Showing posts with label BS Dance Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label BS Dance Stories. Show all posts

Monday 10 December 2012

Bite-Sized Story: A Letter To Santa

Dear Santa,

I've become a more productive individual this year, so I hope those are some good brownie points to put me up on the Nice list. And of all the bad things I've done this year, I hope you can forgive me. Like that dispute in a group project that I wish didn't happen, but happened anyway because I was such a non-conformist.

What I want for Christmas this year, is more dance clothes and dance ability. Yes, Santa. I am clearly obsessed with this new hobby (or rather, revived hobby) and would do anything to excel in it. But I don't want this to turn into a competitive edge that would take away the enjoyment of it, and risk getting me into the Naughty list. I also want eventual financial freedom in order to support myself in this hobby, because for some events, it will require a lot of capital in order for me to push my dancing skill to the next level (travelling and all that, you know?)

I also want to make sure that the camaraderie between my dance scholars are maintained, so that whatever we plan for the graduation show, it will be smooth sailing. I wish that everyone gets their opportunity to shine in whatever they're good at. I can sense that each one of us has a speciality, and it is indeed, a gift on its own. Thank you for that, Santa Claus.

Santa, I also hope you like mug cake. It's a new recipe that I've tried out and whenever you're tired, you can grab some of those to fuel yourself again. Yeah, not all dancers have a strict diet unlike what the media shows them. Even the previous DAP cohort resorted to eating McDonalds sometimes, because it's fast food (as in, really fast, which saves a lot of time, and allows me to do homework in between dance practice.)

So Santa, I hope I can get what I ask for this Christmas. My new year's resolution hasn't been planned out properly yet, but I will get to it eventually.

Cordially yours,
Amanda
Jitterbugs DAP scholar and Swinging Salsera blogger

Monday 27 August 2012

Bite-Sized Dance Stories: Romantic Novels Don't Translate Well In Real Life

My body trembled out of nervousness. This was a dance venue that I have never been to, and boy was it crowded. If there's anything that I learnt about salsa dancing in slots and tight spaces, this place was pushing me to the ultimate test.

Standing by the sidelines watching how each dancer was able to narrowly miss each other summoned cold sweat down my face. I didn't know anyone who was there and I couldn't spot any familiar faces from my dance school. These dancers also seemed to produce an aura that I wasn't familiar with, and it was intimidating to just watch how they could flaunt their style flawlessly. I felt awfully outclassed and started to think twice whether going alone was a good idea after all. But before I could do anything else, a stranger offered his hand to me. I accepted his offer for a dance out of courtesy, and had my toes crossed wishing myself good luck, or rather, break a leg.

The guy I was dancing to was a good-looking Latino. He struck up a conversation with me as we danced in our allotted slot on the dance floor. He asked me who I am, what I do, and other mundane questions. But when it was my turn to ask him, he didn't reveal much and cracked a few jokes along the way. Somehow, that piqued my curiousity, and found myself slightly attracted to this guy. Throughout the dance, he's been giving me gentle leads, and was also nice enough to apologise when he messed up a move.

As we continued talking and dancing, these positive thoughts about him made me feel like jelly on the inside. It was like going on a date. Consciously, I didn't know that it had been affecting my performance on the dance floor, until at one point, I tripped forward, and fell onto him. Luckily, he was able to sense my imbalance and caught me in time.

It was at that moment I realised that our bodies were pressed against each other. I looked up to see his impish smile and his dark brown eyes piercing into mine. In that moment, it seemed that time had frozen for a split second and it had been just the two of us getting more than the connection we have while partner dancing. And then, a realisation struck me: this is just like the romantic novels, in its heightened ecstatic glory of meeting your potential love of your life. In those instances it seemed that his face glowed more and his hair was gently swept by the wind from the air-con. It's too surreal, and I felt lightheaded from all these thoughts and possible responses I should do. When I was able to gather my thoughts, I did what I knew had to be the best solution to such a situation.


Run out of the dance floor shrieking like a banshee, never to return again.