I was
glad they were visible again in my eight-year-old daughter during the foundation
day celebration of her school Jocelyn V. Cacas Montessori. She was the star
dancer of her Grade 2 class. There’s no doubt that my daughter was
very pleased.
It’s
a quarter before 1, and Roseya was already dressed up in her fairy costume,
white skirt layered with pointed strips, short-sleeved blouse, and butterfly
wings. She wanted me to hurry and bring her to the venue one hour before the
program (scheduled at 2 p.m.) but I had asked her kuya Nathaniel, who was also a participant in the high school
level, to accompany her.
I
explained to Roseya that I still have tasks to do at home. With my wife gone, I
was left alone to prepare for my three children. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss her, but I felt a strong effect on
me on occasions like this.
My
daughter has loved dancing ever since she was a little girl. She is a natural
dancer, she doesn’t require a lot of coaching, and she can choreograph her own
dance steps. She was a little ballerina for the past three years, and had
auditioned a number of mall-sponsored talent searches and a TV dance contest.
She has been invited to birthdays just to showcase her graceful moves.
 |
| Roseya and Mom, 2010 |
My
daughter’s talent would not have been discovered, developed and shown to
admiring crowd without my wife’s guidance. Her mom’s plan to expose her early
to fun ballet courses had made my daughter a lifelong lover of dance. They had a perfect mother-daughter
relationship. My
wife was the typical stage mother, who would always accompany our daughter in
every recital or dance performance. She was a personal assistant, a make-up
artist, and a manager in one package. She had been a part of the equation of my
daughter’s early passion in dancing.
But
things have changed for my daughter since the death of my wife. It created a seismic shift on her life. She was
forced to stop going to her ballet school because without her mom, she couldn’t
attend the weekly dance lessons. No more dance auditions for her, too. Her
dreams for stardom lain by the wayside.
My
daughter was trying to understand our present situation but sometimes, she
would ask me if she could continue her ballet lessons. The ballet school owner,
a kind of person who wouldn’t allow a good talent go to waste, had offered my
daughter a big discount should she want to enroll again in her ballet
school.
Two
months ago Roseya asked me again if she could still go to ballet school in the
near future. We were in attendance at the birthday party of her neighbor friend
who was also her classmate in ballet. Her friend, the celebrant, performed a
couple of ballet performances with her classmates that she invited for the
occasion. I felt sad seeing her watching with envy her former classmates
showing the moves she would have loved doing with them. The ballet school owner
approached me and reminded me of her offer. But I couldn’t commit to her nor
make empty promises to my daughter regarding the matter.
The
last time my daughter performed a dance number was December last year. She was
part of a selection of dancers who represented their school for an intermission
number of a district-wide academic affair held at SM Marilao. I wasn’t able to
watch the performance because of a conflict in my schedule, but with the way my
daughter described it with relish, I felt I was present at the venue, beaming
surely with pride seeing my daughter wowing everyone with her graceful moves.
And
for this year, I wasn’t surprised when they assigned her again as a star
dancer. In
last year’s foundation day, the Grade 1 class topbilled by my daughter won the
dance performance for Level 1 competition (preschool to grade 3). And the year
before that, or when they were in Prep, they won the same competition for Level
1. There was even a joke then among the teachers that Roseya is every class
adviser’s lucky charm for the annual group dance competition.
But without her mother
around to guide her during the practice and who might have helped in the
preparation of their class costumes, I had little expectations this time for my
daughter’s dance performance.
 | |
| Roseya and the Grade 1 class, 2011 |
Before
she left the house with her kuya,
Roseya asked her mom’s makeup kit from me. And it took me awhile to find it
from my wife’s still unsorted things in the cabinet. Her class adviser, as
suggested by my daughter, would be doing her makeup this time. About fifteen
minutes later, my second child Dudoy went out the house with his newly pressed polo and an
unkempt hair. I followed him after another fifteen minutes or at exactly 2
o’clock.
The
sky was cloudy with patchy drizzle when I reached the venue, just about three blocks from the school’s main
building. It was an uncovered basketball court
with a stage and a pavilion. I immediately saw Roseya among her classmates in one corner of the
court. She stood out with her fairy costume and radiant face. Some parents were
beside their own children, as they try to shield them from the drizzle. My
daughter kept herself near her adviser to avoid being wet.
 |
| Roseya in fairy costume with her Grade 2 classmates, 2012 |
Roseya
flashed her toothy smile when she saw me. The drizzly weather and the resulting
delay of the program couldn’t dampen her spirit for sure. And during the parade
after the drizzle, she was all smiles and she didn’t forget to wave at me when
she saw me in the crowd. I noticed that her face and hairdo were not done the way
I expected or what her mom would have done to her. She looked plain and simple
in contrast to the well-made facial enhancements of her female classmates. But
my daughter’s rather shabby appearance, her hair at the back tied up by a
rubber band!—was overshadowed by her bubbling aura exuding from the sheer joy
of having to perform again.
After
a crowd-pleasing dance numbers presented by preschoolers and a better-choreographed performance from the Grade 1 class, Roseya and
her classmates had a grand entrance with their own props. But I saw my daughter
being the proudest for having again the chance to dance on center stage.
With
each pounding rhythm of Maroon 5’s “Moves Like Jagger”, Roseya twirled, leapt,
and spinned and jumped. She still had the grace and beauty of a ballerina. Her movement
was perfectly articulated by her confident grace. She’s back in her element as
a dancer. She was happy because she danced.
And
Roseya danced not for the award or recognition but for the happiness and excitement.
She danced because she knew her mom would have loved her doing it. She danced
to feel the vibrant rhythm of life again. Dancing made her feel free!
The
dance number went on without a hitch. All of the performers were good, their
props perfect for the concept. But again I was not expecting them to win for
their category.
I
stayed on to watch Dudoy’s performance in their dance entry for Level 2 (Grades 4 to 6) and that of Nathaniel for the high school level. After that, with three
more performances to go, I went home with Roseya. My two sons had to stay to
wait for the awarding ceremonies. Dudoy would be receiving his gold medal for
the scrabble competition and I asked his kuya
to assist him in the awarding.
I
didn’t have to wait long to receive the results of the dance competitions. My
two boys came rushing home telling me that Roseya’s dance presentation was
adjudged champion for Level 1 and the group even won the Best Costume award. That lucky charm thing was true after all with Roseya,
her winning streak now at 3. Her mom would have been really proud.
Roseya
was slumped on the sofa for a much needed rest.
She’s tired but happy. I told her the good news.
She
hugged me tightly. “Thank you, Dad,” she said. I feel I was her mom receiving the warmth of love being reciprocated. I guess, allowing her to dance is the best way to create a
solid, trusting, unbreakable relationship with my motherless daughter.
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