It’s like riding a rollercoaster. Your heart is pumping out of the excitement. You’re imagining how it would be like on the ride. Your legs are restless thinking why they are still standing upright.
You get into your seat, still excited. This is it.
And the gust you feel on your face. You’re laughing and you’re screaming at the top of your lungs. Things are happening so damn fast. And you want more and more and more and more.
You’re back at the starting point and you’re satisfied. God you feel satisfied. And you want to do it again.
That is exactly how it feels on stage.
Either dancing, acting or even debating (long gone passion).
When the song is played, people hear it as the background but I feel the music hugging my body, attaching itself like a leech, following each and every move I make. I stretch my arms out and the sound of energy slithers its way on my arms. The control I have over it. I refuse to relax. I refuse that my muscles don’t follow my pace. They flex and I feel it lifting the music on my limbs. Each moving bone, each erected hair on my arms and each opened pore on my damp skin.
The lights. Let’s talk about the lights around me. They colour the stage people say but they lift me high above the ground. They express riots in me, they mirror the grey clouds and the reddest sunrise in me. They run to me, I run faster away from them, around the stage. The lights chase me pleading for a host to take them in and I do. I let the light show myself to whatever that is beyond the stage.
I feel it all. And not many people see it as a blessing. To sense the external with our receptors, an interaction between what is foreign and what is within us. Being able to feel is like breaking down a wall, bit by bit. You allow yourself to experience it, you allow yourself to feel it, and you allow yourself to live.
It feels vulnerable being up there, exposing yourself, destroying each layer of protection, in hopes, you reach those who desire.
This is how it is up there.
It all looks like an act with the prescribed scripts and the demanded lines, the anticipated expressions and the expected outcome.
But within those shades of fiction, lies such purity and vulnerability.