There are so many subjects that I’d probably get a C- in, and dancing just happens to be one of them. I barely scraped past PE 2, and I’m not exactly dance troupe material. Sure, I can pick up a step or two. But the thing is, I just don’t have the passion. And the grace.
So when I got a message inviting those who cared to join to a production-number practice, I was a no-show. Apparently, so was everybody else. This merited a second, more demanding, message: we had to dance, period.
As it turned out, not even two left feet, or stiff joints made stiffer still by the passage of time, could stop us from strutting our stuff. On the first day of practice, there were groans as limbs on the verge of arthritis were stretched and extended and exercised. On the second day, what passed for dancing took on more rhythmic patterns. Third-day practice was sidetracked as the much younger—and sprightlier trainer—begged off, leaving us a mass of uncoordinated, hyperventilating mess.
We’re doing the dance again later today. Crazy, but everyone seems to be excited. We’d probably never pull it off, but then it’s not so much perfection were after as the chance to reconnect, to laugh at our past and present selves.
Call time is roughly two weeks from now. Call it temporary insanity, or call it a manifestation of strength in numbers, but this time, I am very much in on the dance.
March 23, 2009
March 20, 2009
Ahh, Summer!
Summer started while we were out on field. All throughout the morning, the beach was a constant presence. We could hear the waves--could even feel the soft breeze--from where we were. But there was work to do, and the beach had to take a backseat.
At 1p.m., when the crowd started thinnning out and nothing remained of the just-in-from-the-sea lunch, we rounded the corner and there it was: the white sands of Paguriran.
It was low tide when we got there. The bigger outcrop--which on high tide becomes a lagoon--was within wading distance. The powder-fine sand was a treat for sore feet. The afternoon sun was just perfect, and so was the catch.
Paguriran could very well be Boracay, except that it has none of the the crowds, the amenities, the nightlife and the commercialism of it all. Which is just perfect, if you ask me.
For the past days, we'd been drenched by heavy rains. With a quick trip to the beach and an hour of watching the turn of the tide, summer is finally here!
At 1p.m., when the crowd started thinnning out and nothing remained of the just-in-from-the-sea lunch, we rounded the corner and there it was: the white sands of Paguriran.
It was low tide when we got there. The bigger outcrop--which on high tide becomes a lagoon--was within wading distance. The powder-fine sand was a treat for sore feet. The afternoon sun was just perfect, and so was the catch.
Paguriran could very well be Boracay, except that it has none of the the crowds, the amenities, the nightlife and the commercialism of it all. Which is just perfect, if you ask me.
For the past days, we'd been drenched by heavy rains. With a quick trip to the beach and an hour of watching the turn of the tide, summer is finally here!
March 16, 2009
Wishing Away the Flab
I blew the dust off a boxful of 25-year-old photographs, and now I am quashing the urge to max my imaginary credit card on all the slimming gadgets on Home Shopping Network. Having gone from skinny to solid--and altogether missing "sexy" by a mile--I now understand why people actually worship Belo and Calayan :p
The slimming frenzy going on in the office does not help any. Girls who think they have weight problems have suddenly regained horizontal spaces, thanks to this Chinese slimming coffee. The thing is, I love coffee and I don't want any other flavor messing with my poison. Not even if gives me Bebe Gandanghari's figure. Also, I am not about to trust my excess pounds to something whose fine print totally escapes me.
Which leaves me wishing away the flab and not physically doing something about it. If I had known that I would develop bulges when I tipped the Big Four-O, I wouldn't have made candy out of Propan in my skinny days.
Oh well. Life.
The slimming frenzy going on in the office does not help any. Girls who think they have weight problems have suddenly regained horizontal spaces, thanks to this Chinese slimming coffee. The thing is, I love coffee and I don't want any other flavor messing with my poison. Not even if gives me Bebe Gandanghari's figure. Also, I am not about to trust my excess pounds to something whose fine print totally escapes me.
Which leaves me wishing away the flab and not physically doing something about it. If I had known that I would develop bulges when I tipped the Big Four-O, I wouldn't have made candy out of Propan in my skinny days.
Oh well. Life.
March 14, 2009
Turning SIlver
Our 25th high school reunion is up in a few weeks. I thought it would be a cinch: we've been working on the homecoming for over a year now. But with reality staring us in the face, I am having some sort of a panic attack. As I'm sure the rest of the class are.
The panic comes mostly from the details that we have to wade through. Reunions are a tall order in these parts, especially for the silver belles and boys. Aside from planning the activities for our batch, we are also expected to host the grand alumni homecoming. That's roughly 70 batches, not counting those who have since moved on to more celestial reunions.
But queasy feeling aside, there is also the heady anticipation of being with old friends once more. Some of them I haven't seen since graduation, when we sat under the scorching afternoon sun and patiently waited as 700 plus graduates marched up the stage to get the rolled-up bond paper that summed up four years of our lives.
We have all changed, that’s for sure. Most of the girls have taken on new, sometimes-hyphenated, surnames. As the years piled up, so did the inches on the waist and the excess poundage in the most unflattering places.
We have all become what our school paper painted us to be: the salt of the earth. We have taken forked roads and have since realized that graduations are merely beginnings. That high school is but one of life’s many phases.
Still and all, it would be fun to go back to the old school. Already, we have unboxed old photographs and memories. It’s like going back in time, and getting to know our mirror images of 25 years ago.
Surely, this business of turning silver is a journey worth taking.
The panic comes mostly from the details that we have to wade through. Reunions are a tall order in these parts, especially for the silver belles and boys. Aside from planning the activities for our batch, we are also expected to host the grand alumni homecoming. That's roughly 70 batches, not counting those who have since moved on to more celestial reunions.
But queasy feeling aside, there is also the heady anticipation of being with old friends once more. Some of them I haven't seen since graduation, when we sat under the scorching afternoon sun and patiently waited as 700 plus graduates marched up the stage to get the rolled-up bond paper that summed up four years of our lives.
We have all changed, that’s for sure. Most of the girls have taken on new, sometimes-hyphenated, surnames. As the years piled up, so did the inches on the waist and the excess poundage in the most unflattering places.
We have all become what our school paper painted us to be: the salt of the earth. We have taken forked roads and have since realized that graduations are merely beginnings. That high school is but one of life’s many phases.
Still and all, it would be fun to go back to the old school. Already, we have unboxed old photographs and memories. It’s like going back in time, and getting to know our mirror images of 25 years ago.
Surely, this business of turning silver is a journey worth taking.
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