Lest I Forget
Warning: This post contains a hell lot of words.
It's not my style, so to speak, to write angry blogs about things because, well, it's so much nicer to read about nice things. But sometimes I need to make a note for myself. Lest I forget.
I'm going to write down my thoughts as they cross my mind. Something else I don't do much.
Two things. The Interact Club and the school concert.
About the Interact Club... well I don't have much to say. I mean, we're all so used to the tantrums getting correspondingly huger with each project, but the way she put it, firing the Vice President a fortnight before the end of the club year sounds almost like club policy (well, it didn't happen, but that's how she made it sound). An annual event, even. My feelings about the club have been inconsistent throughout.
On Tuesday I thought it was so amazing we were finally having a board meeting that was just pure fun... planning the installation of the new board, what was more. A farewell party was on the cards, and cushy retirement beckoned.
On Wednesday she was in a bad mood to begin with, but the installation went pretty well. And... well, Kai Foong asked me to say a few words and I almost choked up doing it. But I held on even though I thought my voice must have been getting shaky... and I spoke about how it suddenly became so clear, my memory of starting my directorship in that very spot barely a year ago, how brief and precious that year became to me, and how no matter what happened I'd always carry fond memories of my time as an Interactor.
On Thursday she had to go and spoil it all over again.
I found myself feeling sorry for the form fours. They have an entire year to go through. Funny huh? Just the day before I was telling everyone about how short our term of service was and how I wished it could be longer. I guess I'm not completely immune to her tantrums yet. It was one of those times I would have warned you against ever joining the Interact Club. I'm not sure how I feel about it right now. Thinking back to all the good and bad times... the good times were good, but the bad times were really bad.
And about the concert... I don't really know where to begin.
My dance... saying it's a disappointment would be an understatement. I mean, it's great for the girls, but I'd rather be a guy in any other dance but mine.
I don't care who reads this.
It's not your fault, any of you. The only ones I can blame for this are Matthews and myself. Matthews for following that amazing guide I wrote to the letter, and myself for not forseeing something like this.
When we first started out, the guys were doing their own thing, the girls were doing their own thing and everything was fine. The guys even got to practice in the hall... alone! I guess we were messing around too much cause Grace went and complained to Matthews about our dance being too hiphop, and Vicky pulled us out of there midway through the second week so we wouldn't get into any more trouble.
Not being able to use the hall was annoying, but we carried on without it and we managed to get our steps done by the third Wednesday of practice, one day before the first rehearsal.
On Thursday morning, Sarah came to me early and told me the guys wouldn't be dancing that day. According to Vicky, Matthews had already received complaints about the guys being too modern and the girls being too Malay, so she didn't want to risk anything by showing her our part when she was out to get us. I didn't feel that our steps were overly... not Indian, but I agreed.
Well, the dances were screwed from the start. I watched Matthews scold the Egyptian dancers until one of the girls cried. That was... well... I came to a realization. Matthews wasn't just a strict, old-fashioned cow. She actually was a bad principal. No matter what your stance on education, any principal who can yell at a performing student until they break down doesn't deserve to be in office. That's just too much.
Anyway, our girls got it from her too. The way they shook was too slow, she said. Too sexy. If they shook faster she would have called it Indian. We had to do the dance again, from scratch. Even the song had to go, since it was in Hindi, which was from North India, when we were South India. Where the Indians speak Tamil.
Why can't the Indians just be unified? Why do they have to have factions?
So we started from scratch. Without her having even seen the guys dance. And that was fine with me. So we changed the story of the dance too. Instead of the girls coming out, then the guys, then both, we'd have the girls out from the start with the guys, and they'd all have scenes. And that was fine with me.
They told me to come up with new moves for the guys. Which I did.
And so began the fourth week.
On Monday, the teaching of a whole new dance was underway. That day, the girls were getting most of the moves. I couldn't do much because I wasn't not familiar with the song (it all sounded the same) and I needed to know what the girls were doing because I had to fit the guys moves in around them. But that was fine with me. At least we had some freedom.
On Tuesday, the guys were taught steps... well, basically what the girls had done the day before. I was given a slot for the guys to do their own moves. We would still be sandwiched by the girls during that time though. But that was fine with me. At least we were doing our own thing.
On Wednesday, Vicky began the polishing of the dance, so to speak. Which basically meant doing mundane things like walking, turning and shaking over and over again until she was satisfied. That was still fine with me, since it was all for a good reason.
And another thing... the time the guys had for our own moves was cut in half, and now we would be spending about half a minute in a freeze behind the girls before rejoining them for the last few steps.
On Thursday, we had to give up that time completely. And instead of freezing behind the girls, we'd be backstage for a full minute. Enough time, we said, for a few rounds of Blackjack. And of all the time we did have on stage, all we did was either mimic the girls or shake. The final number of steps I contributed to the dance? Two.
During one of our cuter formations, Sharlene asked me if I was embarrassed. I told her I wasn't. It was the truth... I was past being embarrassed, past being angry and past trying to fix things.
I hate it, but what can I do? Wasting my energy on it won't solve a damn thing. I'm only sorry for the other guys. I'm sorry for En Yaw, Jason, Brian and Kevin. I'm sorry you got involved in this. I'm sorry I couldn't help you do more of a dance. I'm sorry things turned out so bad the only possible progression in this vein would be to remove the guys altogether.
Well, that's all I guess.
Good thing music's a healing force. If I hadn't been listening to these tracks all day, I might be in a much worse mood.
PS: A warning to North India's lady dancers (especially Sandra), Brian's Form Ones - the little Africans - are perving on you.
