From the Notebooks: Almost like the movies

This is the first assignment I submitted for UP Film Institute’s summer workshop on screenwriting. Before we learned the nitty-gritties of a script, we were tasked to write a non-fiction composition about a favorite memory.

I picked the memory of my first prom/grad night. It is, I think, one of the happier moments of my life, and for my family. As I also explained, while set in prom, it was the start of something rather than a catalyst to something, which is something not often shown in the movies.

I spent my last few years in high school in an international school in Jakarta, Indonesia. It was a small school that catered to affluent Indonesians looking to get into college abroad, and the children of embassy personnel who never knew how long or how short they’d be in the country.

Being a small international school, they were also known for being thrifty. Our prom, grad ball, and graduation ceremonies for year 10 (end of middle school) and year 12 (senior high school) were all in, with an invitation extended to parents. It was a formal affair with dinner and dancing, but hardly anything could come of it with parents and siblings present.

It was December 2000. I was in year 10, and asked out by a year 12 student, J. J was a Japanese-American boy with pearl-white skin, round black eyes, and a penchant for high grades and plaid shirts. He and I were the oldest students in choir, and both worked in student council, but rarely talked about anything else beyond the to-do list for both clubs. Out of the blue, he asked me, haltingly, if I could go with him to prom. I was going to be there anyway and he was a decent guy who didn’t look so bad, so I said yes.

“But um, I don’t dance.” He warned.
“That’s fine.” I said.

That was not so fine with Mom. As I relayed news of the date over breakfast, she folded her hands together, frowned, and shook her head, summoning the same firm tone she used with stubborn clients, “No, no, no.” She said. “I am not buying you a new dress and shoes for some boy to step on!” She booked us for a whole day of dance classes that weekend Thankfully, J was very game about it!

We were taught the swing by a swishy Filipino man, who made teasing little quips in tagalog that only I understood. “Akin siya.” Mine. He joked. J didn’t understand a word, which made it even more fun. We got through a lesson in sneakers, without hurting a single toe.

For prom I wore a shiny purple dress with a corset-like top, with matching slipper heels. My hair was short and combed out, held back with a tiny rhinestone barrette tucked behind the corner of my right ear. My Mom, sister, and I made our way to the hotel ballroom where I’d meet J. He looked put-together in a navy suit, and had my corsage in hand, a bracelet made of purple orchids. He presented it to me by pulling it right out of a black plastic bag.

My Mom pursed her lips to hold back laughter, as I gave a polite smile and thanks.

The ceremonies kicked off, certificates were given out, we sang with the choir performance, followed by dinner and dancing. The ballroom was bare of decoration, and for lack of a DJ the students just threw in whatever CD they hand on hand: R&B, hip-hop, and the occasional girl or boy pop hit. We mingled with the other students at the edge of the stage. J and I shared a few slow songs, which only entailed shuffling our feet and swaying.

“Looks as if we won’t get to use what we learned.” I observed.

The second I said that, the Corrs’ ‘Breathless’ started to play, “Go on, go on, leave me breathless…” sang the opening synth-vocals.

As the music built up I grabbed J’s hand, “We can dance to this!” I yelled over the music as I dragged him out to the floor.

A one-two-three, we moved, just as we were taught. Before we knew it, the dancefloor had cleared out leaving us in the center, with the whole school was cheering us on. J and I were laughing, focused even more on sweeping through the floor to keep ourselves from getting conscious of the attention.

The song went on, the lyrics coy, “Tempt me, tease me, till I can’t deny this lo-vin’ feeling…make me, long for your kiss…”

At the end of the song, they applauded and whooped. One of J’s classmates went right for him, “You lied!” She accused. “You CAN dance!”

We winded down with the rest of our friends. I left early, being the younger one with a stricter curfew. J saw me off with a kiss on the cheek.

We found more to talk about after that night. We both read the Harry Potter series, watched anime, movies, played video games and spent weekends at the malls. We became a couple few months later, and stayed on strong even after he left for Japan for college. It had the makings of a perfect chick-flick, but this was real life. The distance took its toll and we split up before the end of 2001.

It took a few years to get past the initial heartbreak. He got in touch with me again after I moved back to Manila. We exchange a few emails, I know he’s in one piece after the recent Japan quake.

Until now, when I hear ‘Breathless’, I remember. I smile.