Manila was tremendous--for the most parts at least. Would I ever come back to Manila any time soon? No, I would not. And not necessarily because there were bits which I didn't particularly enjoy, but I think the snippets of Manila which I caught few glimpses of were enough, and they didn't need a follow-up really. It was a nice pull-stop, and I am ready to move on to the next one.
Preparing for the performance was brutal. And I could say this because never before had I ever sustained so many injuries preparing for a performance. My right wrist was messed up, my left shoulder went a little funky, and the shin splints made a second coming. I think they all formed the culmination of shock and stress which I had put my body under after having not danced for too long (due to Canada) and shoved my self into the thick of things abruptly (like TRDO). My body wasn't ready, and I pushed, it pushed harder--I lost and paid the price.
Nonetheless, doing the items I did for Manila really helped me understand the idea of living in the now. I consider myself generally as someone who lives in the future. I set goals on a regular basis, conquering (as I would like to consider myself doing) one thing after another either simply because I need to, or I want to and I can. As a consequence, I hardly spent enough time enjoying the fruit of my own labour. It was always an endless pursuit of the future, which I think I still do, and in which I see nothing wrong--although at times it does feel regretful that I couldn't help myself to remain in the present and relish it a bit more. Of course, there is nothing absolute about it either: there were times where I would chase my memories, vaguely trying to recreate the feeling that one piece of music or that one photo gave me when I heard or saw it for the first time. But generally, I keep my eyes on the finish line, and creating one after another once the former is crossed.
Not too long ago I watched this interview on YouTube of Wade Robson, titled Masterclass Legends: Wade Robson on DS2DIO channel (which if you guys haven't heard of, you should check it out!), and in that interview the host asked, "What do you love about dance?". Wade answered:
With dance, when you're deep in the moment of dance and just how time drifts away. You know, and like usually everything in life we're always thinking about something we want in the future or relating it to something that's happened in the past, you know, when you're in that moment just none of that stuff exists and time just slips away. All of us in life are looking to be a little bit more present and as dancers, we're so lucky that we kind of have that window of opportunity to see what that's really like to not be so caught up in the sort of psychological time. So and then it's just hoping we can take that glimpse and use that sort of more and more in our day-to-day life.
And as corny as it sounds, I really understood what he said when I did those items, during rehearsals, vettings and the show itself. Well, may be partially because the items were really long, but there was also something that when I put on the costumes, and the music began playing, and the lights went down, and there was this thing in the space in front of me that was liberating--it felt safe, empty, and here. May be I am over-romanticising it at this moment, may be just a tiny bit.
Anyway, Manila was special because of the people. The Filipinos that I met, they were a passionate lot. Despite the rain, the horrible traffic, the bugs, the flood and the sweat (or perhaps because of them), these people really knew how to live it. And it was so apparent from the way they dressed, the way they spoke--Tagalog, perhaps due to the Spanish influence, is a language which is spoken with gusto; it has rhythm, inflection and accompanying gestures; it has real character--the way they interacted with one another, and of course the way they drank.
I met this dancer who was not much older than I was, Zyda, and she gave a workshop which was easily the highlight of the whole trip. She was a dream to watch. Really, she wrote poetry with her movements. And when we all talked to her after the workshop, it was all over her: her life journey, her personality and her story, emanating from her pores. She had the words "Om Namah Shivaya" (which meant "I honour the divinity within me") tattooed on her left forearm and a trinity sign (which meant "the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit") on her right wrist, such that when she crossed her arms the two would meet. She mentioned that she used to be rebellious, and now she was trying to dial it down, and those tattoos helped her to relinquish her dark past. Everything about her: her body, her dancing, her movements, her technique, her voice; told her story--and I really admired her for that.
Whatever happened in Manila was not life-changing--nowadays, nothing is--but it made me want to live in the now just a little bit more. I probably will never let go of my clutch on the future, but perhaps I can afford to ease my clench just a tad bit and take chances to savour what is happening now, or what is in very, very near future. And each time that spinal reflex kicked in and I felt like tightening my fist of control over things again, let me be reminded that things would be alright. And even if they didn't, there was still something worthwhile in living in the now with my slightly relaxed fist--in living it so daring greatly.
