I might not be young and sweet, or even seventeen, but I’ve always harbored an inner dancing queen inside me.
A tiny child in a teal tutu tap once danced across the stage of St. George Theater. An awkward teenager in high school once choreographed multiple folk dances for her Filipino Club, with video evidence below to prove that still had a long way to go before she finally could acquire a sense of rhythm and beat.
In this video, I, the awkward teenager, really had a difficult time transitioning from costume to costume in-between dances. And so, from the first dance to the last dance (at 6:00), it will be rather easy to spot an uncoordinated girl in a red skirt.
For the first dance, tinikling, dancers would weave in-between bamboo poles as they tapped and slid on the dance floor. Bakya, the second dance, involved the tapping of the bakya shoe in time to a choreographed dance with music. The final dance, carinosa, was a couple dance, in which dance partners would reenact a love story through the use of a handkerchief and fan. Though these are vastly different dances, all three originate from the period of Spanish colonization of the Philippines. Spanish influence is evident in these dances, from the costumes to the music.
Which brings me to what I’m currently watching.
Fast forward to the current semester of ballroom dance class. Though the dances have changed, I still continue to be as uncoordinated as ever, despite the lack of video evidence to prove my point. But there’s something new about the way I dance, or really, the way I study dancing.
Dancing has always been a part of my life, but it was always in the background, emerging whenever I deemed it necessary, whether it was for recitals or for multicultural festivals. Yet for the past few months, I can’t get this dancing bug out of my head. I’d like to attribute it to a dance studio I was introduced to by former intern Monica.
1Million Dance Studio was founded in Seoul, Korea, by famous k-pop dance choreographer Lia Kim. At 1Million, choreographers create dances to popular songs, with each choreographer having their own particular style. One of my favorite choreographers, May J. Lee, incorporates elements from so many different dances to create her own unique style. In the dance for Havana, a song that derives Spanish influence, she introduces very similar hand flicks and steps from Latin dances like salsa.
These dances are absolutely mesmerizing (not to mention addictive) to watch. It casts dancing in a new light for me, as I repeatedly watch the videos to pay attention to particular moves and steps, hoping to one day be able to dance as effortlessly as they do. And my renewed interest in this part-time hobby of mine has been noted, as friends point out that I no longer have the dancing inabilities of a stick.
I’m about to purchase dance shoes for ballroom dance class. I’m saving up to take more lessons in the summer. Maybe one day I’ll have the chance to dance at 1Million. But even now, I’d say it’s about time that I reveal my inner dancing queen.
-Raisa Alexis N. Santos
Flavors of the Earth
The sesame seeds from your bagel that fell to the floor, tinged with that roasted flavor. The odd smelling piece of styrofoam I found outside, smeared with that glutinous oil. The still-decaying leaf, leftover from Autumn to greet the Spring. The tasty juice of tuna-turned-salad still coating the inside of the can. The smell of that Dominican salami wafting into my nostrils when you cracked the window while they sizzled in the pan. The tiny nub of a branch I found nestled in the sparse blades of grass. The tiny rock that laid next to it, too. The lotion on your greasy hands, with its hints of patchouli. The discolored red paint embedded with urine, at the base of the forgotten emergency call box. The precariously-placed dried poop perched on the exposed roots of the linden tree. I want it. I want it all. I will lick it, and I will eat it. You can try to stop me, and sometimes you will. You can yell at me all you want—“bad!” or maybe “no!”—but it won’t do you any good. I will have my victory.
Sincerely,
Your Dog
– D.Y.
The Junction Journal 