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.
This is difficult to write, but it's definitely an important one amidst all the conversations we've been having lately. Growing up being brown/Malay wasn't easy, especially when it became ingrained in me that having a darker skin tone by default, is less desired than fairer skin tones. In childhood, I couldn't recall having to endure comments about my skin colour. Thankfully amongst children, these values ascribed to lightness and darkness didn't yet come to the fore. This consciousness became more obvious since secondary school. And it was tough and painful. I've been in a sports CCA since secondary school and I couldn't really avoid not becoming tanned. What hurts the most was even my peers at that time would make comments about my skin colour without even realising the damage caused from these words. These comments I recall, were sometimes made under the guise of humour. I was called 'budak hitam' (literally means 'black child') and even ...
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