Sultana

Onstage

As always, I'm celebrating Mother's Day with a story about Mum, one of many that I fondly remember. 

The most fantastical things can happen, and it all starts with a wish.

Are you ready for this?

Dance-challenged moi, in my mid-teens and a tomboy at heart, volunteered to do the finale for the church Filipiniana night - a solo performance of a Moro ceremonial dance called Kandingan.

I'll do it. 

I wasn't sure where the bravado came from. My brain? A coffee-induced boldness?

Why not? 

I must have been delirious. 

The night of, I looked like a golden peacock, perfectly dressed in Dadee's silk robe and black polyester pajamas and enough borrowed jewelry to sink a boat. A long yellow scarf that was actually our neon-curtain was draped diagonally across my bodice for a sarong. I even had Auntie Tessie's pearl choker hung low across my forehead to complete the look of a Muslim Sultana princess.

The rumbling from the drum started (it was from a 45-RPM vinyl recording of the music). From stage left, I ran out with my arms raised like a needle to the sky.

I proceeded stepping here and there with slightly bent knees turned outward, fingers held stiffly together with the thumb outward and apart.

The audience was rapt.

My movement progressed into repeated frenzied twirls. I was spinning expertly, as if in a trance.

Then, for a dramatic climax, I executed a halt with my right hand up, palm front and upward. I crooked my left arm behind me, palm facing down. My face was upturned. My legs mimicked the lines of the arms.

I steadied my stance as I glanced sideways, enveloped in the rush of a runner's high when I saw my mother in the periphery of my vision. Mie (which was what I called her when it was just the two of us in the room) seemed enthralled, her face lit up with delight.

And I remembered.

At a parent-teacher convocation about five years ago, we watched my fifth grade teacher dance the Tinikling. She whispered to me then, Chon, you can dance like that some day.

The significance of my piddling amateurish performance dawned on me.

My Mum who had kept her best wish close to her heart was now watching it happen. 

I had just danced.

For.

Mie.

Mum at 18 years, Manila, 1934