I later found out the dance was called the flamenco. More than the dance, I was so taken with the flower and I so badly wanted to wear one as huge and as red as the one she had on (as if doing so would instantly make me dance as beautifully as her). I figured though that one came with the other, so right there and then I decided to make a go for it and learn the dance. I could not wait to get back to Manila to have my first lesson. After all, if I wanted to wear a flower on my hair and look legit, that seemed like the most logical thing to do.
Enter fashion show director Jackie Aquino who was, like me, gawking in awe. He told me that his aunt actually taught the flamenco in Manila. Can I enroll, like, as soon as the plane lands? I asked. But she was in Barcelona, learning new moves and polishing her flamenco.
So I waited. And when she arrived, off I went to Kalayaan where the Centro Flamenco is located. Totally unprepared but very enthusiastic, I popped up in Señora. Cecil de Joya’s class in jeans and sneakers, not knowing that the latter was the worst thing one could wear to flamenco class. For all the stomping you are required to do, you have to at least wear pumps with stacked heels or character shoes – both are relatively easy to find. Because my shoe size is big, I had to wait forever for my flamenco shoes to arrive. In the meantime, I got by with wearing my traveling boots to class. It did not make the sharp, precise sound that authentic flamenco shoes do but they were loads better than my reliable sneakers.
Several classes later I was hooked. I got so addicted to it that I would walk from one room in the house to the other, twirling my fingers, snapping my head, and stomping my feet. Uno, dos, uno, dos, tres, cuatro . . . I would chant and dance on and on as I walked down the stairs into the kitchen, move from the dining to the living area, sometimes even in the middle of a meal. And the helpers would just watch me in helpless amusement. Well, bewilderment might be more like it. Either that or they must have thought I was part of some strange cult. Even in the shower I would dance, making a considerable amount of thumping and stomping noise, enough to send Richard running to the bathroom to see if I was okay.
"You scared me, honey. I thought you slipped and hit your head," Richard would ask. To that I would sheepishly reply, all soapy and drenched with water, "I was just doing the flamenco, honey."
Flamenco is called the dance of the soul. In a generation when disco and hip-hop seem to be the ruling force, flamenco is a breath of fresh air. There is a certain discipline to flamenco – a precise way to twirl your hands and flick the wrist, a certain level within which to lift your chin and snap your head to the opposite direction, an exacting posture and stance –– little things that may seem inconsequential yet, in the context of the dance, spell all the difference.
You may get impatient with the drills and would naturally want to get on with the dance steps but you cannot jump to five when you haven’t gone through one to four yet. Not with this dance, at least. You cannot get by without first learning the basics.
Needless to say, it is pure elation once you are able to complete a dance. The flamenco has a way of sucking you in deeper and deeper, and as you move with both feet and heart, you can’t be happier. Staying fit has never been this much fun, or fulfilling.
Last November, we had a recital and neophyte me joined in on the fun. Just as I believed from day one, when you wear your costume and have a huge, beautiful flower on your hair you will start to look authentic. Now, remembering the dance steps is 3/4 of the pie and what I may have missed in beats, I hope the bloom made up for in aesthetics.
I have been learning to dance the flamenco for almost a year now (a feat considering that I never stick to any active routine for more than five months tops). I have a long, long way to go before I can dance with as much passion and soul as is required but until then, I know I will enjoy my journey.
Meanwhile, I urge you to give flamenco a try. Drop by the Centro Flamenco and learn from Señoras Cecil de Joya and Emma Estrada – they both dance like a dream. When you are stuck in a rut or become frustrated with the steps, watching them dance is all it takes to inspire you to just dance away and set your spirit free. There is no age requirement – someone as young as I or as old as my grandma can do it. It is a good way to stay fit, it is very liberating and hey, who knows, a true dancer may just be locked up inside you, waiting to exhale.
I am forever trying to get more and more people into giving flamenco a shot. And each time someone asks how I got into it, I always honestly say, "It was all because of a beautiful red bloom."