break me open

and if you only knew the shit that goes around in my head
you'd be a little more fragile when handling me
you see i heal quickly

June! And this is now officially half of 2011—a 2011 I still have trouble existing in, I still have to ask myself “Eh—is this 2010 or 2011 now?” In perfect keeping with my usual upload-photos-3-months-late habits, here are some of the goings-on of 2011, presented with semi-semblance of order:

Shut Up and Dance
i don't want to write much, being this far removed from the event already, except to give my gratitude:

Thank you for knowing when to let me go, Jack. Thank you even more for knowing when I shouldn't be left alone, Veekay and Evon. Thank you Evon for being there selflessly, for offering your house and studio and endless supply of milk tea. Thank you Veekay for messaging and for knowing exactly where I would be despite having told me expressly not to go there; thank you for giving me comments and trying to correct me.

Thank you Ellen for your 3plus am messages trying to find out how I was despite being exhausted by your own practices, for coming up to me during rehearsals to try and test how I was. Thank you Soozey for the same, and for giving me comments; for the 2am call upon reading my blog, for the long SMS detailing what I could do. Thank you Zhiwen for the longest email I've ever received from you, for talking to me, for all the observations and comments from as far back as god knows when, the reminders I'd forgotten. Thank you Michelle for realising how affected I was, for understanding and for not obtruding. Thank you again Jack, for vocalising everything choking me with such a stranglehold. Thank you for your attitude and your sunshine. Thank you Magnus for that completely unexpected message even in the midst of all you were juggling.

Jason surprised me with his camera in the middle of dinner at SUAD intending to film some sort of message for Apesar. I wish I had had more time to compose my thoughts, to think about what I wanted to say-- I don't know how much of this went on film. I was undeniably upset at not having gotten into the item, but I was glad that they'd come-- and in a way I was even grateful for not getting in, because it'd forced me to examine how I danced and why I danced. It'd also shown me how much the people around me cared for me-- and that to me was simply truly grace.

I enjoyed all my items on performance day, although I knew I messed up several times-- bumping into Erwin at the START of the Ohay item, somehow missing a step at the start of the 4th song; completely not getting Fred's part for Janet. The big surprise-- even to me-- came with Pat's item. It would be a little embarrassing if I stopped to be embarrassed: Whether consciously or unconsciously I'd woven everything I'd been feeling in that one emotionally tumultuous week into Airplanes, and more-- everything I'd never tried, everything I'd been too scared to go for, everything I had tried for and wanted with every fibre of my being only to fall short of, to be found wanting for. Every night spent walking streets alone, every shadow cast by every street lamp; every shuddering intake of breath even when it got too hard to breathe. The Apesar thing was a huge overlay over all of that. I wrote a few days after SUAD that I had to learn to listen to music and-- Zaihar's words-- "move with meaning"-- and somehow meaning came through for Airplanes. I cannot explain how the steps came together for me. I only wish I could replicate it, because I really stopped thinking-- not a conscious, forced cessation of thought, or the mindlessness that comes of endless recapping; I was aware of timing, knew when I was going too fast, knew when I was going to go too fast, but all of this was at another level of the cerebellum. Uppermost on my mind was just music, and the moment. I don't know if I've ever felt like that before. I only hope I can, again.

And so that marked the end of 4 incredible years of uni life, characterised so increasingly and absolutely by Blast and dance. I think of the girl who went for auditions the first time, how ridiculously bumbling I was (am!), and I marvel at how hugely different-- and how much the very same-- I have become/still am. What a way to grow. What a way to live. Thank you, Blast.

Before another one can begin
The close of the academic year—and, correspondingly, the end of my university days—came in drips and drabs, not least because honestly for this last semester, like the one before (and the one before, and the one before that, too) I was hardly around. This time even my modules seemed ready to help create that sense of absence, petering out as they did (I highly recommend LKYSPP mods for every dancing lawyer by the way—don’t let the level 5000 labels scare you off. Plus you get to type your exam). I think academically speaking this was one of the semesters I most enjoyed—I finally chose modules I was at least marginally interested in (and which also fit around my dance schedule—keke) and studying for them proved surprisingly agreeable— I have very pleasant memories of camping out by the bamboos in brilliant sunshine alternating between catching up on shuteye and rushing readings for theoretical foundations of crim law, or of lying on my stomach flat on Jinglin’s bedroom floor highlighting leadership-and-women notes (or on her couch alternating between ethics and the public official and confessions of a shopaholic), or of the usual starbucks/black’s experiences scribbling out mediation plans. My results reflected that pleasure—best semester ever: although no A-pluses, for once I didn’t have Cs either.

And on a complete digression I remember that it was in the LKYSPP study lounge one afternoon prepping for class that I first heard Adele’s One and Only, watching Ryan’s class video. I ruined that song within a week by keeping it on repeat for possibly 5 days in a row. It spoke to me in a way no song had been able to do for a while, especially at that point in time; it was like Adele took the words I would have written if I could, the emotions I would have felt if I could, encapsulated and verbalised everything in her lyrics, and sang with *every single strand* of heart and soul—hers? Mine? Everyone’s? And it’s strange because it’s not a particularly wonderful song—possibly not even one of her best or most striking works. In a sense even the melody is predictable—or I guessed how it would go—but even that was a plus point for me. It was like a song that I’d heard before, or a song that was already in me, or that I’d always known. That sense of familiarity, comfort, ease—I liked.

I think most people start their love affair with Adele with one of her more powerful songs—Hometown Glory, Someone Like You, Rolling in the Deep. I started with One and Only. I still stop and listen to it, even if I no longer feel it quite as intensely. It makes me smile :)

Sneakier-than-thou
I felt a little sad—and took it as yet another sign of how much things were and I was changing—that I elected to watch Shakespeare in the Park on my birthday instead of dancing the way I did last year. One recalls how people-- well, maybe just my parents-- say what you do on the first day of each year dictates the confines of that year-- choosing not to dance (or having the choice sort of made for me) seemed like yet another affirmation of how things were ending, or coming to an end. Nevertheless, the day was good; Monopoly Deal with the sisters allowed me one of the best puns yet—literally playing the “It’s My Birthday” card; Sizzler with the family was gutbustingly good; shopping with Cheryl was my link to dance for the day; Macbeth was excellent. The three of us got a free buggy ride—so amazing what a smile can do, although Ning attributed it to my being dressed up and being mistaken for a VIP hahaha. how kind complete strangers are! it made my day.

Macbeth truly gave me shivers. Lady Macbeth overacted her way through everything-- it was so painful-- but staging, lights, blocking, even (especially!) dramatic interpretation-- those i loved. Adrian Pang was a good Macbeth; and, of course, being the Shakespeare geek that I am I got a cheap thrill out of mouthing my favourite speech(es) along with him. The night was just very nice-- there is not much point in recounting the whole thing, it was one of those I-want-to-lie-back-and-just-bask-in-the-moment things. Thank you Ning for sharing, I've missed listening to you. Thank you Ni for your spontaneity, for joining me on another long walk, for coming back with me for supper and then letting me drive you back-- one of my last late nights out and about. Thank you Abby for the wishes from Taiwan (right?). Thank you XF for the video and cow-- eh honestly didn't you mail me a bunch of cows for my 18th as well-- what is this bovine fascination??? All of us-- we've known each other for so long and we've all changed over the years, but something keeps us together even when I'm not trying. I pray it will keep us together for many years more.

And you'd have thought that was the end of it, but no-- I have seriously sneaky friends. Friday may 20 I went to O School only to hear banging on the glass as I was riding the escalator up. Thank you Cheryl for the gift of thought; Fred for sweet sustenance; Jack for flight; Veekay for music on my ears; and Zhiwen for the far away wishes. It was a good surprise, complete with red velvet cupcakes and unglam photographs (and photography!). i feel the love, yo. (and Evon with the milk tea, and Magnus with the chocolates-- and whoever else I missed! eeps)

so-- amazing though it seems-- i am twenty-three. there've been days when i thought i would never get here, days when i didn't want to get here. but here I am. let's see where we go.

TRDO and SBDC
My reasons for joining TRDO were simple-- I wanted to do more contemporary, and it was a challenge, a check, a question: had I changed at all from the girl who decided in 2010 that it was enough, that she wanted to stop? First practice-- April 16th-- reinforced every single factor that made me decide to quit, and then some.

i) I tweeted "wastelands" after the practice, because I felt there was so much waste-- wasted time, wasted effort, wasted talent.

ii) every single one of my own stupid issues came to the fore again-- the need for worth, for doing something of some good-- good i was NOT doing, whether because of my own inadequacy or the muteness of the choreo; the other one-- veekay's told me before that i need to compartmentalise. I don't remember if it was in reference to this. I don't know how to, or didn't-- and every damn thing just came surging to the surface

but the practices got better; i got off my preconception high-horse, got to know the people better, gave some input where i felt like it was possible to push ourselves more (i don't like pretty, empty choreo!). one of the things that made it better was getting to try pas de deux, which I've never done before. Chris was-- is-- really the perfect partner, and I told him as much--strong enough to lift me (that is VERY strong), sensitive so it's not just brute strength, and emo-emo where it's necessary. it was something i didn't fully appreciate until the second round, when i had so much trouble just adjusting to dimensions with Khairi-- oops. I can only hope that I was halfway as decent a partner. I've never felt more physically comfortable with anybody-- and I have so many space issues!! it made for an altogether novel experience in more ways than one. and, just for the record, despite the heat, sweat and grime, I liked the outdoor practices. a lot. blame track (i miss running, too).

I admit to being more than a little petrified for the second round—this time T.H.E. training had ceased for a good month-and-a-half, and even as lost as I usually am in those sessions they undoubtedly had a salutary effect some way or another-- even if it was just by way of sheer diffusion-- alright I'm being facetious. I won't ever learn to move with that ease and surety so inherent in contemporary, and so wanting in my self, but if nothing else merely the increase in vocabulary was very much desired. I think the decrease in comfort, the lack of awareness of my body, showed-- I certainly felt it. In the end I hated my performance in both videos-- the prelims and the finals-- although I certainly thought that we did at least a halfway decent job overall, and I was glad our item moved people to feel something-- from Marika to Jessica to Thomas to the completely random bboy at Scape. I just wasn't moved by myself-- at all. I'm not being harsh-- I'm being realistic.

In a way I liked how I did in the first item more than the second-- although I felt, to the end, that all of us were bound by the choreography, I also felt something on the day of the prelims itself-- from the very moment we started the first walking steps, in fact. It so disconcerted me that I forgot my steps by the third count-- oops-- and I didn't hold my ending pose because I was too busy trying to get a grip on myself. In another way I liked the second more-- because of the choreography, mainly, and the greater challenge it posed-- but I didn't feel it so much on performance day itself. Maggie was right about one thing-- the moment when she thought I was crying was actually the one point I was close to tears, because I finally felt something inside-- but everything else was acting. I hate acting. I don't want to pretend something I don't feel. Sylvia Yong's words struck me:

"Body never lies. Whatever you feel on stage, we feel it too."

So I guess in a way I was lying. Like that faithlessness wasn't enough-- oh my god my lines-- argh I will stop here. All in all I'm very very glad, nevertheless, that I took part, although I wish-- okay I stop here. HERE. except to say that choreographing for the second round was intriguing-- was this something like collaborating on a choreography? it takes thick skin and at least some shamelessness/ insistence-- and also volubility from all parties. mms. might be fun attempting more in the future.

With that said, I think doing two competitions almost-at-the-same-time is not something I would absolutely recommend. I've loved it-- the endless day to night dancing is something I couldn't have asked for in my wildest dreams, and the companionship along the way has been lovely-- but guilt over not being able to give my all for both was troubling. These items may have been the first where I didn't practise on my own outside of rehearsals. Music could have been mixed better. More thought could have been put into costume, song selection, choreography (argh). Earlier notifications of rehearsals (girls I'm so sorry for all my late night messages!! :(( ), keeping to initial session-and-conditioning aspirations, pushing and driving every dancer a little more-- the weight of a lot of these fell upon poor Jack, especially nearing the end when I just died inside. I just couldn't do it anymore, and I think at one point or another everyone felt the brunt of my deadened psyche. It wasn't a nice-- or responsible-- thing to do. Honestly SBDC could have been an all-round terrible experience-- it was really saved by people. It was a learning experience-- painful most of the time, but maybe necessary-- even the battle/pseudo-battles. I hated myself so much after the semifinals; when I saw how upset Cheryl was I started crying with sheer anger. I couldn't forgive myself-- as much as I was no leader, not in terms of dance ability or session-driving or even mere knowledge alone, I was definitely the one who had led them into this. What the hell had I been thinking?

The one thing I'd have taken away from this is the importance-- the sheer, crucial and inescapable necessity of doing this with people I love, who are willing to love me still when there is no reason left to love. I don't express it but I am so so so grateful for even the smallest, most basic of things-- Evon's constant asking of whether I need provender from NTUC, Cheryl's concerns over how I'm coping and offers to help with music, Rachew's pointing out areas we need to clean, Jack's EVERYTHING. I appreciated Cheryl and Rachel's proffered mindset switch after the disastrous semifinals-- when they offered to choreo, to find songs, think of costumes, everything-- I only wish I utilised manpower a little more effectively. If I were to do this again I think I would need to trust more and learn to delegate early so efforts are not needlessly replicated. As it was I did learn to have a little more faith. Not bad work, girls, though a small part of me still thinks we could have and should have pushed ourselves to do better.

Taking back all my secrets
In the past week I’ve received a lot of advice. I’ve been told to hold on to my hobbies (hobbies?! Something in me revolts at that—but then reality kicks in—what more can this be?), because at the end of the day the nature of my work being what it is there is a tendency that it will consume me; I’ve been told that I need to find meaning in my work—that, indeed, the place where I am is the one where most people are able to find that elusive meaning; that, again, the nature of my work being what it is the hours will get longer and the days more tiring and that it is this very sense of value and significance that will sustain me. The workload hasn’t come in yet—we’re definitely still in the honeymoon phase here, folks—but I worry, and fret. I’ve been told—many times, by everyone from my roommate to my seniors to the cleaning auntie—to enjoy this lull while I can, but at the same time I don’t feel good just slacking in the office for any amount of time at all. To be honest I think the other colleagues get pissed that we’re just waiting around too. I just want the worst here so that I can start adapting. This waiting is just redolent with unease.

I worry a little about competency, but perhaps my biggest issue is that I don’t know if I can find that value and significance. Something tells me it might not be so bad—either because fatigue can set in for anything—there can ALWAYS be too much of a good thing—or because, unbeknownst to me, that meaning is already inherent in my psyche. I’ve had a hint or two—the biggest and most startling being the sudden choking up in the middle of my interview when asked, quite innocuously, on my views of the death penalty. Who’d have thought?-- maybe that was the thing about having Eisen or Marcus around-- they always forced me to examine my thoughts, my opinions, my stand-- especially Marcus, considering how we disagreed on almost everything. Nowadays I seem almost content to just drift along.

One thing I've been drifting along for has been on my mind for a while now. It's like finding out what you thought was bedrock is little more than illusion, like the burning up of a paper house. I wrote a little earlier-- what more can this be? TRDO and SBDC combined bestowed on me a fatigue that went beyond the physical-- it was a mental ailment I still possess, a psychical exhaustion that haunts me yet. It's a certainty reinforced every day and I don't know how much more I can take. Those 8-hour days dancing... they were alarmingly draining, and almost soul-destroying, but I think given a choice-- if I were only good enough-- whatever I told Eisen almost two, three years ago still holds true. I would definitely think more-- that much have I grown wary of blind, absolute advocacy even of things I love, and honestly I have to question how much love is present in me for dance. I wish I could say I loved every aspect of it-- creation, concept, choreography and actual movement. I don't. That much was made painfully painfully painfully clear to me in the TRDO-SBDC period.

Nowadays, though, even the most stalwart of those flames is flickering, and I never thought I'd say this-- but to what end? for what purpose? Soozey sent me a message asking me what my biggest worry today was and after a while I answered "living a life of worth"; he further asked how I would feel if the worry was resolved, and I said something along the lines of "incredibly beatifically happy". Although I didn't consciously realise it until later, I drew that answer from how I felt when I did feel good enough.

Fred's said before that I have an-- unusual?-- ability to be content. It's not an ability-- it's a conscious choice. I have lived for far longer than I thought possible with the ghosts of everything I cannot have and will never be, and truly contentment becomes a survival skill. But this skill is failing-- I have stopped being able to find joy even in the too-small things. Happiness is not enough. What, then, is to come? There is an Oblomovian fatalism to my days now.

What do you live for?