I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
Or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
In secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in
Itself the light of hidden flowers;
Thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
Risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
So I love you because I know no other way
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
So I love you because I know no other way

That this: where I does not exist, nor you,
So close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
So close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Pablo Neruda (Jul 12, 1904 - Sept 23, 1973)

Because I feel, because I need to express, because I am inspired, Because.

The hooded figure sits by the water, staring off into space, lost in thought.

Intrigued, the graying hermit hobbles closer, using his walking staff as a guide, he's seen the still figure from a distance, a solitary being so preoccupied, so aloof and wondered what brought it into such harsh lands. As he moves closer, the figure slowly hunches forward, wraps its arms around its knees, resting its head on top.

He ventures a hesitant, "Are you alright, my child?"

The figure goes still, barely breathing, it turns and looks at him. Through obsidian eyes that glitter with tears and a voice wizened with years, it whispers, "No, but that is no concern of yours. Pain is something that we do not seek yet it comes to us either through our own actions or through circumstances. It hits us and reveals our vulnerabilities. It humbles and humanizes."

The figure turns back, retreating into itself.

The hermit nods, for pain is an old friend, it ravages his body, eats at his mind and yet, also comforts.

He places a sympathetic, gnarled hand on the figure's head.

"Then, my child, it is time to let go. For pain can only be embraced for a short while, and cannot be left to stay. All we can do is breathe it in, let it flow through us completely, embrace it and then set it free."

The figure nods once, shudders and fades away. The hermit sighs, turns and slowly hobbles away, knowing that pain is never truly far away.

Dancers fall into a few different categories. There are some who are naturally talented, some who learn choreos at the drop of the hat, some who train since young and those who are more inclined to one form of dance then others.

My Achilles heel is funk. You haven't seen anything as funny and as retarded, as me trying to pull off funk steps. It's worse than that elephant in Fantasia...at least she had some form of grace. I looked and felt like a headless chicken. A salsa-dancing funky chicken, that's me. I avoided looking at the mirror as long as I could so that I wouldn't suddenly collapse into a fit of giggles. The good thing is that I didn't fall on my face and die of shame...too much.

What's worse is that coming back to training after a long time tag. The brain refuses to remember steps, the body is not cooperating and the feet have their own mind. While doing crunches, I was actually wondering if we were training to be in the sequel to 300...If I thought what we were doing was bad, those boys must've almost died.

And while on the subject of funk, here's the video of Ridz-lock, taken at DXO in the Let Me Shine competition on Jan 27. Props to you, dude! I don't think any of us could pull off something like that solo :o)