Love is a many-splendid thing

"I never realised that the best things in life are hidden in the most mundane things."

"Love is a feeling you can’t hide. You don’t plan it out at all. It makes your head spin. It paralyses any sense of logic with an incredible destructiveness. The ecstasy caused by love can numb your senses to an extent where you don’t even feel the pain of death. It’s incredibly dangerous."

- Eve, Ep 6 (K-drama)

It surprises me how a script that is translated from Korean to English can be so powerfully eloquent. Truth is universal.

It's funny how life works. How the things you fight so hard for can suddenly be rendered meaningless by a change of heart.

I'd always felt convinced that whatever my path, that my life's work was to do something good for the world. To make a difference. Or something cheesy like that.

A point of honesty is reached when you realise that maybe the world doesn't actually need that. It doesn't actually need me. That maybe altruism is only a form of disguised egotism (I do think egotism gets a bad rap, and that it's an essential part of the human condition, the human will to survive and thrive, but that's another blog post perhaps). 

That perhaps my life's work is simply to let the world be (good, or not), and appreciate what, or rather who, comes to me.

Transcendence

“Music is a higher revelation than all wisdom and philosophy. ...Music is the one incorporeal entrance into the higher world of knowledge which comprehends mankind but which mankind cannot comprehend.” - Ludwig van Beethoven

Robin Spielberg's TEDx talk brought me to tears. She told stories about her experience of music's power to heal, to provide catharsis, to soothe anxiety and change the brain. Around 13 minutes into the talk, she describes how she went into a nursing home to play. Disappointed at the quality of the piano, the lack of applause, and lack of responsiveness of the audience, she decided she was just going to go into the lala land of her music and get through the hour. As she was leaving though, a nurse came up to her, and told her that it was amazing, all of the connections she made. The nurse described how one of the patients, hearing her play 'Moon River', had been singing along, speaking for the first time in years.

For me, vital, life-giving importance of art lies in its powerful ability to connect to our human experience. It transcends in a way the best efforts of the prefrontal logical mind cannot. It transcends the individual narratives of our lives, speaking to us as though the creator intimately understands our inner world. 

As a choreographer, I would probably wouldn't pick myself to be the performer that breathes life into the work. But I am grateful for the chance to shape and share in the numinous experience that is music and movement. In that moment, I am uplifted by that which comprehends mankind, but mankind cannot comprehend. 

the art of letting go

being a grown up
the super ego prevails
heartbreak of the id

Movement is life

What it is about art, that the impetus for production is repression and deprivation? War, sickness, separation. Death. Unresolved love. Crises of the spirit catalyse art. The more we repress the subconscious it seems, the more active it becomes, the more its activity seems to bleed into consciousness and find an eventual manifestation.

The other day I was having a conversation with an Israeli about how much I loved the Israeli approach to movement, and how much respect I had for their movement techniques such as gaga and Feldenkrais. I reflected on how dancers here possess a totality of movement that seems to come from a much deeper attunement to the mind-body connection. She said with a sense of humour that it was because in Israel, where we are surrounded on all sides by the intensity of conflict, war, and crisis, we search for something else to focus on with greater intensity. We search within ourselves.

Perhaps it was environmental pressures that selected Israel to become the mecca of contemporary dance it is today. Richard Wolpert hypothesises that the mind was made to move; that the nervous system was evolved to allow complex movement, citing the example of the sea squirt, which digests its own nervous system for food once it has settled on the rock it will call home. It no longer needs to move, so it no longer needs its brain.

The humble sea squirt, incidentally,
may also present a potential treatment for mesothelioma.

There is something deep within us that needs to move. Whilst it stretches the metaphor to say the sedentary lifestyle is eating our brains and causing strokes, even in the language of evidence based medicine, we know this to be true.

We are in a generation which venerates the mind and dismisses the body. Yet the language of movement is impossible to quantify and analyse through the language of cerebral science alone. It needs to be embodied to be fully understood. That is what dancers do. Research movement. The connection of movement to the body, the connection of moving bodies to each other, the connection of movement to rhythms.

As the world turns to the advancements of medicine and technology for the elixir of health and youth, there is a need to return to the arts. To come back to what is within us, the fundamentals of who we are, and embrace and enjoy what it is to be humans - minds made to do, and to move.

Whatever will be will be

Do you want to be a dancer
It means travel
It means loneliness
It means poverty
It means toil
It means sweet passion for perfection
for expression
for a voice that can be felt more powerfully than words
It means doubt
It means conviction
It means love
You should only be a dancer
if you cannot be anything but.

Do you want to be a doctor
It means hard work
It means fighting
against systems that don't really work
for people who don't always help themselves
losing battles
but giving hope
It means stability
It means reliability
It means respect
It means empathy
It means sorrow
It means love
You should only be a doctor
if you cannot be anything but.

I can say now that I've travelled the world
I've lived a double life
I cannot be anything but.

I will be what I will be
but only as much as it matters
for what matters most.

You can only love

for you cannot do anything but

to find what matters most

is not what you love

but whom.

Little Things With Great Love

"God does not call us all to great things, but calls us to do small things with great love." 

-Mother Teresa

Trying to soothe the chronic feeling of inadequacy with the balm of reminding myself that I am enough. I am reminded that it is not about how I want to fashion myself and serve my own ambition, but it is truly that I am His work, and I am fashioned according to his exact purposes.

Today, conversation turned to a hawker who worked from 6am to 10pm frying char kway teow and happily drove his Mercedes to work every day. Then, to a multi-millionaire businessman who, in university, made many friends, enjoyed life, and was mostly having his homework done for him by his more intellectual friends. Then, to someone who loved fiddling with watches, and now consults with top watchmaking companies.

Char kway teow

One capitalised on his culinary skills and became a hawker. Even though he may not be widely acknowledged with a Michelin star, the people who know of him appreciate his work, and he is the local's secret.

The other capitalised on his social intelligence, in working through the system to achieve their own ends, and became a businessman. He followed his interest in people, in talking to others, in managing money and making profit. He might not be as famous and high-profile as Bill Gates, but I doubt that was what he wanted.

All three pursued their passion. Did they know what they wanted? Yet each person created space in their lives to keep doing what they were passionate about.

Every moment of our day, every opportunity that comes our way, we are equipped with the sum of our experiences, skills, temperament and character, and we are leveraging this to move forward. Formally or informally, we are carving our own training pathways, and creating our own opportunities.

Too introverted. Too weak. Bad sleeper. Overthinking again. A litany of deprecation that never ends. I realise that everything is relative, and these weaknesses don't just mean that I am not cut out for something. It means I am better cut out for something else. When it comes to what I want, I would be a fool to think I know what that is.

What I do know is what I am passionate about. God. Loved ones. Writing. Dance. Health.

I realise that His grace is sufficient for me. I am reminded that all I can do is do what I can, with as much love as I can muster. Appreciate what I have. Make the most of the opportunities that lie before me.

I look at the love that I have, and the love that I have not, and lay it all before the one who loves me more than I can conceive of love.

"Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” 

-Matt 11:29-30 NIV

Deconstructing performativity: What is art?

After class with Natalie Allen, the warm-down discussion of the day was dance workshops recently attended. Natalie described how in one of them, one of the tasks was to take something from someone that you wanted.

She described how a fellow participant took her wedding ring, and her emotional response; how she had to tell herself that this was a task, and she would eventually get it back.

The human state of being vulnerable to have something taken from you, being vulnerable to give is laid bare here. The difference between giving and stealing here is made clear - it is a matter of consent. When someone takes something from you, when it is consensual, it is a gift. When someone takes something from you when it is non-consensual, it is stolen.

When someone takes something from you during a task where you are instructed to allow it, is that really consensual? Is the consent inherent by consenting to the context? In the context of attending a dance workshop, perhaps yes. But did she really know what she was getting into before that? As a larger reflection on our human condition, do we really consent to the environment we are in? Do we know what we are getting ourselves into? I recently found out that in certain cultural contexts, if you expressed admiration of something someone else had, they were obliged to give it to you.

Out of all belongings, taking someone's wedding ring is loaded.

Superficially, the ring is of value - it beautiful, or precious. The object of desire. Its value reflects our deeply-rooted cultural understanding and valuation of marriage. The impulse of taking that from someone else perhaps reveals our biological drive for a mate, and the ongoing narrative of competition that is involved in the process of mate selection. Or at a metaphysical level, the desire for deep and meaningful connection with someone else.

The tradition of the wedding ring, something to be worn at all times rather than kept away, opens itself to the vulnerability of theft. The symbol of the wedding ring, as a public declaration of the married state, should theoretically shield you from unwanted advances. Yet, human nature being what it will, opens up a reverse psychological driver.

That right there. Performance art.

Non-negotiables

Last year, I established some clear values and clarified some defective thought patterns. My perfectionism, in particular. I realise now that perfection isn't about the finished product, or beating yourself up about failure.

Rather, it's a commitment. A commitment to disciplining yourself to do what you value, and embrace and take joy in repetition. Repetition is everything. Practise makes perfect.

To fail means you are challenging yourself. I used to avoid facing up to my failures, because I felt ashamed of not living up to my standards.

But standards are subjective. They are a perception we create for ourselves, to strive towards. As I grow to understand my practise of something, be it dance, writing, or being a a better Christian, I find myself constantly reevaluating and redefining my perception of perfect.

The real perfect, the real product is the process. The process of repetition and practice.

I embrace failure now, because I know that it reflects taking a risk. Failure, not success, enables you to learn and grow.

Over the next couple of years, I shall strive to establish habits. Non-negotiable disciplines and practises that I will retain for the rest of my life.

Some surprising non-negotiables emerged over the past couple of years, and they include needing to dance and write several times a week.

Last year, I experimented. I realised that five basics are essential.

The first four are meditation/prayer, adequate sleep, exercise, and eating.

I need a lot of exercise; in the ballpark of a minimum of ten hours a week. I need an average of seven and a half hours of sleep, and preferably earlier in the night and earlier in the morning, probably waking up around seven every day. To that end, I try to switch off screens after eleven, although sometimes important communication with family or friends trumps that desire.

I endeavour to eat slowly and mindfully, and luxuriate in conversation.

I avoid sugar.

I used to love all things chocolate and ice-cream, but I realised that I am addicted to sugar. The penny dropped when I ate almost an entire packet of cookies one night, and woke up the next day, head full of what I needed to do that day, and could not bring myself out of bed. Then the thought of a chunky cookie dunked in the foam of a cappuccino came to mind, and suddenly I was out of bed like a shot.

Last year,  I attempted to quit sugar. I tried cutting it down, but it usually ended in a rebound day. So I tried abstinence, the way alcoholics do.

That worked.

It was quite possibly the best change, but also the hardest change I made. The first few days I was tired and craved it. I drank cider and bubble tea, which didn't count. But over time, I realised that my energy, cognitive clarity, moods and impulse control had drastically improved, and my belly fat had reduced.

The past quarter, I experimented with relaxing the abstinence in view of increased travel, Christmas and the social nature of having dessert and sweet things. But in those two months, I gained weight, developed acne, became more lethargic, moody and impulsive. I know that just as alcoholics must avoid alcohol, I too must avoid sugar.

The final is the most important constant of all, which is being able to let go of everything, and prioritise relationships. Family. The family I have by blood, the family I have in Christ, and the family I will have by marriage. The real center of my life.

The comeback

The last time I watched Federer vs Nadal was back in 2009. It was also when I fell in love with Roger Federer's impeccable footwork and placement on the court. Over the years, I developed a deep respect for his values - his sportsmanship, the fact that he carries himself like a gentleman both on and off the court, and the fact that he's also a family man. Whether he wins or loses, Federer will always be a winner in my eyes. That man is singlehandedly responsible for my appreciation of tennis, and sports and athletes in general.

This match is proof that intelligence trumps athleticism. Younger, fitter, faster and more aggressive on the court, by conventional wisdom, Nadal had every reason to win. Yet even with the time out and the delays in turning and breaking as a result of the left knee meniscal tear, Federer compensated with incredible leaps and strides in mental agility, stamina and focus. The time that he spent watching, visualising, and judiciously giving himself less time on the court, and more time to rest paid off.

He was able to hone in for the opportunity to deliver incredible volleys and angled shots with all the mastery of a chess grandmaster about to execute a checkmate. Watching the relish in his face as he delivered these shots with deft precision brought a smile to my own. Watching his incredible economy of movement was an aesthetic delight.

This match reminded me that you don't need to have youth and perfect facility to triumph. Injuries and setbacks can hold you back, but sometimes they are exactly what you need most to become stronger and better.

People like Alessandra Ferri and Roger Federer remind me that what you need to succeed is not found in merely the physical, but in the mind and spirit - drive, focus, and patience. Intelligent practise. Impeccable technique and timing. An incredible support team and life partner helps as well.

Caught dancing en arabesque, first and last

Today I was talking with a friend and it got me revisiting Carla Bruni, who IMHO, has the sexiest voice ever, when she sings in French (don't even get me started on L'excessive). I've been almost reluctant to listen to her English songs for fear of ruining her impossibly sexy appeal. But I had iTunes on shuffle, and realised that the song titles, and the lyrics were oddly familiar...

Googling worked wonders to discover that...she was singing some of my favourite poets! Serendipity ftw!

At Last the Secret is Out

W.H. Auden

At last the secret is out, as it always must come in the end,
the delicius story is ripe to tell to the intimate friend;
over the tea-cups and into the square the tongues has its desire;
still waters run deep, my dear, there's never smoke without fire.

Behind the corpse in the reservoir, behind the ghost on the links,
behind the lady who dances and the man who madly drinks,
under the look of fatigue, the attack of migraine and the sigh
there is always another story, there is more than meets the eye.

For the clear voice suddently singing, high up in the convent wall,
the scent of the elder bushes, the sporting prints in the hall,
the croquet matches in summer, the handshake, the cough, the kiss,
there is always a wicked secret, a private reason for this.

Those Dancing Days Are Gone

W.B. Yeats

Come, let me sing into your ear;
Those dancing days are gone,
All that silk and satin gear;
Crouch upon a stone,
Wrapping that foul body up
In as foul a rag:
I carry the sun in a golden cup.
The moon in a silver bag.

Curse as you may I sing it through;
What matter if the knave
That the most could pleasure you,
The children that he gave,
Are somewhere sleeping like a top
Under a marble flag?
I carry the sun in a golden cup.
The moon in a silver bag.

I thought it out this very day.
Noon upon the clock,
A man may put pretence away
Who leans upon a stick,
May sing, and sing until he drop,
Whether to maid or hag:
I carry the sun in a golden cup,
The moon in a silver bag.

I want my l-

"I want my lung. Dr Altman, I'm big. Too big. I don't fit in airplane seats and as Jeff is always telling me, my feelings don't always fit the situation. If my food is overcooked at a restaurant, I get enraged. I want to kill the waiter. But I don't. ...I spend my days making myself smaller, more acceptable. And that's okay, because at night, when I go onstage, I get to experience the world the way I feel it. Indescribable rage, and unbearable sadness, and huge passion. At night, on stage, I get to kill the waiter and dance on his grave . And if I can’t do that, if all I have is left is a life of making myself smaller, then I don’t want to live. I don’t."

- Singer with lung mesothelioma, Grey's Anatomy Season 6, Ep 12

Is it wrong that I can identify with that sentiment? A little too much.

Similarity, much?

Watching Memorable Walks

The other day in bible study, our leader asked us why we, or other people, might write poetry. He then asked us to write an 'If' poem as part of an exercise to introduce us to the study of Psalms. Since then, these ideas have been playing on my mind.

If asked that question in a setting where I wasn't under pressure to not answer and appear an emo-kid, I would probably say that the reason why I write poetry or enjoy art of any form is because in reality, I repress my feelings. Rather than limit them to the banality of their everyday context (petty annoyances, base desires, irrational fears), I'd rather invest them in an avenue with a higher rate of return. I get to control exactly how much I reveal, how much I explore, what the listener gets out of the poem. A poem doesn't limit you to reality, either.

I used to favour dance as the way to tell the greatest truths of myself to my audience. Poetry, I suppose is a natural extension of that. It too is focused on expression through a medium (the human body/words) and the movement inherent (in dance sequences, or the formation of sentences). It may not be about me, but in creating it, I often feels as though I were baring some part of myself that I normally keep hidden.

Even if my heart says yes, my mind says no

(based on A Walk To Remember)

If

this were yesterday, I

might've said yes to you. I was

happy to bask in the love of another,

then - I would not

be so afraid to let my heart be thawed by

the heat of your pull

on my heartstrings, and your assurance not to break them, or -

ever let them go.

But because

this is today,

I am sorry,

but my answer is no.

But even if being around you arrests my senses,

makes time stop and space irrelevant,

even if it feels like more than just another EM-pty pull, it's

just a lull - a break from reality's gravity, for today.

For even if this were yesterday,

you can't change my tomorrow.

Dance therapy

I was doing some research for my latest assignment, and I found out about Trudi Schoop, this really interesting dance therapist. :)

Yet another reason to dance.

Why I do not believe in true love

I used to believe I was married to ballet.

Now I know better.

Small^time = big

Don't you find it funny how true cliches are, despite their bad reputation? For instance, today I realised the truth of the cliche that the little things are the ones which count. Sometimes you wake up one day and you suddenly realise how far you've come from a few years back, and you kind of wonder how the change came about. I think it is the little things that make this change. The little decisions to just indulge that little bit here, or to make that extra effort to be nice there, that ever so gradually and imperceptibly build up.

Dance also helped me realise this. In dance, particularly in ballet, every move you make is important, and significant. Slack a little bit at barre, and you will feel it at centre work. In no movement can you say, what the heck, I shall slacken just a little bit here. Once you do so, the whole movement is ruined. Perhaps it is imperceptibly so, but the weakness will be revealed in other steps that you perform.

You have one life, take that little bit of extra time to think over the choices you make. You will live it all the better for thinking.

Balanced perfection

As a child, beauty is simple, our ideals are simple. We find the lifelike, vividly detailed Da Vinci more appealing than surrealist Dali. We find the things that are pleasing to the eye beautiful. We see perfection as an ideal like getting a 100% on a test, or being eloquent, intelligent, graceful.

Now I realise that perfection isn't quite as simple as all that. Something that's too perfect actually loses some of its beauty, some of its perfection. Its flawlessness is an imperfection, and it makes it less interesting, less appealing. It's like the way master potters sometimes purposefully include flaws in their work. They could make perfect pots, the ideal pot, easily, yet they choose not to, because they see that perfection is also about the acknowledgement of flaws. In the same way, I realise that as much as striving to live up to the ideals of perfection, being perfect is also about the acknowledgement and acceptance of what is not perfect.

Actually, perfection is like dance. I once said that the most important aspect of ballet is balance. It's true for perfection. And balance doesn't mean taking the middle road, but allowing a dynamic equilibrium to occur as a result of the constant battle between the two extremes, striving for perfection, and your own imperfections.

Poetry without words

We often describe movements, particularly dance movements, that are particularly graceful as poetry in motion.  It's funny how we can grow up hearing and accepting phrases and quotes without really understanding their significance.

For instance, I only really just understood, in one of those 'Aha!' moments, the significance of the statement 'dance is poetry'.

Consider: the only words used in poetry are those which are succinct and eloquent, as well as inspired by life.  In essence, that is what sums up dance.  The movements used in dance are distilled from life.

Some poetry has rhyme and meter, but all poetry has rhythm, as does all dance.

But for all I have said I have not really touched the core similarity between these two. It's almost impossible to describe it, although it's wholly tangible. They both share a similar evanescent quality - performed in an instant, but remembered and immortalised for eternity. They are doses of life, of humanity, concentrated and refined into art.

When I fall in love, it will be...with dance

Every once in a while, when I throw myself into dancing completely, what I experience reminds me why I love dance so much. It doesn't matter any more that I'm not that good a dancer.

While I am dancing, my whole conciousness is just fixed on getting the steps (not just getting the right steps, but understanding them in the deepest fibres of your being). I don't think about how I will look to other people. I don't think about anything else, except the dance. You don't actually think about it conciously while you dance, but you get the feeling that you're just a girl; just dancing.

You feel happy.

Despite what people say about happy being an over-used word, I have to say, happy is just the right word to use here. Simple, succint and powerful. I can't call it euphoria, because that gives you a sense of losing control. I feel completely in control.

It doesn't matter to me what I actually look like while I dance. I most probably look like a baboon trying to attract a mate. Somehow, though, I just don't care. Plenty of time after the dance to listen to any corrections.

My inhibitions and self-conciousness just slip away as I become the dance.

After the dance, I don't feel weary at all. True, I will feel a little exerted, but I also feel completely alert, awake, ready to try again. After a while, sure, I feel the pain of friction burns and pressure bruises, but it fades when you get into the dance again.

I won't say that there are no words to describe it, becuase I always get annoyed when other people say that. It's like, what's the point of trying if you know that there aren't (any words to descirbe it, I mean)? But it really does require you to experience it before you understand why it all becomes worthwhile.