My daughter just concluded her first ballet recital for the year. Ballet Philippines kept it short and sweet this time—showcasing only excerpts from The Nutcracker. For me, there is nothing more adorable than ballerinas in their tutus. The sight of them simply fills me with joy. And envy. I dreamed of becoming a ballerina, but my mother never found sense in pursuing something that would not tie you behind the desk for eight hours and getting a fat paycheck at the end of the month. I’m now tied to my desk, alright, for about 10 hours a day even, though the fat paycheck eludes me to this day. I’m just happy that my daughter was already en pointe when she came out of my tummy.
I know joy and envy are emotions like water and oil—or
spaghetti and rice, which for some reason many Filipinos love to put together
on their plates. They never go well together, but then you can trust my
hormones to wring reality out with shameless intentions. I’ve stopped taming
them for years because I have succumbed to the fact that, like kids who have
left the nest, you lose complete control of your hormones when you hit a
certain age. I’m trying my best to befriend them nonetheless by chugging
homemade kombucha.
Rules in Theaters that Should be Carried Out in Many Other Places
Attika’s first recital was at the Cultural Center of the
Philippines (CCP) where they strictly implement a long list of house rules that
include: no parents in the dressing and holding rooms, and no cameras inside
the theater, among many others. My favorite rule is not allowing anyone to take
photos during the show because it lets you enjoy the full show sans strangers’
arms from the back row reaching out for a good photo (there will never be a
good photo) and resting their arms on the side of your face as if you didn’t
exist.
So after call time, you bring your ballerina to the door of
the dressing room and the next time you see her will be at the end of the show.
You’re instructed which side of the theater to collect her after the
performance. She was only five when she experienced her first big show, so I’m
not going to deny going through separation anxiety when I kissed her goodbye
that afternoon. I expected whining and tugging and not wanting to let go of
mommy’s hand out of fear of whatever was there behind those grand drapes. But I
was so wrong. She hugged and kissed me lightly and said goodbye—brimming with
confidence that I was not ready for. She turned around and walked gracefully
towards the theater assistant who was waiting for her. I watched her disappear
behind the drapes, amazed and a bit sad (see first paragraph for a quick guide
to my hormones) that my little girl already showed a “world readiness level”
that I didn’t feel I had until I turned 30.
Her first recital went to our invisible scrapbook of vivid
memories, and some to social media (yes, we’re humans who succumb to
temptations after all).
Before Camera Phones, There was This
Moving forward, the minor recital was held at the activity
center of SM Aura last week—and boy, mall shows are fun as much as they are a
test of your survival skills as a parent. Before social media, parents relied
on hired photographers to take perfect photos of their kids before, during and
after a performance. The parents get to sit to watch and enjoy the show—the
reason why they came in the first place.
There’s a waiting time of one week for the photos to be
ready. A photographer’s assistant visits you at home or at school so you can
collect and pay for your photos. If you’re a young person opening your mouth in
disbelief, yes, that’s how it was done in a period my daughter refers to as
“the olden days”. And close that mouth.
It’s a long-lost art that deserves a lot of respect. There was a lot of thrill
that went into waiting for your pictures not knowing whether to be happy or
disappointed with the outcome. There were no editing apps, no turning back.
There was only the “claim your photo and accept” option. This is the
inspiration for Facebook’s Throwback Thursday—the virtual display case for big
hair, bangs and all sorts of embarrassing stuff.
Test Your Survival Skills—Pit Against Parents During Photo Op
When the Directress announced that there would be a photo
opportunity with the dancers, that was when the parenting maelstrom started to
happen. The storm actually started brewing while the show was ongoing. Parents,
grandparents, aunts, uncles and the yayas
were all set to fight to get a good spot for the photo ops.
“Dancers, please come up the stage for your photos!”
A woman with a video camera pushed me from the back, while a
big man made sure to block my way while everyone was moving towards the stage.
Another lady pushed me from the side and about a dozen yayas fought their way to the stage—a mosh pit of screaming adults
without the music.
You could see the kids getting confused where to look,
holding their smiles for a long time until it hurt their mouth. They also had
to make sure that their faces fit the frames perfectly when their parents held
the phone up for a “selfie”.
“Look here! Here! Here! Here!” They all screamed, and the
kids looked to the left and to the right with their heads looking like bob
heads going the wrong direction. A woman who was trying to take a photo of her
daughter turned to me with an angry face and screamed, “I hate that Indian
girl!” She was blocking her daughter’s view.
I politely said, “Okay.” It’s not the most appropriate
answer, but there is no way of consoling a woman whose cataclysmic reality was having
nothing to feed her social media pets later on.
Failing at the Mosh Pit and Quite Happy About It
I was squished and pushed and shoved for a long 30 minutes, so
I snaked my way out of the mess and reunited with my coffee. I managed to get
“UnInstagramable” photos for which I was ready to forgive myself.
Phone cameras now dictate our lives. No photo, no eat. No
photo, no move. No photo, no life. We want to put everything out there for the
world to see. The word privacy is unbeknownst to us. I don’t lose sleep over 50
photos of the same face on a person’s page because there is a solution to that,
and that is not to look. I’m getting a bit worried though that we may be
raising young people who think that taking selfies and posting your face all
over social media is a mé·tier to aim for.
