this, it made me feel so much better about my dancing, well, at least it made me feel less of a freak:

"You get obsessed by dancing. There seems to be no choice. Sometimes, you are miserable, sometimes, you are floating in elation. But you can't leave it alone until the passion is spun out. If you are very lucky, you try not to hate it when you leave."

- Lisa Rinehart, dancer for ABT and Netherlands Dance Theater

a few realizations and major denial

I realized something yesterday, at first while listening to some changes my Research prof suggested I make to my research proposal, and again while being corrected for Tzigane - I've gotten much better at accepting correction and criticism. I guess you could say I've been so used to believing I'm right (and therefore never wrong), that it gets in the way of keeping an open mind. Which explains a lot about why I have the hardest time dealing with my father, why I would get in trouble with authority figures, why I can turn my back on friends and never friend them again, why I had the hardest time deciding what to do with my thesis.

And I realized something else, too. My Research prof's criticism was enlightening - I tend to complexify things. "Complexify" is not my word, I picked it up from Junboy who was describing an ex boyfriend of mine. Actually, he was correcting said ex-boyfriend, who had just said that he liked to simplify things, "You? No way! You don't simplify things, you complexify them!" But I digress.
Anyway, when it comes to me, I realized that I was looking for a meaty problem to sink my teeth into. But the only thing that it was going to serve as an academic, scholarly paper in the Philippines would be my own gratification that I wrote such a smart, complex paper. What good, then, will it be to other people, when only I can understand it? It's mental masturbation at its finest.

I do like to make things more difficult. Could it be that I like the challenge? I have to knock myself on the head the next time I try to take on the world with my bare hands. In the movie, 28 Days (no, not 28 Days Later, just 28 Days), Sandra Bullock's character is in rehab and they hang a cardboard sign on her that says, "Confront me when I don't ask for help." That is so me, that it's uncanny.

I'm fully booked for the summer. I don't know how it happened, actually, but I'm dancing full time, teaching kids' creative movement, elementary modern and stage acting for our studio's summer workshop within the week, starting serious work on my thesis, preparing syllabi for my new other job that's supposed to kick in after summer. Quick, confront me when I don't ask for help. I think I may need a cardboard sign.

Thinking about how hectic it's going to be the next months, I'm going to milk my holy week vacation for all its worth. I would definitely like to start now.

---

Tzigane update: we did the entire thing without stopping for the first time today. We've done most of it adequately well the last week but Anatoli would stop in the middle to correct something or we would be dying and he would stop so that we can catch our breaths. Today, we did it start to end. Mostly pretty good, there are some things that need work, but that's to be expected. I think if I do it everyday, I'll soon get the hang of it and do it flawlessly. Just don't ask me to perform it in front of a mass of people.

(Yes, I know performance is what all this practice is for, but I'm in denial.)

messages and giveaways

I'm addicted to gmail's special thingie that tells you how long ago you received or wrote a particular message. It's there beside the sender and the subject of the email, it says you got/wrote this message "2 hours/days ago" etc. Now, whenever I look at any message, whether on yahoo or LJ or my tagboard on my sleepyhouse (hullo Mayo!), I'm wishing it specified when that message came in, according to how many minutes/days/weeks ago I got it.

Given that, I have gmail invites. You want gmail? Send me your email addies either here (just say vahvels at yahoo, or something) or to joelle.jacinto at gmail dot com. I have a lot, like 50 or so.

speaking of Mayo

I feel like visiting you up there in the land of No Yahoo. You think Faith would be a good sport if I send her stuff about my Dad and PBT over again? I promise to deliver this time (our company manager, we've discovered, talks a good talk but is slow on the follow up). Just tag me. I miss you!!!

onions and chocolate

I healed myself today. I made myself some onion soup (though it could have used more meltable cheese), I did body conditioning exercises for my poor ankle, I resolved not to worry about religiously updating my thesis journal.

I'm sick and tired of writing in my thesis journal. All I'm doing is whining. I'll only write entries when something happens or when I observe something that seems pertinent to my thesis. What I'm accomplishing (instead of writing my thesis) is giving a voice to the noise in my head, the noise that I've been trying to shush. The noise in my head that questions my determination and scoops out every little insecurity.

I don't need to submit my journal entries to my Research prof anymore anyway. It's now all a matter of getting things into the thesis and I know where I'm headed now, unlike how I was pre-journal. I'm setting myself free.

I smell sorta like onions. And cocoa, because I got all umay from the onion soup and I made myself Swiss Miss. They weren't kidding when they said chocolate made you feel good, huh? I'm fizzing.

the nerves

thesis journal entry # 14

This will still be about Tzigane, but because something interesting happened yesterday. The day before, Nino and I were feeling much better about our execution of the steps, so much so that Nino was already bragging that we could perform it the next day. Then, the next day comes and while I'm putting on my pointe shoes, our company manager walks in and tells us that we have a lot of tentative shows coming up this month, the earliest being next Tuesday. And people were all, "If we're gonna dance on such short notice, it better be something we've been rehearsing." And someone said, "Tzigane!"

And the most curious thing happened. I started to not be able to do things that I normally could do. Like where to put my passe after Nino drops me into the fishdive after the overhead butt lift (um, it's called that because one hand is beneath the back of my left thigh, the other is under my butt) and not being able to recover properly. My double tours to the knee DISAPPEARED so Anatoli changed the step to a supported sissone split en l'air. I can do that well, it's just the idea that he changed the step that's frustrating. And all my turns are off. And it was so bad that at one point, I suddenly changed where my arms go and smacked Nino in the face with my elbow.

I realize it's a case of the nerves. I suddenly didn't feel confident enough with the possibility that we might be dancing this sooner than we thought. I was all happy without this pressure and doing everything pretty good the other day. Now look at the mess.

Both Anatoli and Nino are optimistic though. I have to shake this off somehow.

why I'm not buying a new phone

1. I cannot afford one. I was only able to buy my last two expensive phones because I had a way bigger paycheck than I do now. Now, I can't buy a phone. Well, maybe a cheap one. And even then, I bet have other things I'd rather buy than a cheap phone.
2. I really liked my old phone. The way I use it. The way I can text on that keypad and everyone else had the hardest time. The way it looked, how nice and shiny it is and it didn't look like a toy the way some 3650s do. The way it sounded when it messaged me. I did say I get attached to things that belong/ed to me. These things are the hardest to replace. Buying a new phone, a cheaper not as pretty phone, is like getting stuck with the regular 20 hour ISP Bonanza prepaid cards after the promo of the 30 hours with free internet from midnight to dawn had ended.
3. I'm pissed at the idea that if I want a phone immediately, I should go to the bargain places to get a cheap phone. I'm thinking some of these bargain places get their phones from the jerks who follow unwitting backpackers around and take their phones from them. It may be a slight chance that I buy a phone acquired from the people I currently hate the most on this world, but I don't even want that chance to exist.
4. I'm shaking myself from my phone dependability. I was thinking just a few days ago that I really didn't need a phone. The most it did really was be my walkie talkie to the love of my life, at the time of the snatch, I had around 150 messages in it from him. I miss the instant accessibility to my lovey. I might buy a phone someday, to regain that instant accessibility, which I really miss. But it's too soon and I don't want it to be like a drug and I need some crazy fix.
5. I'm punishing myself. I lost too many phones already. I let my guard down for a short walk and look what happened. I'm still kicking myself in the butt.

Actually, generally, I'm okay. I'm thinking how mightily stupid I am but I'm okay, I'm not devastated. The hardest thing about it was to tell my mom what an idiot she has for a daughter. She's always the one who takes it (losing cellphones) the hardest.

And, this may sound strange, but sane at the same time, I am happy. I just lost my 3650 but not even that is big enough to get me down. Can you imagine how happy I am right now? Even I have absolutely no idea. It's that huge.

better than last week

thesis journal entry # 13

This will be another entry about Tzigane. Or rather about improvement. We gave Tzigane a go again today and we're very pleased that we have now super memorized it. Now, it's all a matter of getting the steps right. Difficult, almost impossible steps are easier now that Nino actually stops and asks, "How does this work?" It's not perfect yet, but it's getting there. So much so that Nino wants to perform it tomorrow.

I still feel kind of off, when it comes to taking class, but I'm taking it slow. Which is always good.

i shoulda known better. it was good while it lasted.

Joelle gave her phone to the evil Tiktiks between the MRT and Galleria one fine Monday afternoon. She is kicking herself in the butt because she deserves it. She doesn't think she's going to buy another phone anytime soon. Instead, she will buy an organizer, a watch, a digital camera, a video recorder. And the next time she buys a phone it will only be a phone and not something she cannot live without. You may currently reach her through email, IM, this blog or her landlines, which she will give out when you email/IM her.

If you want to read a little story that was inspired by this incident, check this out.

interviews, ethics and good relationships

thesis journal entry # 12

We talked about ethics in Research class today. And this moved to the realm of The Interview.

We have to be very careful when we do interviews because we would like to get the best data from our informants and since we're going to benefit more from this than they ever will, it's always practical to have a good relationship with the "subjects and objects of your writing."1

I remember the first interview that I really bombed on. It wasn't my first interview with anybody, but I was working for an ambitious portal that wanted to be Everything for the Filipino and required me to write an article a day, and I was just too tired to do the research on electronica and asked Malek (formerly of Rubber Inc, currently of Sweetspot and Sound) to be interviewed by me on the spot and I said, "So tell me, what is it you do?" Which of course pissed him off and he was mean to me the entire hour we sat down to talk after my coercing him during the launch party of some I-don't-remember-what-anymore. After that, I never went unprepared to another interview again. And when I see him, I just duck whenever there's the slightest chance we might make eye contact and hope he doesn't recognize me, or better, remember me anymore.

But, in general, and when it concerns ballet especially, I have really good rapport with my informants. After I wrote my undergrad thesis, I had somehow become known to the dance world as the Denisa Reyes expert, and I feel so cool whenever Denisa sees me and is so happy to. I feel cooler when she's trying to get me to work with her. I wish I had taken that opportunity then, it would have been a good learning experience, among other things. But no, I would not quit my sell-out jobs for my art, yet. That had to come much much later.

After Malek, I guess I've been in good graces with everyone I've ever interviewed. Which is good because I'm going to have to be doing a lot of interviews for my thesis. And God knows I need to be in good terms with everyone for what I plan to do. Aaaaah.

---

1 Mirano, Elena, from a lecture in class today. 2

2 This footnote is because as part of our ethics lecture, she told us to cite everything that doesn't belong to us and it would be dangerous to fail to. It's called plagiarism, baby. I'm merely practicing.

patience is a virtue

thesis journal entry # 11

I take back everything I said in thesis journal entry # 10.

This is the thing: I was PMS-ing. And I was slightly out of shape because we had a three day non-dancing vacation. And my partner was still learning the frigging dance. So it was bound to suck. When we rehearsed again Friday, Anatoli was able to correct things that Nino was doing wrong, like not stepping out to keep me centered in some spots and not holding my body low enough to slide me across the stage.

(--- is it just me or did that last description sound hot? Man, I can really have one track of a mind if I want it to be --)

And I guess I'm impatient about getting it right. I have always been this antsy about being perfect. Next time it threatens to lord over a rehearsal, or anything, anything at all, I have to smash it down. Patience is a virtue, dearie. Yes, I'm talking to myself.

What's nice about Friday's rehearsal is Anatoli's confidence in me. Usually, he's changing steps for people, saying, "Not nice, maybe do this (easier step instead), better for you." I'm always appalled that, in a professional setting, choreography is changed so that the dancer has an easier time dancing. What kind of professional dancing is that? How do we up our standards of technique and proficiency if we allow that to happen? It kinda says a lot about the state of dancing in this country, but I'm never going to go public and say that aloud. Outside this blog, of course. May nobody who matters ever find this and hold it against me.

Anyway, back to me, he would be correcting Nino because he knows I can do certain things properly, so if it looks wrong, it's because Nino's not holding me properly. And it turns out to be just the case. Or if it's my fault, he'll only have to point out what I'm doing wrong and I get it right away and he holds his palm out and says, "You see?" Like he knows I can do it, I just didn't know how. It's very encouraging.

I'm getting my groove back, turning more, jumping higher, though I have to work on smoothening out my transitions and keeping my center in check. Things like those never really go away, they just have to be reminded that they exist. Which is why I'm supposed to take ballet class every day.

Tzigane blues... or reds, whichever you prefer

thesis journal entry # 10

I'm out of shape. It's strange that I am because I only rested three days without ballet and I was thinking how good it was for my ankle and my poor knees and my eyes that don't need to be wearing contact lenses. Back to ballet and my ankle, my knees and my eyes are back to how they were, like I didn't rest them at all, ingrates.

It's frustrating because you want to be able to take a decent class and instead, you're in semi-pain trying to keep up with Anatoli's strange combinations. It's no way to live, I think.

And then the serious rehearsal for Tzigane has begun. And you don't want to dance Tzigane out of shape, but you don't have a choice. There's a lot of stuff I feel I could be doing better, I just haven't found my groove yet. And it's not at all encouraging that your partner is having a hard time getting back into shape as well - he particularly has a lot of getting into shape to do because he rested an entire year. I remember him to be stronger than he is now; he's actually having a hard time catching me and lifting me and I'm thinking maybe I shouldn't have eaten too much since we went to Davao.

At times, I'm afraid that I'll do a completely bum job and I can't use my out-of-shapeness (or my partner's out-of-shapeness) as an excuse anymore. I'm really worried that I won't do a good Tzigane because I'm not good enough. Or I'm doing something wrong so that my partner has a hard time lifting me. It's times like these I wish my Dad was watching the rehearsal.

The thing is Tzigane is a show-off ballet and all of a sudden, I'm afraid to show off. I'm having
doubts about myself that I'm able to show off, that I have what it takes to dance this. It was created for Lisa Macuja for crying out loud.

I don't know if I'm going to dance this at all, besides my insecure evaluation of myself, because I'm heavily embedded in most of the company's outreach repertoire. Will they take me out of some dances so that I can dance Tzigane? If this is a promotion, I hope I don't botch it up.

I don't know why this is going into my thesis journal at all. I think I may just be whining my head off for no reason except I had a less than stellar rehearsal yesterday. But I may need whatever insights I make here in the future. Or I may not. We'll see.


battle scars on my right armpit from one of the tricky lifts in Tzigane

who changed the format anyhow?

It's killing me that in American Idol this year, they're eliminating according to boys and girls and there's obviously more talented boys than girls this year and they're eliminating talented boys and keeping dorky girls because of their new elimination format pre-top 12. It sucks.

Just ranting. I think I'm hormonal. You'll see.

ola!!!

thesis journal entry # 9
(I count discussing my thesis two blog posts ago as thesis journal entry # 8)

I got email from my friend Aileen the other day. She's in Spain, on a three-month residency with the David Campos Ballet in Barcelona; she's supposed to return to the Philippines and perform in our Swan Lake (she's already casted as Lucas' Odette/Odile) in July, but we're all expecting her to return to Spain and dance there forever. She should - better pay, better conditions, and ohmylord, a chance to live in Europe! While some of us are thinking we can probably sit cats or something.

Anyway, this is her reply to my reply to her first email. Naturally, in my email, I had already told her what I planned to do with my new thesis topic because Aileen had previously been dancing with BM and the first time Aileen and I had danced together (a million years ago) was in a summer workshop under BP. I was thinking, since she's seen how all three companies operate, this should be interesting for her.

In her email, she tells me about what they've been doing in Spain, which I believe I can use for my thesis, and towards the end, comments on my thesis topic. This part I found rather interesting:

"...ayaw mo nun, marami kang malalaman, i´m sure, it´ll all be the same, kahit saan ka naman magpunta you´ll encounter similar problems in companies."

I was not, myself, thinking that at all: the possibility that these three companies, and most companies whereever you go, are having the same problems regardless of the different conditions they operate by. This is something I really want to discover while digging deep into my thesis.

narcissus

I gained a little weight.

I blame my stay in Davao and the eat-all-you-can places they took us to. I've been on eat-all-you-can mode since Saturday. Now, I have a tummy. And it's not an imagined tummy. You know how you eat too much at lunch or dinner and your belly swells up because of all the food that went in? Well, that's what it's been like for me because I've been overeating like none of your business. Even when I got home, I'd overeat. Now, my stomach is a bit pudgy.

The rest of me is all gaunt still, so when I complain about my newfound fat to anybody, they're like, "You're anorexic!!!" No, no , you don't understand!!!

Anyway, I'm going to be more careful about going nuts at mealtimes. If I ever let myself go, it won't be for another twenty years. And maybe not even then.

the thinking vacation

I've been slacking off my thesis journal recently, particularly because

1. I had just submitted my first seven entries to my Research prof and since I don't have to show her any more, I don't feel compelled to write any anytime soon.
2. I haven't been dancing since Saturday, nor was I exposed to any kind of dancing at all, so what exactly would I have to write about?
3. I have a new thesis topic and this is all I'm thinking about right now, not any new thoughts about dance.

I have a new thesis topic. My prof convinced me that I should stop defending ballet as something deserving of study. I realize that it's the biggest problem I have with my thesis: my thesis problems are not concrete because I keep trying to establish that dance is not only worthy of academic study but important, intelligent shite as well. And it was the road to pervasiveness, little did I realize!!!

(Pervasiveness? Pervasivity? Pervasion?)

Another major problem I'm having is there is nothing of this size written about ballet in the Philippines. So the most practical thing to do is write the most basic - about history. Yes, my prof is getting what she wants in the first place. But it's not the way I had first perceived it. Instead of writing a history of ballet in the Philippines, I'm to discuss the structure and sociological workings of the three major ballet companies in the Philippines, which will definitely require the history of ballet in the Philippines and more. It's not easy, boring shit that I'm going to shovel. This is going to be a lot of hard work.

My prof had to assure me that if I wanted to write about something more complex, I needn't rush or worry because I still have my dissertation to write. I never even began to consider following my master's up with a PhD but my research prof seems to think it should be the next step. Maybe she thinks this of most MA students writing their theses.

And she and my thesis adviser (well, my supposed thesis adviser, if he's back from the National Museum anytime soon) spoke and agree that this is what I should do. Actually, when I was in consultation with him, he asked for a history of the three major ballet companies in the Philippines within my thesis and said, "Actually, that stands as a thesis in itself." Yeah, yeah, so they win but I concede because they're older than me and they have PhDs and therefore they know better. Meanwhile, I don't have to kill myself trying to prove and justify things. Why must I always have to try to prove and justify that something is important?

(Yes, Fran, I was reading your blog while writing this blog entry :* )

What made me concede was I totally agree. I've been slowly agreeing over time actually: a study of the Pas de Deux is pertinent but there should be existing studies of the bigger universe of ballet before this specialized study is made. And who's going to write that? It's not like I need to be tied up and tortured before I agree to do something like that, I think it's something I can adequately do and will have fun doing. So why all the resistance?

Because I rebel by nature. *Bonk on the head*

Anyway, I just wanted to share that I'm not slacking off. Not really. My head's been on overdrive since I started writing my Saturday thesis journal entry. I'm fizzing.

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In other news, you may know by now that his yumminess Jon Johnson won Manhunt after getting freaked out about doing a naked photo shoot. Woohoo.