Frustration. That was the only word racing through Ari’s mind.
It’s not that she couldn’t dance, her moves were still as sharp as ever. She had lost her magic. Her movements felt mechanical. No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t put her heart into her dancing.
Her friends told her to go back to the basics to remind herself why she loved to dance. Ari watched countless shows and videos of every style, trying to find the spark to reignite her lost love. There wasn’t even a flicker.
Every night she would train, and every night she would leave the studio disappointed. She would look in the mirror and tell herself that it was only a mental block, another challenge that she could overcome.
It’s all in your head. Dance through it, you know you can.
She repeated these words before every show. She didn’t care that they sounded hollow, she just needed to do something, anything to push her through this obstacle.
As the audience’s applause faded from Saturday night’s show she retreated to the dressing room. Ari sat numb in front of her mirror. She didn’t mind the rest of the dancers, she didn’t even hear the night janitor tell her to switch the lights off when she was done.
“Hello, are you lost?” A woman’s voice pierced through the silence.
Ari did not answer, she sat unmoved in her chair. She didn’t even flinch when the woman sat next to her.
“You’re a strange one.” The woman’s voice had a mocking tone.
The dancer remained still, tears were rolling down her eyes, but she sat gazing at her reflection.
“I can’t dance,” Ari said to herself. “Why can’t I dance?!” shards of glass dug into her skin as she punched her reflection straight in the face.
“Ahh you’re one of those.” The woman gave a sad look to the troubled girl. “Come here then.” The woman motioned for a hug and Ari complied.
“Why can’t I dance!?” Ari’s sobs echoed through the now empty theater. The woman’s skin felt cold to her touch and Ari wondered if the numbness had spread to her skin.
“There, there. Let it out, let it out. No sense in keeping it all in.” The woman tried her best to comfort Ari, but the girl was inconsolable. Her screams of anguish mixed with her sobs into a mournful aria.
Ari was broken inside and out. She had always looked to dancing to get her through life. It was there when her parents died, there for every breakup with a boy that wouldn’t return her calls. She couldn’t feel connected to the one thing that gave her life purpose.
She looked at her benefactor. The woman was beautiful. She had dark, deep set eyes that seemed to strip away Ari’s defenses. She found herself baring her soul to the woman, about how she couldn’t feel anything when she danced.
“I was a dancer once too, but that was very long ago.” The woman gently stroked Ari’s hair. “I can’t imagine what it is you must be feeling.”
Ari spoke of the stage like it was her entire life. She spoke of her first pair of dancer’s shoes and the rush she would get when the audience’s faces lit up during her solos. She spoke of late nights and early mornings stretching her body to its limits. She spoke of love and how she only felt that way when she danced.
“You should go here, my dear.” The woman handed Ari a piece of paper “I’ve been told that going here helps people like you.”
She looked at her bloody hand and read out loud, “Kiblawan.” Ari looked up and began to ask the woman what it meant, but she was gone. The chair beside her mocked her with its emptiness.
Her adrenaline was leaving her and she started to feel the pain from her hand. She stared at the piece of paper and made a choice then and there.
Ari found herself in a small town nestled in the province of Davao del Sur. She found a feeling of peace in between the coconut trees and the sari-sari stores.
Maybe this was where she was supposed to be.
She stayed at what seemed to be the only hotel in the area and came to admire the people around her.
They treated her with nothing but kindness. She appreciated that they didn’t ask her how she came to get bandages on her right arm.
All in all it was a peaceful place, far away from the troubles of the city, though not without celebration. She had come at the time of a festival, though for what she couldn’t tell. Even here people wanted an excuse to dress up and dance and she stood comforted with that fact.
What caught her eye was a group of girls dancing in a circle. The people told her that it was Maral Fieu Awas, the dance of the beautiful nymphs.
Ari could not help but imitate their movements. The people around her gave her room as she moved her arms and recreated their steps.
That was when she felt it.
It was like the warm embrace of an old friend. The feeling enveloped her and coursed through her body. It flowed through her and made her fingertips tingle.
She smiled for the first time in ages.
The dance finished and she stood breathless between the crowd and the dancers. She felt embarrassed, a tourist that didn’t know her place, but the people were all smiles, even the dancers gave her a round of applause.
That night Ari couldn’t sleep, the rush didn’t seem to fade. She walked outside to the street and started to dance the Maral Fieu Awas.
Her muscles remembered each movement as if she was one of the dancers from earlier in the day. There was no music for her to dance to, but it didn’t matter.
Love. Electricity. Beauty. Purpose.
That wasn’t exactly how she felt and words failed to describe the maddening crescendo that filled her heart.
She wanted these feelings to never end. Each action made her recall what dance had meant to her all her life. She moved her arms upward and suddenly she was a little girl of five, learning how to do her first pirouette. She put her leg out and she was fifteen, preparing for her audition for Swan Lake the nervous energy mingling with excitement. She twirled and remembered the night Rolly had asked her to marry him, she danced then to forget the look on his face when she told him no.
Pain. Comfort. Torment. Peace.
These feelings and more flowed from her toes through her spine. Each moment felt like a destiny she was not afraid to realize.
She soon noticed she was not alone. Ari thought they were the dancer girls from earlier in the day. They joined her in the Maral Fieu Awas.
There was no moon that night and the stars were the only witness to the elegance that unfolded. The starlight was dim compared to the warm glow that permeated the euphoric dance. Each new member flowed through the throng with their white robes, joining a wordless conversation that only dancers could understand.
Ari woke up the next morning in the middle of the street. Dirt surrounded one side of her face and soreness blanketed her muscles.
She greeted the new day with newfound purpose. She noticed her hand didn’t hurt anymore and was not surprised to find her wounds healed.
She said a soft prayer of thanks to the woman that told her to come here.
“I can dance.”
She rushed to her room to pack her bags. If she hurried she could make it back in time for the matinée.
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Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Inspired by the B’laan Fieu Awas legends
Fieu Awas Illustration by Colleen Matti
