if your neck and your wrist coordinate (hey!)

I’ve always wondered what it’s like to dance. I mean really, really dance. Perhaps it’s similar to the feeling of being able to sing albeit out of tune. Or being able to paint. Or draw. Or write.

Dancing has always been more than just the movement of the body set to a rhythmic beat. It’s also a form of expression, a non-verbal communication and sometimes a set of discipline.

Not counting the annual field day demonstration held during my elementary years (when we were forced to do all the freaking folk dances – imagine me carrying a carton bolo for the Muslim number – ugh), I’ve only had a total number of three public performances to date. And those three are enough to last me a lifetime of horrid memories. Think blackmail material.

The first two happened during High School Physical Education class. We were tasked to come up with a dance number in lieu of a written examination. Twice. One was for the prelims and the other for the final exams.

AND IT’S JUST. LIKE. HO-ONEY.
We were organized into groups based on our class numbers. Good thing that my group had a self-proclaimed dancer whom we unanimously volunteered to lead us. And by lead I mean do the whole nine yards from picking the song, doing the choreography and organizing the practice meetings. It was somewhat a mistake as he chose “Honey” by Mariah Carey (I swear to God it wasn’t me!). But since we really didn’t have an option that time, we just followed him like mindless lambs (pun intended). But only this time, we are aware that we are bound to be slaughtered. I forgot to mention that we are an all-boys section. Well, technically speaking.

I have but a vague recollection of our “Honey” number probably because I chose to skip that 5 minutes of my life in my memory. All I know that it was a hit. It was High School (and it was an all boys’ class) where self-deprecating is cool.

I DON’T CARE (WHO YOU ARE / WHERE YOU’RE FROM / WHAT YOU DID)
Anyway, for the finals we were allowed to form our own group. Inevitably, I teamed with my closest peers. The down side to it is that none of us are dancers. Ask us anything about science, or the latest in the X-Men, or how to execute a 99-hit combo in Marvel Superheroes. Ask us anything but dance.

The 90’s was the time when good pop music proliferated the air waves. And thanks to MTV, we had an idea as to which song we’d perform – “As Long As You Love Me” by the Backstreet Boys. Again with the no option part – beggars can’t be choosers. We had to consider all the factors – the song was popular, it was catchy and very rhythmic, it was from a “boy” band, and it already had a read-made choreography. This one I recall very clearly as a part of me enjoyed the performance. But still, my fondness doesn’t preclude it from being a part of my shameful past.

(I WANNA BE) HAPPY
College was dance-free as our Physical Education class was spent cheering for the university’s basketball team. But in the back of my mind, I know that I will be asked to dance again at some point in my life. I graduated and was employed as an internal auditor of a local bank by January 2004. It was during the summer of that year when the newbies were required to perform in the department’s outing. This was a supposed tradition – an ordinance from the oldies – dance or else.

And since we’re now taxpayers, the group opted to just hire a dance instructor. I was the bibo person in our batch so they all relied on me. This time I was the head lamb. I volunteered to contact a friend who dances for the university dance troupe. He proved effective in teaching us the steps to a medley of songs – A Girl Like You / Rhythm Of The Night / Happy. Yes, even if they were all copied from the original choreography he made for a friend (when I asked him to teach my friend’s group for their Christmas party performance). I’m guessing that the audience liked it as well as we received cheers and applauses. And flowers and coins were also thrown while we were dancing.

DANCE, DANCE!
I’ve resolved that I’d settle with just playing the Dance Revolution. At least I get to “dance” without the technicalities. It’s just a game anyway. I was so engrossed with mastering the dance moves to the likes of Doesn’t Really Matter and Paranoia that I even bought a dance pad for my PS2. This proved to be a worthwhile expenditure as it helps burn carbs whenever I don’t feel like going to the gym.

HEAVY LIKE A FIRST-DAY PERIOD
It’s always fun to watch the gym goers who attend the aero-dance-session thing. Yesterday, I was able to get a better view as I was given treadmill #2. Not that I was really intending to watch them – it was inevitable thanks to the mirrors. Plus like I said, it provided an entertainment of sorts. Actually I envied them, those that were confident enough to sway their hips and move their hands to the tune of Feedback, Don’t Stop The Music and Gimme More. While I was there, running but not getting anywhere – with only my mind dancing to the tune of Break The Ice.

Maybe in time I’ll be able to do that – dance. Perhaps when I’ve lost all my insecurities and inhibitions.

Maybe all I need is a beer or two to do the trick.