He said, “I’ll be seeing you for the next three days.” I thought I would have to wait till Tuesday. It’s so nice to be wrong, sometimes.
See more progress on: spend more time with my lovey
Monday, July 25, 2005
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
the daydreamer and her mom
I nicked this from my ballet memoirs. Enjoy
Imagine me as a little girl. If you're seeing this tiny, muscular little ball of fluff, think again. Take that image of me and stretch my legs and arms out so that I kinda resemble a daddy longlegs (which is what I've been called from time to time). Give me boy hair and big eyes. Yep, that's more like it.
When I was a child, I actually had extremely long legs and arms and torso and I was super thin, no matter what I ate. I could eat an entire six-pack of those Hershey white chocolate bars (I've forgotten what they're called; they don't make them now but I think I must have been keeping them in business for quite a while) in one sitting and not gain weight.
Even if my lankiness was akin to gangliness, my mom always said that I would grow up to be either a supermodel or a ballerina. A supermodel, because, well, she was one. That's how my parents met. Dad had stopped dancing and was this highly sought-after fashion show director while mom was a model.
So I was taking ballet class because I so looked the part. Even if I was the most horrible kid in ballet class, even when my mom was finally fed up with me, my Dad would see me through to the end. Yes, I was taking ballet class with my dad in our school because I was going to grow up to be a ballerina and I was going to be one of the best. And I rebelled.
Oh, I don't know why I rebel; looking back, I have to admit that I just rebel just because. They say so and I do the opposite. My mom would find me scratching my legs hard enough to prick the skin and create wounds and she would holler, "How are you going to win Miss Universe if you scratch your legs up like that?" And I would holler back, "Well, I don't want to be Miss Universe anyway!" Just so that I can be left scratching in peace.
So I was not a child prodigy. I was not spectacular, or anywhere near great even. I would have a few great days, I remember, and that would surprise everyone. My thoroughly great days are recital days; Mom says I was always so "Wow!" during performances onstage. I vividly remember my first recital in Meralco Theatre. Cinderella was my favorite movie and my favorite ballet that year and my Dad staged a short version of Cinderella for me - I was cast as one of Cinderella's friend birds but I was so involved in the entire thing: I watched all rehearsals as if I were running the rehearsals and thoroughly enjoyed every minute just watching the dance being created. My dad had put together a small junior company of sorts by then, and they danced most of Cinderella while there was a divertissement "dream sequence" for us little girls to the music from the Disney cartoon ("Cinderelly Cinderelly!"). That was a lot of fun even if I FORGOT my bird headdress at home on the day of the recital.
But in class, I was always daydreaming. I daydreamed I was somewhere else, daydreamed I would create fantastic houseboats or airplanes or space stations where I could live far away from the tedium of school and merciless school bullies, the tedium of ballet class, and the tedium of the real world in general.
I daydreamed so much that I almost missed my childhood. Or maybe I actually would have, if I didn't have ballet to prove that my childhood existed.
My dad would get so mad at me when I was caught daydreaming. And it wasn't the normal, I get caught, I get punished and that's over with. No, my dad would sit me down and we would discuss why I would rather daydream than pay attention in ballet class. And no answer made him happy. It lasted hours. To avoid these long discussions, I was forced to pay attention in class. So I ended up learning a thing or two. But I wasn't great. I was okay. And I only did what I did to get my dad off my back.
Sometimes, though, I have to admit, I would daydream that I was more than great. I dreamed I was a prima ballerina and audiences were giving me a million curtain calls. As I've mentioned, I was always great during performances. I loved shows. I hated ballet class, but I loved the shows. I also loved watching the shows. I would dream that my life was made up of dancing in theatres with all the lights on and the audience applauding every night. And whenever it was pointed out to me that I needed ballet class in order to do that, I would lose interest in ballet again. Imagine wanting to be a butterfly without going through the icky caterpillar-chrysalis thingie first.
My mom, who could have lived her life as a professional model or concert pianist or secretary or whatever, had gotten married at the age of 20 because she had gotten herself pregnant with little old me. She is a lot of things, but first and foremost, to this very day in an endearingly irritating way, she is a mother, and more distinctly, she is our mom. She rejoices with every little thing my siblings and I do and despairs over our little (or huge) tragedies. She dreamed her dream for me, not because it was a dream she couldn't fulfill for herself but because she knew me more than anybody else in the world and knew what I did not - that her dream for me was really my dream also.
Mom said that when I was little, even after I had started taking ballet class and had become monumentally bored with it, I would sit at the edge of my seat whenever any dancing was being shown. Whether we were at home in front of the TV, in the studio watching rehearsals, or in a theatre watching a show, I was always sitting at the edge of my seat, my eyes as huge as saucers and my smile plastered on my face like a mask. And then, for hours after, I would be dancing and dancing and dancing by myself, whirling around and around like a music box someone forgot to close shut.
My mom is never one to sneer at me and say "I told you so," and she didn't do that when I decided I wanted to dance after high school and even several years later when I quit my corporate job to dance full-time (actually, she was appalled when I did that). But there are times when she'd pinch my legs and say, "And you were so difficult growing up! Rebelde kasi! Rebelde!!!" Which I appreciate more than if she had said, "I told you so!"
This entry is dedicated to my mom. I love her.
Imagine me as a little girl. If you're seeing this tiny, muscular little ball of fluff, think again. Take that image of me and stretch my legs and arms out so that I kinda resemble a daddy longlegs (which is what I've been called from time to time). Give me boy hair and big eyes. Yep, that's more like it.
When I was a child, I actually had extremely long legs and arms and torso and I was super thin, no matter what I ate. I could eat an entire six-pack of those Hershey white chocolate bars (I've forgotten what they're called; they don't make them now but I think I must have been keeping them in business for quite a while) in one sitting and not gain weight.
Even if my lankiness was akin to gangliness, my mom always said that I would grow up to be either a supermodel or a ballerina. A supermodel, because, well, she was one. That's how my parents met. Dad had stopped dancing and was this highly sought-after fashion show director while mom was a model.
So I was taking ballet class because I so looked the part. Even if I was the most horrible kid in ballet class, even when my mom was finally fed up with me, my Dad would see me through to the end. Yes, I was taking ballet class with my dad in our school because I was going to grow up to be a ballerina and I was going to be one of the best. And I rebelled.
Oh, I don't know why I rebel; looking back, I have to admit that I just rebel just because. They say so and I do the opposite. My mom would find me scratching my legs hard enough to prick the skin and create wounds and she would holler, "How are you going to win Miss Universe if you scratch your legs up like that?" And I would holler back, "Well, I don't want to be Miss Universe anyway!" Just so that I can be left scratching in peace.
But in class, I was always daydreaming. I daydreamed I was somewhere else, daydreamed I would create fantastic houseboats or airplanes or space stations where I could live far away from the tedium of school and merciless school bullies, the tedium of ballet class, and the tedium of the real world in general.
I daydreamed so much that I almost missed my childhood. Or maybe I actually would have, if I didn't have ballet to prove that my childhood existed.
My dad would get so mad at me when I was caught daydreaming. And it wasn't the normal, I get caught, I get punished and that's over with. No, my dad would sit me down and we would discuss why I would rather daydream than pay attention in ballet class. And no answer made him happy. It lasted hours. To avoid these long discussions, I was forced to pay attention in class. So I ended up learning a thing or two. But I wasn't great. I was okay. And I only did what I did to get my dad off my back.
Sometimes, though, I have to admit, I would daydream that I was more than great. I dreamed I was a prima ballerina and audiences were giving me a million curtain calls. As I've mentioned, I was always great during performances. I loved shows. I hated ballet class, but I loved the shows. I also loved watching the shows. I would dream that my life was made up of dancing in theatres with all the lights on and the audience applauding every night. And whenever it was pointed out to me that I needed ballet class in order to do that, I would lose interest in ballet again. Imagine wanting to be a butterfly without going through the icky caterpillar-chrysalis thingie first.
My mom, who could have lived her life as a professional model or concert pianist or secretary or whatever, had gotten married at the age of 20 because she had gotten herself pregnant with little old me. She is a lot of things, but first and foremost, to this very day in an endearingly irritating way, she is a mother, and more distinctly, she is our mom. She rejoices with every little thing my siblings and I do and despairs over our little (or huge) tragedies. She dreamed her dream for me, not because it was a dream she couldn't fulfill for herself but because she knew me more than anybody else in the world and knew what I did not - that her dream for me was really my dream also.
Mom said that when I was little, even after I had started taking ballet class and had become monumentally bored with it, I would sit at the edge of my seat whenever any dancing was being shown. Whether we were at home in front of the TV, in the studio watching rehearsals, or in a theatre watching a show, I was always sitting at the edge of my seat, my eyes as huge as saucers and my smile plastered on my face like a mask. And then, for hours after, I would be dancing and dancing and dancing by myself, whirling around and around like a music box someone forgot to close shut.
My mom is never one to sneer at me and say "I told you so," and she didn't do that when I decided I wanted to dance after high school and even several years later when I quit my corporate job to dance full-time (actually, she was appalled when I did that). But there are times when she'd pinch my legs and say, "And you were so difficult growing up! Rebelde kasi! Rebelde!!!" Which I appreciate more than if she had said, "I told you so!"
This entry is dedicated to my mom. I love her.
Friday, July 15, 2005
i hope this doesn't sound snarky...
Ever since I met Neil Gaiman, I was trying to imagine what it would be like to meet the other people in my life that greatly affected me and who I am, who I had become. I know that I would rather die than look like a dork in front of Angel Corella, so I don't think I'll ever muster up enough courage to even be in his presence, though I guess just watching him dance would be phenomenal; same with Alessandra Ferri and Martine van Hamel. I would probably hug John Irving and say, "I love all your bears and Sorrow too!!!" I would probably burst into tears while TALKING to Dr Seuss or Galina Ulanova or Charles Schulz or Gabriel Garcia Marquez or frigging Natalia Makarova, and not ten minutes after.
So I'm glad I don't ever get to meet them as it would just be too much for my peace of mind.
But being so close to your idols can be good for you too.
I remember when we met Anna Villadolid for the first time. She did Juliet when she was here with the Bavarian National Ballet and I was crying my eyes out from the Balcony Scene to the end of the ballet. When she danced in Don Quixote with Ballet Philippines, I wasn't very impressed but Lucas and I went backstage to get her autograph anyway. It was funny because we don't do that sort of thing, but Lucas was very, "We can meet Anna Villadolid!" So we went and knocked on her dressing room, amid the many fans. I stayed in the shadows and pushed Lucas to do all the work. Even though you could tell she was tired, there was this aura about her that was so radiant, that made you think, wow, I'm in the presence of a star! She smiled politely at Lucas, tall handsome tisoy boy that he is, and asked to whom she should address the autograph. "To Lucas," my brother replied. And she looked up at him in recognition and said, "You're Lucas?" She smiled a bigger smile and said, "I want to see you dance someday."
We walked away from that dressing room in silence. It was only ten minutes later when we looked at each other and flipped our lids like giggly schoolgirls.
My bigger local ballet hero (or heroine, then) would be Noreen Ostrea. Unlike the elusive Anna Villadolid, Noreen danced for PBT and was there when I started dancing for PBT many years ago. I saw her dance Juliet also and was so captivated - I wanted to grow up to be just like her. When I got to know her, there were many things about her that I wanted to be: she had been fat like me and was able to lose a lot of weight, which was inspiring to me then; she was also this feisty girl who had her own mind and was super cool to be around. Although she talks to me like she would an equal, I will always feel like a tiny fangirl, giddy that she so much as looked at me, giddier when she tells me I should hike my leg up some more or eat more potassium. It was this kind of motivation that helped me along at that time and I will forever be grateful for it.
Almost ten years later, I'm a demi-soloist with the PBT and in another Romeo and Juliet, which is actually my first Romeo and Juliet. I was one of Juliet's virginal friends. To boost the cast, the company hired several students from different ballet schools to act as townspeople and guests at the Capulet Ball, etc. Most of them were teenagers and three of them were giddy around me. One kid said to me, "My classmate wants to be you when she grows up." It was sometimes unnerving to be beamed at during ballet class, to look over at their shining, smiling faces that would fold up with a start when they discovered they were caught.
I was a demi-soloist who was playing one of Juliet's six friends. I didn't make a name for the country by being a prima ballerina in a few European countries, nor did I write a comic book of epic proportions where the characters in the book are so famous that even people who haven't read Sandman yet know who they are. But I have inspired a couple of teenagers, I have reduced them to giddiness. It's always a nice feeling.
My friend Waya has been talking about inspiration, especially since the Gaiman experience. She urges us to make our dreams come true, and to help each other make our dreams come true. I don't know what dream I have anymore - it used to be dancing Juliet. I thought long and hard about it and decided that while there are other things I want to do with my life, dancing Juliet remains The Dream.
I'm busy now with a million things because this is how my life is - to be in constant motion, to keep working at making myself happy. To me, I guess it's not really fulfilling a dream, it's more making my life the dream that I'm fulfilling. What happens when I've danced Juliet? I go look for the next dream? That's it exactly.
I don't know what dream I want to fulfill, perhaps because I've been trying to live out my dreams ever since I knew how to. I'm glad Neil Gaiman came here and inspired a lot of people - it would take something so drastic I suppose. The most I got out of this experience is the nice realization that he's a normal guy - a nicer guy than the normal, but he's not a superhero or a god. He could be you or me or somebody we happen to cross paths with on the street. But he is capable of great things.
I am just reminded that I am capable of great things too. And go back to the great dream that is my life.
So I'm glad I don't ever get to meet them as it would just be too much for my peace of mind.
But being so close to your idols can be good for you too.
I remember when we met Anna Villadolid for the first time. She did Juliet when she was here with the Bavarian National Ballet and I was crying my eyes out from the Balcony Scene to the end of the ballet. When she danced in Don Quixote with Ballet Philippines, I wasn't very impressed but Lucas and I went backstage to get her autograph anyway. It was funny because we don't do that sort of thing, but Lucas was very, "We can meet Anna Villadolid!" So we went and knocked on her dressing room, amid the many fans. I stayed in the shadows and pushed Lucas to do all the work. Even though you could tell she was tired, there was this aura about her that was so radiant, that made you think, wow, I'm in the presence of a star! She smiled politely at Lucas, tall handsome tisoy boy that he is, and asked to whom she should address the autograph. "To Lucas," my brother replied. And she looked up at him in recognition and said, "You're Lucas?" She smiled a bigger smile and said, "I want to see you dance someday."
We walked away from that dressing room in silence. It was only ten minutes later when we looked at each other and flipped our lids like giggly schoolgirls.
My bigger local ballet hero (or heroine, then) would be Noreen Ostrea. Unlike the elusive Anna Villadolid, Noreen danced for PBT and was there when I started dancing for PBT many years ago. I saw her dance Juliet also and was so captivated - I wanted to grow up to be just like her. When I got to know her, there were many things about her that I wanted to be: she had been fat like me and was able to lose a lot of weight, which was inspiring to me then; she was also this feisty girl who had her own mind and was super cool to be around. Although she talks to me like she would an equal, I will always feel like a tiny fangirl, giddy that she so much as looked at me, giddier when she tells me I should hike my leg up some more or eat more potassium. It was this kind of motivation that helped me along at that time and I will forever be grateful for it.
Almost ten years later, I'm a demi-soloist with the PBT and in another Romeo and Juliet, which is actually my first Romeo and Juliet. I was one of Juliet's virginal friends. To boost the cast, the company hired several students from different ballet schools to act as townspeople and guests at the Capulet Ball, etc. Most of them were teenagers and three of them were giddy around me. One kid said to me, "My classmate wants to be you when she grows up." It was sometimes unnerving to be beamed at during ballet class, to look over at their shining, smiling faces that would fold up with a start when they discovered they were caught.
I was a demi-soloist who was playing one of Juliet's six friends. I didn't make a name for the country by being a prima ballerina in a few European countries, nor did I write a comic book of epic proportions where the characters in the book are so famous that even people who haven't read Sandman yet know who they are. But I have inspired a couple of teenagers, I have reduced them to giddiness. It's always a nice feeling.
My friend Waya has been talking about inspiration, especially since the Gaiman experience. She urges us to make our dreams come true, and to help each other make our dreams come true. I don't know what dream I have anymore - it used to be dancing Juliet. I thought long and hard about it and decided that while there are other things I want to do with my life, dancing Juliet remains The Dream.
I'm busy now with a million things because this is how my life is - to be in constant motion, to keep working at making myself happy. To me, I guess it's not really fulfilling a dream, it's more making my life the dream that I'm fulfilling. What happens when I've danced Juliet? I go look for the next dream? That's it exactly.
I don't know what dream I want to fulfill, perhaps because I've been trying to live out my dreams ever since I knew how to. I'm glad Neil Gaiman came here and inspired a lot of people - it would take something so drastic I suppose. The most I got out of this experience is the nice realization that he's a normal guy - a nicer guy than the normal, but he's not a superhero or a god. He could be you or me or somebody we happen to cross paths with on the street. But he is capable of great things.
I am just reminded that I am capable of great things too. And go back to the great dream that is my life.
Monday, July 04, 2005
prolific little me
I couldn't blog here last week, so I'm obviously not prolific here. But I have news. I am writing my memoirs.
(Or is it I'm writing my memoir? Was this ever taught to me and I was daydreaming or was this something people just assumed I would get through context? Bleah.)
Anyway, I've been structuring my thesis the last few weeks and that's been coming along well because I have good ideas already for the next two chapters, I just need more sources to back up the stuff I have already. Right now, I'm doing histories: first chapter after the intro will be a background of Philippine Dance before and when the Spaniards came in and made themselves at home. My point here is Filipinos have in their nature a passion for dance and we did so before any influence from the outside world, and later how their love of dance evolved under the new government. From there, in the next chapter, I will discuss the history of ballet, because it more or less evolved during the same time. Also, the next course of Philippine history would be the American period and that's how Ballet came to our country, so before I go into that, I will talk about the history of ballet all the way to how it came to the Americans and how it developed in their country. There are a lot of interesting things there that are useful to me.
So since I'm writing a lot of histories, I keep looking at my own history of dance. I realize that I want to write it. I've been a long time thinking I didn't dance as much or as well as I could have and that made me really unhappy the last few years that I've been dancing. Now that I'm starting to write my memoirs, I realize more and more that it is not the case. And I'm understanding myself, my love for ballet, my relationship with my father, a lot better.
I don't know if I'll ever publish when I'm done, but I do plan to finish writing it. Whenever that is. I don't want to think that my dancing days are over, but this period in my life (since starting work on my memoirs, I've been thinking a lot about the periods in my life), not dancing full time and writing my thesis, seems like the best time to write the story of my life. Well, my dancing life, at least.
I may post some excerpts here if I feel like it. Most of it will be on LJ, under lock and key. Lucky you with an LJ account.
(Or is it I'm writing my memoir? Was this ever taught to me and I was daydreaming or was this something people just assumed I would get through context? Bleah.)
Anyway, I've been structuring my thesis the last few weeks and that's been coming along well because I have good ideas already for the next two chapters, I just need more sources to back up the stuff I have already. Right now, I'm doing histories: first chapter after the intro will be a background of Philippine Dance before and when the Spaniards came in and made themselves at home. My point here is Filipinos have in their nature a passion for dance and we did so before any influence from the outside world, and later how their love of dance evolved under the new government. From there, in the next chapter, I will discuss the history of ballet, because it more or less evolved during the same time. Also, the next course of Philippine history would be the American period and that's how Ballet came to our country, so before I go into that, I will talk about the history of ballet all the way to how it came to the Americans and how it developed in their country. There are a lot of interesting things there that are useful to me.
So since I'm writing a lot of histories, I keep looking at my own history of dance. I realize that I want to write it. I've been a long time thinking I didn't dance as much or as well as I could have and that made me really unhappy the last few years that I've been dancing. Now that I'm starting to write my memoirs, I realize more and more that it is not the case. And I'm understanding myself, my love for ballet, my relationship with my father, a lot better.
I don't know if I'll ever publish when I'm done, but I do plan to finish writing it. Whenever that is. I don't want to think that my dancing days are over, but this period in my life (since starting work on my memoirs, I've been thinking a lot about the periods in my life), not dancing full time and writing my thesis, seems like the best time to write the story of my life. Well, my dancing life, at least.
I may post some excerpts here if I feel like it. Most of it will be on LJ, under lock and key. Lucky you with an LJ account.
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