If I was given that chance to restart life all over again, I would have danced the same. The same fluctuating rhythmic movements alternating between awkwardness and agility, through the dizziness and the blur, to the same tumultuous tunes. Sometimes the tune grows quiet, monotonous and the moves become edgy. And I would move as slow as a tiptoe. Sometimes it gets so loud I had to dance so fast to keep up that it drowns me, I had to search for and reel myself from this abyss. But I would have danced the same.
The same moves - the twirls, the leaps, the crouching, the freezing, the bending over backwards, the breaking, the running; away and towards. Sometimes with crippling anxiety, doubt and fear, other times with passion, and other times with unquestioning obedience and total surrendering. I would allow myself to fall flat on my face, I would then nurse my scraped knees myself. Sometimes I would bury my face in the pillow, with shame and humiliation while questioning my worth. But I would still stand up, and move, cautiously, and then regain my confidence.
Sometimes the moves become repetitive, like a cycle, but that way, that's how I get better. Once in awhile I jump into taking risky steps and I falter awkwardly which would hurt so so bad the limbs, the head and oh the heart especially, hurts. Oh how foolish must I have been, diving straight into these steps without even thinking how I should have protected myself first? But I would have laughed through them all again and again because at least I know I tried. Well then at least I know, I had danced fully, authentically. And I shall continue to dance, with all that I am, and all the flaws that make me, me. And I shall dance, while chanting how I could have this dance only once, in this lifetime.
I know this is probably another random entry. But I'm excited for Harry Potter & The Deathly Hallows movie and I suddenly thought about the day when I read through the final pages of Harry Potter & The Half Blood Prince. I must admit, I was actually mourning for the great Albus Dumbledore when he died (or got killed rather). Not the kind of mourning that goes on for days, just a momentary one. And I pictured in my mind, how everyone in Hogwarts were mourning for their beloved Headmaster and how solemn the environment must have felt to the extent that I actually thought that the bedroom where I was, in this tiny, little Singapore, felt equally dull and grey as well. It's impressive how characters come alive like that and reel me into the world of stories. I even had texted Revathi about how sad I felt when I was done with the book. Pardon for the melodrama, but it's the power of narration, and of course the brilliant writer herself, J.K Rowling. And certainly, the mo...
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