Though you weren’t a trained dancer, I saw the dance in you the very first time we met. I saw the natural rhythm in your steps as you walked, the natural elegance and grace in your body form: how you walked with a natural, animal-like spring in your steps, seemingly floating from one step to the next. And I was enchanted, and resolved to train you and bring that natural harmony into actual choreography: I, a choreographer by profession, sought to light your natural rhythm into ordered steps and swoops and swirls and gyrates that could resonate with human music.
And you, you accepted my proposal, and fell into my arms, and we started with dance moves that further developed your natural elegance, such as ballet, and you took so well to the jumps that even I was amazed: the sautés, the jetes, the entrechats, and even the complex Pas de Chat: in all these, you grasped the concepts, and practiced till you perfected, within days. It was breathtaking, seeing how fast you perfected what many people took years to even perform comfortably. And so we enjoyed a period of bliss, where I took the lead, and you followed my lead, and together, we became swans in flight: light on our feet, hands waving and weaving, and feeling the cosmic music flowing through us.
And then I taught you the Caribbean moves: the energy, the vigor, and the sheer magic of listening to, and appreciating syncopated beats. I taught you how to step on the off-beat, and change moves on the off-beat, and top-break on the off-beat. And once again, like a wizard well versed in the alchemy of percussion and codas and flangers, you took to this counter-intuitive dancing like fish to water. And so we skanked, and jigged, and you did the dutty wine, and we limboed, and you gyrated and did complete splits, and I, your former trainer, sat down, mesmerized, as I watched you do things that I had previously considered impossible. You hypnotized me when you got into rhythm.
So many years have passed since then. And in those years, providence has had us drift away from each other. You went abroad on a scholarship. I immersed myself into business. The phone calls between us grew fewer and fewer in number until, eventually, they dried up altogether. But every now and then, when I look up into the skies, and see birds in flight, I remember you, and I remember your natural elegance and gait. I remember you, and I feel deep pangs of nostalgia. Wherever you are, whatever you do nowadays, I hope that every once in a while you too remember me, and that you too remember the utter freedom of raising your hands up, and performing the Grand Jete: as naturally as a swan, soaring in the winds.