Dancing without the music

I recently met my newest dance icons. No, they were not the best when we talk about global standards; they were not invited to perform for kings and presidents; nor did they win any world competition, but seeing them perform transformed my concept of dancing into something beyond glamorous costumes, lively music, and rousing standing ovations. These dancers were deaf.

Until recently, I was always the girl who had no physical coordination when it came to dancing. I know so because my prep school teacher had to make sure I was at the back of the class during field demonstration. I had the unenviable ability to stand out in a stream of performers because I was either too late or too early for the next figure. Add to that, of course, was the endless fixing of the position of my head (too limp) or hands (too stiff) or feet (too spread apart) during rehearsals.

Deep down, however, I've always loved music, and refusing to be called off-beat (read: wala sa 'timing') or someone with two left feet (read: gahi og lawas), I plunged into the quest for grace that was borne out of my innate love for performing arts as well as the desire to effortlessly sway to the music that inhabited my soul. And so, trying really hard to correct past "dancing titles," I started to be accepted into "dancing" circles. My biggest break and source of pride finally came when I was admitted into the prestigious University of San Carlos Dance Troupe. To a lot of Carolinians, that was quite a feat. The PE Department simply had the strictest admission policies and to remain in the list required a lot of sacrifice and discipline. They simply accepted the best. But if you think that I got in because of my dancing "prowess," then I would have to correct you.

Performances by the group also included intermission song numbers, which were necessary during costume changes. Yes, I got in mostly because I could sing. Still, I had two dances - the opening and the town fiesta - the latter being the "on-stage company call" before the curtain went down. But it was not really "dancing." I simply had to pretend I was one of the townsfolk enjoying the celebration; not a very hard task for someone who at least fared well in theatre class and in a high school org called the University of the Philippines Student Theatre Arts Guild for Education or UPSTAGE. Still, I could tell that no one in the audience could have known that I was a bona fide member of the USC Dance Troupe; and this could have prompted our adviser after each OPM rendition of mine to then announce: "By the way, Ms. Angela Calina is also a member of the USC Dance Troupe..." But I did not mind. For someone who was almost like a persona non grata on the dance floor years and years back (as Mumble was to Penguin Land in the international blockbuster "Happy Feet"), it was the best experience of all. Secretly, I was satisfied to be finally called a dancer. But then, what I witnessed recently suddenly changed how I viewed myself as a performing artist.

At the SM Entertainment Plaza, where I too have had performed as a singer, host and yes, dancer, I recently met my newest dance icons. No, they were not the best when we talk about global standards; they were not invited to perform for kings and presidents; nor did they win any world competition but, in just one sitting, they transformed my concept of dancing into something beyond glamorous costumes, lively music and rousing standing ovations. These dancers were deaf.

The Gualandi Mission for the Deaf celebrated their 15th anniversary this year with the theme "Look at Us with Love." This was highlighted by the first-ever dance concert for the deaf, which was participated by various elementary and high school students in the province. Other activities included talks concerning the Deaf Community like Deaf Issues and Culture as well as Deaf Volunteerism, emphasizing the need for more volunteers for said sector of our society. The week-long celebration was culminated with a party at the Gualandi Mission House at St. Michael's, Banilad, Cebu City.

Watching these deaf young people and children dance was indeed life-changing. It reminds us how we ought to spend our lives as people with less physical limitations and better opportunities in a world where hearing is supposedly vital. In their world of silence, only one thing is clear - life can still be beautiful and that is exactly how they intend it to be.

Dancing without hearing the music may be a very hard task for most of us, but it is only when we listen closely to the music erupting within our very hearts and souls can we actually sway to the real dance of life... whether deaf or not.