Alright, it's been seven aeons, three christmases and five birthdays since I blogged the last time, but for what it's worth, I have attempted several times to post something interesting (does it ever get interesting, this blog? No.) but it just never got posted because either my mother wanted to shove more food down my throat, or I had to run for some dance practice, or there were seven hundred bags lying around that I had no idea where to store during the hols. In short, I was a mess and I had no time. There have been several things that crossed my mind, and were digested and verbal vomited and cancelled off, so it gets a bit boring for me now to go through them again in great detail, so I'll just recap them real quick and move on.
Results release, BUM-mer! I gotta admit was a nervy wreck the night before, simply because I knew (dear God, I so knew) that things didn't go swimmingly during the preparation/mugging period, especially for legal effing theory. (There's even a post to attest this debacle.) Luckily, my grades were good enough to keep me tapping into the tax-payers' money fund. It was a huge relief, especially since I was planning to see my mum after roughly one and a half years. It would be so ironic, no tragic, if I saw her and suddenly said 'Hi mum, yeah, I'm back... and now you gotta squeeze 11k from your pocket annually to pay for my school fees.' You know, it's just not the kind of hello that you wish you tell your mum after having not seen her for seven decades.
Anyhoo, my Indon trip was awesome. I had some doubts about it (I gotta be honest) in the beginning, just because we moved to a higher place, a smaller place (a.k.a an apartment) and I wasn't sure whether I could make myself comfortably at home with all the changes. Nevertheless, other than that everything else were pretty much same-ol-same-ol. The air was still heavy with cigarette smoke, my younger brother was still the biggest ass in the house (no pun intended), my mother still thought I was too skinny for my own good (something that most you people here might beg to differ), my dad still liked to talk to me about life, the future and the like, and my older brother was the nocturnal, elusive creature that he had always been. On a lighter note, Jakarta was a shopping haven. Two thumbs up!
Next is Seriously at Dance Xplosion. I was so glad that we ended on a high note there, although one of the little moments that literally ambushed and made such an impression was when someone (I'm really sure who it was) said something like 'Just dance, you've gained the experience already.' I was like, how true! It doesn't really matter victory or no victory, either way you would not become a better or lousier dancer. There is absolutely no difference between you three seconds before they announce the winner and three seconds after, you are still the person who has gained the experience and grown (hopefully) from it. There's really some truth wisdom nugget there.
The talk about dance always dampens my mood by one notch, and for someone who has depression as a default mode of existence, this can be clinical. However, dance now is a whirlpool from which I can't escape (not that I ever wished to ever do), but somehow I feel now like I'm drowning. This gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'things are not going swimmingly' huh?
Jumping to the realm of choreographing is not a walk in the park either. I finally figured out what my problem was last night. I think when I choreograph something, it's a lot like writing a composition, so it is very difficult for other people to copy my style of writing and write it the way I do. On the other end of the spectrum, there's a choreographing style that is much like doing math homework, and this is not to mean that one style better than the other, well at least, not necessarily so. When you do math homework, you exercise due care and attention (pardon the legal jargon) to make sure that you get the right answer, that you tick all the right boxes. So it doesn't make it inferior in terms of standard and difficulty, but somehow it comes across as just more straight-forward and obvious. A '2' is a '2', and will never be a '3'. Meanwhile when you write something, some people might write 'a' as 'a' while others write it as 'a'. They all mean the same thing, but somehow the picture is different. I'm not even sure whether I make any sense now, but I just feel that I wished I could choreograph like that. It would be easier, less emotionally taxing on me, but until that time comes, I guess I could only dream of my B+ math homework and settle for my C- composition.
