Bringing back the prom magic

That night, I was a stranger amid a throng of finely-dressed young ladies and gentlemen. I tried to remain seated throughout the several party dances that were played, constantly reminding myself of the respectable status I’m supposed to uphold. Damn, it sucks to be a teacher during social functions like these, especially if you’ve been hankering for some dance floor action for quite some time already. I sipped on to my red iced tea, calculating the probability of me ever getting a dance during that night. My answer was persistently zero, up until someone surprised me from the back. It was Frances, a member of my choir. She pointed out that they already stopped playing party music, and that she wanted to have the dance with me--for underlying sentimental purposes, I reckon. I willingly obliged thinking this one dance might actually get the drag off this budding non-event.

No sooner than we reach the dance floor did I feel a strange feeling slowly creeping through my skin. Suddenly, I was sent back to an alternative realm where familiar faces reside and where memories now deeply etched are still on the verge of realization. It was February 17, 2007, my last JS Prom. My reminiscences were so realistic that I had to shake my head constantly to re-check my contact with reality.

I can hear Faye Wong’s “Eyes on me” blasting through the speakers, followed by several cheesy love songs from early 2000’s that surprisingly still managed to establish a romantic ambiance. Then, there were the ladies wearing phony tiaras they had fixed up with their hair, a relative fashion faux pas they had to bear with because they joined the cotillion.

It was the Junior-Senior Promenade 2007 all over again.

Well, we had our time.

The shudders were reflexive. I just shook it off.

My eyes wandered off to the northern part of the gym, where I could see a 16-year-old JB chattering the dead space away with his table-mates. When I turned my head to the left, I would see my other guy classmates barely sitting down, scouring the crowd for a viable dance partner amongst the swarm of fine-looking gals. Man, were we feisty.

Then something caught my attention: two “benched*” girl-friends, out of boredom, invited each other to the dance floor for some girl-to-girl action. The idea seemed popular during those days; why, blimey, you’d think our whole batch was a lesbian-ridden populace. The night went by in such a hurried frenzy that before we knew it, Sister Cecilia, our principal, was already calling it a night. Since then, I have never been into a prom ever again… or that is, until now.

As I woke back to reality, I tried to look around. No more silly tiaras fixed on the heads of the ladies. No more girl-to-girl action (though some boy-to-boy action was sporadic). No more Faye Wong song blasting through the speakers. My emotional reserve that was teeming with delight just a while ago suddenly emptied out, magnifying the emptiness initially caused by my incongruous presence.

As I went back to my seat, I tried to recollect my emotions, trying to figure what went wrong. Just when I was about to get that magical feeling, it all went down the drain for some obscure reason. Is the so-called “prom magic” only a one-shot deal or am I just getting too old for all this teenybopper stuff?

I looked around. Aside from my choir members, my fellow teachers and several acquaintances, I realized that I didn’t know anyone.  No wonder, I thought. I couldn’t be my young, wild and carefree self in front of all these strangers without making a total fool of myself and embarrassing my mom (who is also a High School teacher) in the process. I’ve said before and I’ll say it again: it sucks to be placed in a respectable position when you’re twenty and you’re immersed in a crowd bursting with a youthful zest that all of us dream of getting back… or at least, that I was trying to get back.  Tsk.

Since I’ve got nothing else to do, fumbling my phone seemed to be the most rational thing to do. As I browsed through my contacts, I smiled when I saw the name of the person I was most lucky to have danced with during our prom 5 years ago. After battling several bouts of hesitation, I sent her a text message. She texted back. By then, my grin was now fixated with both ends reaching my ears.

We continued to reminisce what happened during our prom night: how I had to wait for a queue of guys just to have that precious dance with her; how her gown choice made her look like an exquisite wedding bride; how we danced to her favorite Final Fantasy love song after this guy (who was obviously into her) requested it to be played by the sound system. I was snickering throughout our conversation. Everything felt so real that I could’ve sworn she was right beside me the whole time.

Based on what I remember, the rest of the night was filled with colorful sparkles and small-scale pyrotechnics that exploded for every reply that I received. I will definitely not talk about my fraught affections in this blog post, but I hope you get what I’m trying to say.

Thus, I came to this conclusion: The so-called “PROM MAGIC” is not a part and parcel of the event per se, but rather, a product of the quality time spent with people who mattered. Despite the venue of the current prom being miles more ornate with its florid stage and hi-tech lights and sounds, I knew the magic that I was seeking is already a thing of the past, never to be regained by a re-visitation of any sort.

I turned my attention to the High School students. Everyone seemed to be having the time of their lives, laughing their way through every dance, clinging to their partners like in inconsolable compunction of having to deal with the end of a single song. The magic was “IN” them, and most of them didn’t even realize it. Later, when told that the prom was amazing, some attributed it to the wonderfully-styled venue, while others to the discriminating taste of whoever was choosing the music for the dances. If only they realize that what made it amazing was their subconscious wishful thinking that the night would last forever, that they would get to stay in that moment with their beloved friends for the rest of eternity.

That’s why sometimes the idea of going to another prom aside from your own is a dreadful idea. You end up watching a merciless cycle of ephemeral bliss that is imposed upon generations and generations of young individuals who later go on to live their lives, only to look back with a bitter wistfulness in their heart.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you see the situation), it’s a phase that we have to go through. It is through which that we learn how to live each moment to the fullest, and it is through which that learn how to let go of the most precious finite moments we get to spend with persons we love.

We had our time. They just had theirs. It’s a thing.

And though I may not have been able to rediscover the feeling that I have been so distraught to pursuing (which is also the main reason I agreed to attend this year’s prom in the first place), at least I got to have the most precious dance of all: a last dance with my mom.**

“Just like old times, eh?” a 16-year-old JB was talking to me while I rested my chin on my mom’s shoulders—that pompous, tuxedoed Grinch...

“Yes,” I replied, my voice cracked as I tried hard to hold back the tears. “Just like old times.”

*benched= a prom terminology referring to the state of not being picked out for a dance. Despite its relatively rare occurrence among co-ed high schools where boy to girl ratio is close to 1:1, girl-to-girl action has been proven to be effective in virtually abolishing this perennial prom plague.

**Relevant Trivia: My mom was my first dance during my senior prom. This actually greatly increased the sentimental value of my prom. Not everyone gets the chance of having to dance with moms during their proms. I’m one lucky dude… err, son.