Plans

It was our last day in Amman, the end of a week-long trip to the Middle East. These final hours were dim and quiet. The coach was silent except for the soft purr of the air-conditioning. Most were asleep on the fairly long journey to the airport, which was punctuated only by the dropping off of Kenneth and Jason at InterContinental. I for once though, was wide awake. A while ago, I had been fidgeting constantly, unable to bring myself to settle in nor get out of my seat. Now, I was feeling more resolute. I was making plans for when I got home, for a fresh start in the new year.

Plan number one was to leave church. This has always seemed an ironic result. Most people presumably return from a pilgrimage to Israel spiritually awakened. I came back an apostate. I don't think I'm alone in this, but I do wonder what others' similar experiences are like. In a nutshell, I found religion to be little more than politics. Quite a no-brainer, but this only became clear to me at the front line of religious war, through the thoughts of a Palestinian-Jordanian-Greek-Christian guide; another ironic effect because he was nothing if not spiritual and religious.

Two weeks ago I got a call from church. Samsara rehearsal was about to begin so the man said he would call back the next day. I wasn't at my phone when he did, and haven't heard from him since. It was probably protocol that he not bother me beyond those two calls. The truth is that I am more than happy to speak to him. I still find difficulty in articulating my recent views on religion, but perhaps that difficulty is the basis of my position, an uncomfortable uncertainty, as opposed to the fixed tenets of religion that I had been accustomed to for nearly a decade.

On the bus ride back from Genting, also two weeks ago, I received a hint of the same wide-awake feeling of new beginnings, which jolted memories of last December. I had a great time hanging out with Chee Yuen and Rigel, friends from secondary school/junior college. Having a hotel room all to myself was awesome too. Genting is pretty boring though. It's amazing we managed to find things to do, especially on the first homeless night, where a few hours were killed just reminiscing old schoolmates and teachers. The place is merely an excuse for a retreat. It was fun, but I would much prefer spending my money some way else.

Never stop moving
Because of the short trip to Genting, I broke my religious attendance (OK, it's only been a month) of Xuehui's Monday class. She has a way of making you (OK, me) feel like a stiff, ungroovy, cacat robot with psychomotor problems, and I love it. I just appeared in the far corner of a couple of her videos, and I feel a little ugly looking at them. Last week, during her class, I could hear strains of Permanent, which likely came from Ryan's course next-door, and left me extremely curious. I've taken a couple of reggae classes by Trinity. They are definitely beginner level, but there's much that I can learn, including, if nothing else, how to isolate my lower back like her.

I was late for Lina's Blast class two weeks ago--one hour late. After that I was late for Fredy's first class. I missed his David Cook choreo and went for his second class with Nicole instead. I hate being late. Date rate fate gate (mate) sate... Kate's choreo is fun. Mazlan took over her class two weeks ago; his choreo is ultimate shiok for me. We're also learning his Bamboo Banga for Hamzah's item, which is a little hard to execute with the right flavour. I finally find out the song Chio used for the class I attended at Broadway Dance Center one-and-a-half years ago. For The Next Wave I'm also in Zaini and Juli's items. It's going to be mad rehearsals again when I come back.

Alvin de Castro
I wish I was there the night Alvin de Castro gave his speech about dance and nearly abandoning it after his mother's death. I heard of it through Yvonne and thought it really explained his sad eyes, especially when he dances. He needs a hug. I thoroughly enjoyed his classes, and the moments where I felt like I hit the choreo 70%. They were absolutely worth skipping one-and-a-half rehearsals for.

On Top Design
I'm over 7 months late but I just finished watching the second season of Top Design last week and it was another Kris Allen moment of euphoric shock for me when Nathan Thomas was announced the winner. I was dreading that they would give it to Preston, whose praised designs I did not like. I suspect all this dread and shock were a direct product of the work by the Magical Elves editors, who are the best around. I especially loved the eco-office episode, by the end of which I absolutely loathed Eddie and absolutely loved Nathan. Nathan should have been awarded two Top Designs for both their rooms. He was also totally robbed for the Swarovski chandelier challenge. He designs with spontaneity and panache, and his spaces are full of personality. I want to hang out in his rooms. I want to hang out with his rooms. I want to hang out in his clothes.

Tumble and fumble
Two Saturdays ago Aprine, Lynette, Stacey, Virgenia, Clement and I performed Alfama at Meritus Mandarin. We were given a hotel room and free-flow room service. I had a good shower to wash off the tech class grime. I'm still awful at the binding business. It's something I sadly have yet to pick up. Outside the ballroom we waited for nearly an hour, so after testing out tumbles and recoveries with the long costume and some combined revision, we took to photography at the lift landing and around the dusty piano. The performance went fairly well for me, considering we only had three practices and no dress rehearsal. I had strange, minor screw-ups, but I'm just glad I didn't tear my costume or leave a panel on stage. The audience seemed pretty receptive and attentive, even if they weren't vocal about it. But their dinner programme was extremely dreary, mainly a series of over-long speeches, so the mere sight of us doing nothing would have been exciting.

Wherever I go, there I am
I realized this on my way back from Genting. Whenever I've been overseas I tend to lapse into a kind of misery too embarrassing to explain. It's a loneliness which has nothing to do with being alone because I've had many happy-alone times. Apart from the trip to New York with Raj, most of my vacations have felt like an empty waste of money, which is why I'm reluctant to holiday too often. What is so precious to others seems like a throwaway to me. And so I get stricken by the kind of guilt involved in wasting food while thinking of starving children, which is a nonsensical kind of guilt. I've always mentally blamed poor company or an overly touristy itinerary, but I realize now it's mostly just me. There is no secret recipe to my enjoyment, I think, just a simple but difficult tweaking of the mind.