Life Taught Me to Dance, But Only Because You Taught Me the Basics

We were children.

Do you remember? I do. I remember it so vividly.

You were so annoyingly naïve and cheerful and optimistic even though I could tell you were sad. You were so annoyingly sunny and you chased my shadows away even as I thought you were nothing but a pesky little child like the rest of them and I hated you for it.

I loved you for it.

You held my hand when my own father thought it was repulsive to hold me. You laughed and giggled your way out of the insults I threw at you. You thought your ridiculous coughing was weird and funny even though you were nearly deathly sick.

You were the ultimate paradox. A paradox that ran out to dance in the rain when the rest of the children would rather stay dry and warm inside. I loved you for it.

We were still children, though a little less so.

I remember it like it was just yesterday.

You cried all the time. Your classmates were taking advantage of you, when all you wanted was to be their friend. They laughed at the small hole at the bottom of your shirt, they laughed when you tripped because your legs didn't carry the same strength your heart did. You didn't giggle your way out of the humiliation, but you didn't bother anyone with your crying either. You cried in private, and the fact that you thought you could hide it from anyone, especially me, is quite honestly pathetic.

But you wiped your tears immediately and forced a smile on your face whenever someone saw you and I hated you for it. You were so fake…

But if there ever was a noble version of being fake, you are it. A kind, selfless version of fake, you were. And I loved you for it.

You still danced in the rain, but not as often now, because you had to study and take care of your father, but sometimes I hear you humming a song and tapping your feet and I knew you danced inside your head. I didn't know it at the time but I loved you for it.

We were outgrowing our past, the children inside us starting to flicker its weakness inside.

I remember it. I wish I don't, but I don't want to forget.

This was the time you started blushing around me. The time you succumbed to the curse of your kind and started feeling things and participating in ridiculous notions of staring into space and daydreaming. This was the time I knew I had lost that girl I thought was tolerable, lost her to the world, lost her to who she was going to be.

I hated you for it.

I would never admit it, but I longed to see that girl who danced outside in the rain, not the girl you were becoming, the girl who was becoming too self-conscious around me to dance lest you embarrass yourself in front of me. It's pathetic.

I started to despise you for it. You were supposed to be different. You became the reason why I started seeing women as untrustworthy, as unnecessary annoyances, as unqualified for friendship. Because if you could let go of who you were, who you were to me, just to be a girl, then every female in the world would, too.

But I can that sad-happy girl inside your eyes still. I know she's in there still. And as much as I hated you, I loved you for it.

We were starting to become adults.

I remember it.

But I disagreed with people. I had always been an adult, and if not, then that only meant I shall be a child all my life.

You, on the other hand, were growing to be so beautiful, that I hated that you were really changing. You're still the little naïve girl from our shared childhood, but you're starting to become a woman and an adult and I didn't want to deal with that.

This was the time I made the decision to push you away, to cut you off, to stop whatever pathetic connections we had due to what had had years ago. It wasn't worth it anymore, and I hated you for what you made me miss.

You went to the ridiculous event. You danced. I hated you for it. You danced again, and I saw that awkward, sickly girl who danced in the rain, wrapped in what could be considered as a pretty package. You were smiling as you danced.

I loved you for it.

We said our goodbyes.

I remember it because there's no way I could delete the moment where I almost asked you to stay. Almost.

It had almost been just a formality. We barely even talked anymore, but you still felt the need to knock on my family's door to give me a batch of cookies you had baked, a note, and a teary, awkward goodbye. You were going to study medicine, I was sticking to my plan of proving how idiotic the crime-fighting force of London was.

For all we knew, we were never going to cross paths again.

I was indifferent; at the same time, I wasn't. I hated you for it.

You held my hand. Like you used to. You did that little awkward humming and tapping, you once again looked happy though you were sad. Why would you show me that? It's not like I cared… Not one bit. No. I hated you for it.

But the way you smiled at me before you walked away from my doorstep and back to your house, brave in the face of the future's uncertainty, cheerful in the face of loneliness, optimistic in the fact of loss. You were dancing in the rain again, even though there's no rain, and I loved you for it.

Here we are now.

You're confusing me. You're naïve, you're sensible. You're meek, you're strong. You're intimidated by me, you're annoyed by me. You're shy, you're comfortable. You're clueless, you're wise. You're blind, you see right through me.

Still the ultimate paradox.

I'd like to think that the trajectory of our relationship has continued, that by now I don't care about you at all. That you don't count anymore, that maybe you never did.

But I look at you, and you still giggled and hid your sadness and you still hummed your heart out quietly and you still danced through the rains of your life. How could I hate you for it?

You love me. You love me and someday time will come when I get the courage to run out in the rain and ask you for a dance. Or two. Or maybe I could ask for all of your dances.

You count. You've always counted, and even with the appearance of people who might seem like they're the only ones I trust, I know I've always trusted you. You count, and I need you.

Someday I'll tell you that I love you for it.

And someday we'll finally dance our age-old dance again, this time to a tune we've spent decades creating.

Note: This particular story was vaguely inspired by a very popular song from the author's home country. So to the Filipino readers out there, a challenge. ;)

In this wave, the author would like to dedicate every note to thanking the people who have started the challenges too, and also to those who are planning to join, and also to those who are still thinking about it. The more the merrier, as they say, and it definitely inspires her to see people express desire to participate.