Once upon a ballet
June 4, 2006 | 12:00am
Once upon a summer’s evening, this mommy went to the Cultural Center of the Philippines to watch the ballet. As the dancers twirled and danced on their toes, spinning around like sugar fairies, moving gracefully like the soft summer breeze, inspiration grew in her heart.
On her way home that night, she whacked her head, lamenting the fact that she did not take ballet lessons when she had the chance to. Thought balloons of both regret and hope merged seamlessly like notes to a song: regret for what could never be – Whoever heard of a tall 31-year-old taking up ballet for the first time? – and hope for what still could be. Of course, why ever not?
Daughters are there to fulfill dreams that did not come true. That is how the world goes. Like keys to a lock, the one next in line has the power to set trapped wish lists free.
But she has first to want it.
Because Mommy is bright and knows that what is not forced is more desirable, she takes her daughter to watch the ballet. And nonchalantly draws pictures of ballerinas (as close to what looks like one as she could muster), while daughter is watching. For good measure, she even randomly picks storybooks with pictures of fairies and princesses and tweaks the story to make it appear like they once had to train as ballerinas before they became those sugar-sweet pastel-colored characters that all little girls like to be.
Some call it conspiracy. Mommies simply call it ingenuity.
Believe me, it is in every mother’s DNA.
After enough time, Mommy asks indifferently if daughter wants to take ballet lessons. By then, the subtle clues strategically strewn along her daily routine had worked its magic.
"Can I, Mommy?" She now wanted to learn. Mission accomplished.
So, off the little girl goes with her friends to one ballet class after the other. As she danced and shaped her body to embrace the dance form, mommy was patting herself on the back for a job well done. And before she could even get over her triumph, the daughter announces that, surprise, surprise, there will be a culminating activity.
Mommy was thrilled. Daddy, too. They would get to see their little girl twirl like fairies and princesses do. Frothy clouds of pink tutus and pink satin ribbons weaved happy thoughts in Mommy’s imagination. As for Daddy, he just wanted to capture the moment in photos.
And then daughter comes home one day and announces that she already knows what she will be for the play.
"Guess, Mommy," she says, eyes wide with excitement.
A fairy? A little princess? A flower?
"A rabbit!" the daughter answers.
Daddy and Mommy try not to laugh out loud. "That is so cute," they both say in unison. "Rabbits are pink and white, sometimes gray, too."
The following day, daughter and friends come back from class, more excited than ever. They had misunderstood. Teacher said they were not rabbits after all.
Finally! Teacher probably realized little girls like playing one of those cute pastel-colored creatures God made.
"What will you be?" Mommy asks excitedly again.
"A panda!" daughter says gleefully, jumping up and down.
"Yes, we are all pandas," her two friends say in unison, clapping their hands.
Before Mommy could even react, daughter adds, "But if we were bigger, Mommy, we would be anacondas."
"No. Teacher said amazonas," says the other panda.
"Or an unggoy daw," the third one says.
At that point, Mommy was just thankful none of them wanted to be Tarzan.
And so, it was. Off they – the panda’s parents, her Lolo Manoling and Lola Julie, her Yaya Lita and Ninong Clemen – all went to CCP on performance day even as Typhoon Caloy howled and growled like a grumpy old man. The pandas had a few minutes on stage just by themselves, doing their thing, before they joined the cubs, the peacocks, and the flamingos, the cockatoos, the hyenas, the cheetahs (among others), in what was the CCP’s 37th Summer Dance Workshop finale, entitled "Starzan Gubatman."
Kith and kin cheered for their little ones on stage. After the show, there were lots of hugging and kissing and picture-taking. A happy afternoon in Starzan’s happy kingdom.
This Mommy and her Panda left the venue hand in hand, the former learning yet again that everything is relative, that the first step is not the only step towards the fulfillment of dreams. But first, the Panda was hungry and she wanted to eat in Dome. So, to Podium they all went.
In bed that night, Mommy asks the happy little girl what she wanted to be called if she were indeed born a panda. "Still Juliana," she says after thinking for a moment. "But when I’m big, I will be a bigger animal, Mommy," she says, eyes twinkling with promise.
Indeed, the magic is in the waiting, the spinning of dreams, the learning.
And, it is also in knowing that in the precious past of every graceful little princess is a little panda bear happily waiting to bloom.
On her way home that night, she whacked her head, lamenting the fact that she did not take ballet lessons when she had the chance to. Thought balloons of both regret and hope merged seamlessly like notes to a song: regret for what could never be – Whoever heard of a tall 31-year-old taking up ballet for the first time? – and hope for what still could be. Of course, why ever not?
Daughters are there to fulfill dreams that did not come true. That is how the world goes. Like keys to a lock, the one next in line has the power to set trapped wish lists free.
But she has first to want it.
Because Mommy is bright and knows that what is not forced is more desirable, she takes her daughter to watch the ballet. And nonchalantly draws pictures of ballerinas (as close to what looks like one as she could muster), while daughter is watching. For good measure, she even randomly picks storybooks with pictures of fairies and princesses and tweaks the story to make it appear like they once had to train as ballerinas before they became those sugar-sweet pastel-colored characters that all little girls like to be.
Some call it conspiracy. Mommies simply call it ingenuity.
Believe me, it is in every mother’s DNA.
After enough time, Mommy asks indifferently if daughter wants to take ballet lessons. By then, the subtle clues strategically strewn along her daily routine had worked its magic.
"Can I, Mommy?" She now wanted to learn. Mission accomplished.
So, off the little girl goes with her friends to one ballet class after the other. As she danced and shaped her body to embrace the dance form, mommy was patting herself on the back for a job well done. And before she could even get over her triumph, the daughter announces that, surprise, surprise, there will be a culminating activity.
Mommy was thrilled. Daddy, too. They would get to see their little girl twirl like fairies and princesses do. Frothy clouds of pink tutus and pink satin ribbons weaved happy thoughts in Mommy’s imagination. As for Daddy, he just wanted to capture the moment in photos.
And then daughter comes home one day and announces that she already knows what she will be for the play.
"Guess, Mommy," she says, eyes wide with excitement.
A fairy? A little princess? A flower?
"A rabbit!" the daughter answers.
Daddy and Mommy try not to laugh out loud. "That is so cute," they both say in unison. "Rabbits are pink and white, sometimes gray, too."
The following day, daughter and friends come back from class, more excited than ever. They had misunderstood. Teacher said they were not rabbits after all.
Finally! Teacher probably realized little girls like playing one of those cute pastel-colored creatures God made.
"What will you be?" Mommy asks excitedly again.
"A panda!" daughter says gleefully, jumping up and down.
"Yes, we are all pandas," her two friends say in unison, clapping their hands.
Before Mommy could even react, daughter adds, "But if we were bigger, Mommy, we would be anacondas."
"No. Teacher said amazonas," says the other panda.
"Or an unggoy daw," the third one says.
At that point, Mommy was just thankful none of them wanted to be Tarzan.
And so, it was. Off they – the panda’s parents, her Lolo Manoling and Lola Julie, her Yaya Lita and Ninong Clemen – all went to CCP on performance day even as Typhoon Caloy howled and growled like a grumpy old man. The pandas had a few minutes on stage just by themselves, doing their thing, before they joined the cubs, the peacocks, and the flamingos, the cockatoos, the hyenas, the cheetahs (among others), in what was the CCP’s 37th Summer Dance Workshop finale, entitled "Starzan Gubatman."
Kith and kin cheered for their little ones on stage. After the show, there were lots of hugging and kissing and picture-taking. A happy afternoon in Starzan’s happy kingdom.
This Mommy and her Panda left the venue hand in hand, the former learning yet again that everything is relative, that the first step is not the only step towards the fulfillment of dreams. But first, the Panda was hungry and she wanted to eat in Dome. So, to Podium they all went.
In bed that night, Mommy asks the happy little girl what she wanted to be called if she were indeed born a panda. "Still Juliana," she says after thinking for a moment. "But when I’m big, I will be a bigger animal, Mommy," she says, eyes twinkling with promise.
Indeed, the magic is in the waiting, the spinning of dreams, the learning.
And, it is also in knowing that in the precious past of every graceful little princess is a little panda bear happily waiting to bloom.
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