It happened on a usual day of summer, well everyday for me’s just like the ordinary maybe. But it is during these customs where I dunno but some things come and change the ‘typical’ in it. It was the 17th. Going through the dark, I found myself inside my favorite white-collared polo embraced by a silky black suit perfect to be called agent K of my own. I braced myself after I brought it in the middle of a midnight ball. The whole scenery was majestic. Everything seems to be in perfect reception. What welcomed me initially was the castled façade which seemed to be the one like in fairy tales. The hall was fully robed with elegantly dazzling red curtains. Flashing lights of various colors made it kaleidoscopic as the gleaming party ball revolves atop. The ambiance was soothed by cool renditions of classic music seeping through the abyss of every guest’s heart. There was harmony and soon a right track in the air. But I do not dance. To count, I have never asked anybody yet to pair up my lumbering feet the whole time being. Solitude was my company all my life and during those times where sweet music envelopes the atmosphere. I lived with it for years and together I grew up accepting it as a never-rebuffing truth that I can’t dance, though I also hoped to learn it someday, at the right time, as fate may set it for me. Learning to dance is never easy. It comes with great confidence and a valiant heart to achieve the right step at a right beat of the tune. This is what I think is true, and to this I held on for ages. Sometimes, I wonder, maybe the heavens above deprived me of that skill or it could be that I wasn’t there when it showered that knack to dance. I envy those who could perfectly do the moves, those who could execute steps so well, those who could instantaneously perform the routines flawlessly without ever doubting a move or something, especially those who could be in synchrony with someone else’s feet. How could they do that? Puzzled, these thoughts pooled down again on my neural network while I was already there on a table grabbing some tempting fondant cake matched with a glass of aged red wine to partner with. I am busy munching on some sweets and having a drink just to divert myself from being solitary that moment. When the romantic music commenced on playing, the lads came to fetch their princesses for a unified sway, signaling that the ball indeed was on its highlight. Tables from tables went empty as everybody left two by two’s. That very moment then gave me the feeling of isolation, of rejection, of being out of the crowd, different from everyone else. While those two feet became four in the midst, there were mine staying two on the ground. It has never been easy. All the time I let this fear of standing up and sharing myself with somebody else devour my youth making me stuck and shabby to where I was. It was as though I am engulfed by the world. Those lovely duos in front of me teased my insecurities. Their every sway and turn and step was like pounding earthquakes trying to collapse my feeble soul, my weary heart. I wasn’t depressed; I was screwed up. With me despising the thought that I could almost be left alone, I detached myself from seat and explored the venue. Inching halfway next to the main foyer, I saw dainty strides from afar. My stream of thoughts halted, my chambers pounded inside my chest and it was like everything came to freeze in front of me. The dull, young night was turned brighter. The leaves on the trees rustled into a music, playing the ‘Destiny’ theme. I lived a dream. Finally, I have learned to stand up and offer my hand which she selflessly lent me as well. The whole night was magical. My two feet became four as well. Just like in fairy tales, I made myself a prince charming to that beautiful sweet princess I met. She’s very cerebral, perfect to a Neutron like me. Commonalities made true that this might be done by fate indeed. When you dance, don’t step on your own. Learn to be synchronous with the feet you’re dancing with. For almost three years, my foot steps towards her foot’s direction. When I thought that I could never do a dance, now I guess I may be wrong. I learned ballet’s adagio, supporting her in turns and balances of our act. I perfectly made the theatrical’s drop, where even her body comes in contact to the floor, there am I partially or completely doing the support to her weight. We ‘swinged’, ‘salsad’, ‘jazzed’, and ‘tangoed’ all those happy times we’ve been together. Sometimes there are a few slips along the routine. There may be flatfoot occurrences within the dances, but still we tend to catch up with the beat and revive the rhythm of our music in the end. From jiving into a disco, a boogie woogie even risking into hip-hops and showing a “swag” to swaying in the midst of romantic dances, name it, we’re all in those together. I savored every moment we learned each step, each dance. However, just like in fairy tales as well, the midnight clock struck at 12 early this year and put everything to a halt. We got tired of doing it together as of the moment, I believe. But deep with our every memory, there still lingers a thought that we both swayed to help each one become the dancer of our own music, of our own lives. That ball has already ended. I danced, I shared, I learned and went in love…to the sweetest music life has to offer. We may not dance the way we did before now, but at least we still can. And by the way, it’s my first, but that would always be a special routine I would never ever forget. ‘Til the next beat of music!