Why I Come Back

The cultural show. Two hours of folk dance. What a drag, most would think.
But to be lured by the magic of Bayanihan is a different story. My story. When I say magic, I mean it.
The experience of Bayanihan simply fit my crazy nature. The diversity of our culture seen in the different dances paralleled the complexity of my persona.
This, I had been trying to share to my classmates in Ateneo. I meet friends, I mention the word ‘Bayanihan’ and they go: “What’s that?” Or, “Ah, yung tinikling.” They have no idea what they are missing.
Dancing for Bayanihan, is not a job or an extra-curricular activity, but a way of life. Bayanihan has not only taught me to dance in the traditional way. It opened my eyes to different cultures—inside and outside the walls of the rehearsal hall.
Being Bayanihan does not stop with the performance on stage. What is of more value to them is the performance off stage. How you look, how you behave, and how you blend into a group.
The dancer is observed critically. For example, women are supposedly not allowed to be too close to the male dancers (although there are many underground ‘couples’ among the dancers). The manners and etiquette are checked. How you socialize with different groups or classes, and how you converse is also vital. On tours abroad, they usually assign me the job of what they call the “social committee,” which means I am in charge of facing our hosts, be they ambassadors or princes. I’d be forced to converse, until later on I realized that socializing became so much easier when I acquired for myself a genuine interest in the other.
The way the dancer looks. I cannot stress enough how important that is to them. Especially for the women. When traveling or when invited to shows, we cannot leave our rooms without our hairs up in a bun, clean without any tutchang. Nor can we leave our rooms without any make-up. Our duty is always to look presentable, or beautiful to the best of our abilities. Our faces are almost uniform because even the style of make-up must be the same for each dancer.
If you ask me, I’d say these values are artificial.
It is not always beautiful in Bayanihan. There have been numerous times that I have wanted to leave and never come back. But somehow I find myself, every year, at the CCP season production.
I would come back, if only to smell the empty theater before a show. Or to lie down on stage absorbing everything I love about it while the other dancers prance around the dressing rooms. I would come back, again and again, so I could hear the titillating music of the ethnic drums and kulintang, feel the lights warming my skin, my face.
Ultimately, I come back if only to face again an audience applauding on their feet with a renewed sense of pride for what is truly Filipino. I love being Filipino. I guess it all boils down to that.