By: Erin Katrina
You would expect a day filled with music, dances, and unfamiliar people traipsing around school to start with an electrifying buzz in the air, just like the few minutes before a show starts in the theatre. But today, as I took the lift upstairs to the seventh floor, there is silence in the air. Most people have not checked in yet. It was seven o’clock and the Open House would open officially at around ten-ish. I had arrived to our designated “dressing room”, which was really just a classroom along with my sister and former dance teacher, who would be helping us get into our intricate costumes for the performance. At around eight o’clock, lots of more performers began filing in. They all come from different grade levels and ages, with the youngest seventh grader dancing side by side with a senior. Some were already donned with their costumes-tight-fitting tops with leggings and caps in bold colours covering the top of their heads. They would be performing modern dance, or most commonly known as hip hop. In addition to the hip-hop dancers, there was also Ghafi, an eleventh grader who would become the pianist accompanying the classical and contemporary dancer.
After dazing around for awhile, my former dance teacher coaxed me to put my hair up. Curling and tying the hair is a long, arduous process that would often take up a large amount of time. I decided to go first to get it over and done with as my sister spends her time waiting by typing furiously at her laptop, presumably doing her homework. She was essentially forced to be here and do this with me, only relenting to dance after confirming the community service points she would receive for performing. After my hair was tied to a neat bob on top of my head, I began to piece together the separate parts and glistening gold accessories of my costume on my body. There was a gilded belt hung with flaps that I wore around my waist, called the “Ampok-Ampok”, along with a breast pad that covered the rest of my shoulders in the similar fashion of a short cape called the “simping” which was was encrusted with gold-coloured lining, amongst numerous other accessories that formed the Legong dance costume. Other accessories included golden bracelets called “Gelang Kana” that encircled parts of my legs and arms, and a headpiece decked with two branches of white kamboja flowers pasted to its sides. It is often repeatedly said by dance teachers that the mark of a well-danced Legong performance was the veracity of the headdress’s movement from side to side. It was an exhaustive process, pinning each element of the costume to another element already worn through metal clips and bobby pins. I thanked silently that I had decided to lay off the heavy traditional make-up.
Finally, after both my sister and I were fully “costumed” and hair tied up, we headed to the ninth floor, following our supervisor, Bu Tyas’, instructions. Pak Ian, a native Balinese teacher who taught the middle school, went along with us to wait for our cues before the opening ceremony starts at a side door leading to the main auditorium of the 9th floor. We waited with bated breaths and I could see Pak Ian nervously turning his palms upwards and downwards. Strangely, I did not feel any of my nerves kicking in. After so many years of performance exams, it almost felt like I was completely numb to the stage frights that usually preceded most performances. However, my thoughts quickly dispersed as Bu Tyas beckons us to come out. We stand in the dark amidst rows of chairs all facing the stage until finally, the music starts. We dance our way to the front of the stage all the way from the back of the auditorium slowly, as per the rhythm and tempo of the reverberating gamelan music. As we slowly climb up the stage, Pak Ian heads out, finishing his piece in the opening ceremony, and my sister and I take our places on each side of the upstage. We are Rangkesari and Prabu Lasem, a prince and a princess from opposing kingdoms. Brianna, my sister, dances her role of Prabu Lasem, attempting to tease the lonely and reserved Princess Rangkesari, who would honestly rather be left to her own devices. After a few more tries, Prabu Lasem then tries to chase the Princess before she eventually flees (Someone should educate the prince on consent). The prince wanders around aimlessly, searching for his lost damsel in distress, when suddenly a might bird appears from the side of the stage. I have switched roles offstage and added a pair of gold, shiny wings on each arm, ready to attack the cunning and ambitious prince. We dance for a while in this way, chasing each other, stopping to take stock, and trying to gain the upper advantage through trick moves all manifested into a single, elegant, enticing dance that is called the Legong Kraton dance. Eventually, the prince overpowers the bird Jatahayu but is left alone on stage, princess-less and victorious. A bittersweet ending.
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