Crossroads

During one of the extremely rare, if not only, instance when my classic Greek philosophy professor ever said anything personal about himself in class, he shared with us a little anecdote that I will never forget.

Yet I must apologize that as a second-hand anecdote it most probably will have much lesser impact as it did on me when I first heard it with the original words from this incredibly humble and learned professor of mine.

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"I came from a well to do family, a family of doctors and lawyers, naturally they wanted me to follow a similar path but from a young age I had decided to dedicate myself to the life of philosophy and poverty." He smiled with a hint of irony.

"My family never did understand nor accept that. One day, when I was in my first years as a philosophy student and was still living with them, my sister - a lawyer, naturally - came into the kitchen as I was cooking, we started talking and she asked me, 'why study philosophy? what's the point? why waste all these time learning and thinking about things and ideas that are floating in the air? Why not focus all the intelligence you have in more tangible things, things that'll feed you?'"

"I was quite offended at that point of time, and I stopped whatever I was doing, walked to the kitchen cabinet and opened it, it was full of canned food. I pointed to the cans and asked my sister, 'can you see it?' 'Yes.' she replied.

'Can you touch it?'

'Yes.'

'Can you count it?'

'Yes.'

'So you are telling me that these things that you can see, touch and count; these material things, tangible things that you can manipulate quantitatively, that you can produce by science and technology, are more important than love, spirit, soul; things and ideas that are floating in the air? Do you honestly believe that's true?'

My sister never discouraged me from philosophy ever again."

I was so impressed by this anecdote, "wow professor, that's a great way to make people understand the importance of philosophy and not dismiss it as 'things and ideas floating in the air'. Can I use it?"

"Sure." He replied, "Just respect the author's rights and quote my name."

And here it is: Dr Armando Poratti.

In the last day of his life, before he was to drink hemlock and die, Socrates famously said,

"And is not philosophy the practice of death?" (Plato, Phaedo)

He was explaining his views on the fate of pure souls, the true philosopher's soul, after death. That they would depart to the invisible world, divine, immortal and rational. And that in life, the study of philosophy is a preparation and practice that keeps the soul pure and rational.

So the world would know of this quote as "the study of philosophy is a preparation for death".

And lying before me, in a white coffin, serene and slightly yellowed-skin was the man that introduced me to Socrates and Plato and the profound world of classical Greek philosophy, Dr Armando Poratti.

It was surreal as I had just seen him walking around in school, about a month ago, and we were chatting about the upcoming exam on Metaphysics in December, of which he would be my examiner, "you did a good job at your classic Greek thought exam, make sure you do just as well for metaphysics." He smiled, wrinkling his enormous nose, that was hypersensitive and more than once he had to stop the classes because the tissues weren't enough to plug the liquid coming out from them. "So did you check out the gym I told you about?" I asked him, I've always thought he had a kind of sinewy constitution that showed that he had been quite fit. "Not really, because I don't stay at that neighbourhood anymore.

I would later know, around a week ago, that he was bedridden because of unbearable pain in his spine area, the speculated cause - a relapse of prostate cancer that was supposedly cured five years ago. Still at that time I did not think too much of it, as he looked as healthy as he could be that last time I saw him.

"Please gather around as we would like to say a few words about this great friend of ours." So we formed a semi-circle around the coffin. The funeral that I had attended so far in my short thirty-two years of life were of the oriental variety: Usually four to five days of rites underneath the public housing block, grieving family members kneeling while friends pay their last respects, several round tables with food, drinks and late-night mahjong games. This would be the first one where eulogies would be pronounced.

A middle aged bespectacled man started speaking, "I was blessed enough to be able to see our dear friend a day before he passed away. We were working on a project on the revision of the Argentine history and on Monday I called him to talk about some issues of the project. 'Well, let's meet and talk when I am out of the clinic.' Armando said to me over the phone. 'At the clinic? Are you ok?' I asked him. He told me he'll be ok but later he had to stay over at the hospital. So of course I went over immediately that night."

"His face lit up when he saw me, 'we have to talk, we have much to discuss!' And we started getting into one of these deep conversations, about our project, about philosophy, about life and finally about religion. 'Is it possible for me to hire some assistant? I have so much thoughts that I want to write down, but I can't because of my pain. So far my daughter and son have been helping me record them down...' and so we continued this conversation, the kind of conversation provoked only by situations 'umbrales' (threshold)."

I began to tear up at this point. Threshold situation... of course all philosophers are keenly aware of the finitude of human existence, Socrates, Saint Agustine, Leibniz, Kant, Hegel, Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, Freud, Heidegger, Sartre, etc, in one way or another thought profoundly about the event of death, the experience of dying. But one thing is to read and meditate about it, another thing is to live it: Live dying. I could only imagine Dr. Poratti, knowing that any moment might be his last, yet filled with so much knowledge, so much reflection, so many ideas to pass down, so much thoughts in his mind, up to the point of explosion; not enough time to write them down, not enough energy to get them across. Might that be the only anxiety that he would had felt at that time? At this threshold moment?

Mariana, one of the assistant professors at the school told me, "I just visited him a few nights ago, he was calm, stoic. He said, 'my time is up, and I have no regrets, I had 40 years of teaching, of reflection, a place where I could think and express myself freely. All I can think of now are my students.'"

Could it even had been interesting to have lived dying? Experience it? I wonder. As philosophers, we read about it, write about it, meditate on it, wonder about it. But we will only know it personally at these last moments; and to be serene about it, to allow its presence to fully permeate us because we are not overpowered by emotions and then to even be filled with a sense of wonder about it... maybe that's something only a true philosopher might achieve!

My fellow classmate Florencia wrote to me when she heard the news, "El cielo de los filósofos debería llamarse este día... dónde irán tantas ideas bellas, tantos pensamientos, tanta erudición?" [The philosopher's heaven should be evoked today... where would so many beautiful ideas, so many thoughts, so much erudition go?] In my thoughts on human finitude and immortality, I have always thought writing as a little door for immortality; memoirs, ideas, thoughts and personality preserved and sealed through the written word, with the possibility of an eternity of dialogue with whoever who cares to read them.

"Let us now invite his daughter to speak a few words." From a corner, a woman about my age, eyes red and tired started to speak.

"My father, a great thinker and defender of the common people, always had a conflict. He was a self-confessed agnostic. The immense volumes of classic Greek thought he studied talked of divinity, but he was never convinced. Nonetheless these final moments he was talking a lot about religion, about God. I said to him God is love, absolute love. And if you believed in the Platonic Ideas and that Plato himself said that the earthly forms are but imperfect copies of Ideas in the divine realm, then how much deeper and more beautiful would divine love be, if even the love that we have between us is already so strong and pure?..."

"...his final act was to ask for a flask of blessed water and wetted himself with it. 'La religion popular' (the religion of the people) he smiled. He would have liked to believe, especially a belief of the common people he so dearly loved and defended. Then he told us, 'Now I would like to listen to Bach, Jesus Alegria Dos Homens.' As he listened to it, he fell asleep, for the last time."

It is a valid question: "what lies beyond death? Something or nothing? If something, what?" And in this question evoked by the threshold situation, philosophy finds itself at its limits, and one has to turn to religion, even in the rejection of it.

In all cases, be it an philosophical or religious immortality, I would like to imagine that at this very moment even as I finish writing this little text of mine, Dr. Poratti will be dialoging with Socrates and Plato, the philosophers he loved and studied so much, through the erudite texts he had left behind, or face to face over a cup of ambrosia together in the divine Symposium.

Its funny how in the end, its the little things that come back to haunt you. More specifically the little things that you missed doing.

The last milonga (tango dance party) where I saw her, I wanted so much to dance with her, it had been more than a year, I have so much things to tell her and I missed her embrace so much, to talk and listen to her soul again in the embrace. But I hesitated. I was sitting right across her and yet I hesitated, self conscious, and then someone else asked her to dance. The little thing I missed that night, to ask her to dance.

On facebook she wished me, "Feliz cumple Isaaquitu! Que cumplas lo que deseas!" Even after not communicating for more than a year, she took the time to remember and write. It was a beautiful gesture, one that I wanted so much to reply and thank. But I procrastinated. "Maybe tomorrow..." I would tell myself. The little thing I missed, to let her know her words mattered.

New Year's Eve party she came along with her husband and two year old girl. She was surrounded by so much love, adoration and friendship. She was beautiful, serene and blissful. I wanted so much to sit down next to her and talk to her, to connect again, to see her smile and feel her warmth. But she was faraway, surrounded by friends, so was I, we never got near each other. The little thing I missed that night, to sit down beside her and smile.

Two days later on January 2, 2012, she was gone, Andrea Misse, my dear dear tango teacher and friend, lost to a horrific car crash. At the age of 35, cut down at the prime of her life, leaving behind a husband, a two year old daughter, a world class tango career, thousands of students and admirers from all over the world.

And here I am, reminiscing and regretting the little things I missed.

“一切恩爱会、无常难得久、生世多畏惧、命危于晨露。。。 。。。吾期行不遇、误坠猎者手、即当临屠割、碎身化糜朽。念汝求哀来、当今还就死、怜汝小早孤、努力活自己。” -《神雕侠侣》，金庸

我很早以前就在金庸小说里读到这几句诗词了。其时故事在说一灯大师劝解他的徒弟裘千尺，生命的无常，引用佛经里的典故，《佛说鹿母经》。

这佛经常被人引用，全文是，”一切恩爱会，无常难得久。生世多畏惧，命危于晨露。由爱故生忧，由爱故生怖。若离于爱者，无忧亦无怖。”但我不喜欢后半段，无爱无恨的活着并不是我想要的；有些东西就是放不开，不想放开。无佛缘吧。

那好，后半段，“吾期行不遇。。。”的原文我就找不到了，可能是金庸自己写的，也可能同样出自于佛经里。就是在这几天里，获知 Andrea Misse 逝世的噩耗之后，脑子里转来转去的就是金庸的这几个词：“生世多畏惧、命危于晨露。。。 。。。怜汝小早孤、努力活自己。”

无法释怀，只能写下暂时舒解心中的浑气。

异想天开，想像着如果 Andrea 能象佛经里的母鹿般有机会再跟孩子说几句话，也应会是，“怜汝小早孤、努力活自己。”吧。。。

想着想着，不禁心酸。

I closed my eyes and squeezed the juices from the deepest part of my memory... What were my first memories of you Andrea? Why can't I remember? I opened my eyes and stared into the candles that were flickering in front of your picture. Try again... try harder...

Red... deep red lips. Purple... bare-backed purple dress. Where? In a milonga. Sunderland milonga. When? October 2006. "Javier Rodriguez and Andrea Misse Returns Triumphant From Europe Tour!" I have already seen you and Javier hundreds of times on videos before I even met you in person. For the entire night I was craning my neck, on the lookout for Javier and you to arrive in the milonga. When you finally arrived I couldn't believe how petite you were. You appeared so tall in the videos! And those deep carmine lips. I was in a very low point in my tango journey then. That night, the dances you and Javier did pulled me up from the self-pitying depths and gave me renewed strength.

How is it that you have left us then? When just two days ago, at Javier's New Year's Party you were leading Guadalupe, your dear child, in a little dance; two ochos and a jumping sentada? When just two days ago you said goodbye to Isaakita, the nickname you gave my sister? How is it then I would never have the chance to say thank you for wishing me happy birthday? I would never have the chance to dance or talk to you again?

Jose called all of us together, "Guys, let's have a moment of silence for our dear friend, teacher and one of the most beautiful tango dancer. Let us say a prayer in your respective language and culture. Finally let us remember her by sharing stories we remember of her..."

The tears came in waves, for all of us. One minute someone will be speaking calmly and then the next minute breaking down. This place, Javier's house, was the scene of great partying two days ago, of champagne, of tango, cumbia, good food, laughter, hugs... "Happy New Year Isaac!" Andrea's voice still fresh in my ears... No one could really let the news sink in yet. Death might be an instant crossing, yet to the living, death this abrupt made it all the more surreal.

Now the music is solemn, the candles emit a forlorn glow, the faces are the same, instead of wild laughter, came spurts of tears. I didn't know how to feel. I never did. When grandpa died, I remember not feeling anything, only emptiness, even a certain guilt of not feeling anything. Same Andrea, I didn't know what to feel. Only when Isabel embraced me, I asked her, "Que vamos a hacer ahora? (What do we do now?)" My tears started to flow. "Pobre Guada..." Then I couldn't control myself anymore. She's only two years old!!!....

My last talk with you, was during Tango Day, where Javier's dad had a special milonga at Sunderland. 8 of December, Thursday. You and Javier had just finished performing, great dances as usual, you were settled down, with Guada in your lap, Diego by your side holding your hand. You were glowing. A glow only contented mothers and wives would have. I had not seen you for more than a year, and I thought it would be a good time to catch up. You were always the goddess of Tango for most people, me included, but more than that you were an angel that always filled me with a lot of warmth in our interactions.

"So Andrea! Long time no see, I missed you!" I smiled, pulling my chair up to you. "Yes Isaakito! My god you are fatter!" you said with your eyes wide and serious. "Hehe, yeah, but they are from working out!" I smiled sheepishly. I asked about your life so far, about Guada, about Diego, "So Andrea, would you want another child?" "Of course! But not so soon because I have just bought land in Olivos and also going to build a house, so the next two years we'll be working hard to settle the costs. But definitely after that! Maybe we'll try for a dragon baby!" Andrea is always good with bridging different cultures. She had been more than a wonderful dance partner for Javier. She is the one bridging language differences (she studied live translations), bridging different organizers (she is the one that organizes the tours)... even bridging students with Javier (everyone who can't get directly to Javier would go through her). "Ha but next year is the Dragon year, and the year after next is Snake, and then Horse." I smiled. "Oh yeah maybe Snake then. I always get along very well with Snake. The biggest Snake in the world is Gustavo Lin (taiwanese tango dancer), and we get along famously."

"Hey! Stop talking and let my wife eat!" Diego threatened half-jokingly from across. "Haha ok! Please eat Andrea! And Diego I love you too!" I joked. "Yes I love you very much Isaakito." Diego laughed.

Yes Andrea, you were the smart one, you had plans, you had it worked out. You didn't just depend on your beauty, on your physicality. You were planning for the future. Your own, Diego's, Guada's, even Javier's. How much they will miss you... how much we will miss you!

A part of you will continue to live in the people you have touched my dear Andrea. This sounds cliche, but in the tango world it is very true. The techniques, the sensibilities and the ideal of tango you have taught us will forever be with us. How a man should be, how a woman should be... I forever owe my Pugliese musicality to you. It was during our dance to Pugliese in Taipei tango festival that you infused in me the highs and lows, the bitter and the sweet, the violent and the gentle, the rapid and the silence of Pugliese music. Everytime I dance Pugliese, part of you is dancing inside me too.

Stories... I have so much stories of you... How you would take my hand while we walk to your brother's studio, make me feel like a man, while you gave me relationship advice. Goddess, teacher, big sister. The people in this room all have stories of you... and all I want, if it could even be remotely possible, would be for Guada to have her own stories and these stories that we have of you.

"Dear friends, its time for me to go..." I said, signalling to Vivien and my sister. "But before I go I want to share this memory I have of Andrea." I gathered the friends who were mourning and seeking each other's comfort in Javier's place.

"I am sure you guys remember how beautiful and elegant Andrea is; not just her exterior and it also comes from inside." I started. "Those who are from overseas like Taiwan, Korea or Singapore will know what I am talking about." I smiled at them. "Now Javier, being Javier, all flamboyant and flashy will always say in spanish during his classes, 'Chicas, levanta las tetas y no pongan su chichi adelante!' (Girls! Lift those tits and don't stick your pussy out!). Then he will always turn to Andrea and say, 'Andre, traduci exactamente lo que recien dije.' (Andre, translate exactly what I just said.' And Andrea will then nicely say, 'Girls, lift up your ribcage and push your hips back!' and all the while saying with a slight blush."

"Another time during milonga class, Javier had just taught us the fundamental steps of milonga and then explaining to us how to put everything together on the beat. Javier said, 'podes hacer Ta-Ka-Tak' then Andrea translated, 'you can do Ta-Ka-Tak'... Javier said, 'podes hacer Ta-Ka-Ta-Ka-Ta-Ka-Ta-Ka-Ta-Ka-Tak.' Andrea went on saying, 'you can do Ta-Ka-Ta-Ka-Ta-Ka...Ka-Ta...how many Ta-Ka was there??' And all the students had a good laugh at that moment."

I paused, unable to go on, my thoughts drifting to the incredulity of the situation, "this is crazy!" I thought, "Why are we even doing this? Are we accepting that she is dead already? Why does Andrea 'is' have to become Andrea 'was' now???!!!"

I snapped back to reality, "Not only is... was she a great teacher, she... was a very warm person as well. Now I know when we all first see Andrea, she was like an ice queen, beautiful but didn't appear warm. But when we all know her better we all realised how warm she was. One time at a milonga, it was at Salon Canning, she was there with Javier after the performance. I was still a beginner at that time and Andrea was the goddess and always will be. As I danced pass her table she said to me, 'Isaakito! Invite me for a dance later!' I could feel my balls in my mouth, but I finally got the courage to ask her to dance. And she said to me, 'Isaakito, I enjoyed the dance. Never again leave the milonga without asking me to dance ok?' And that was probably the nicest thing any dancer said to me. From then on I would think, 'I had danced with Andrea Misse.' And that would make me much less nervous when dancing with other women."

I made my peace. I remembered you Andrea. I will continue to remember you for the rest of my tango days. Enough for today... as part of me still imagines that I would see you next week at some milonga performing with Javier. And all this is some sick Facebook joke.

As I walked back home with my sis, Buenos Aires began to drizzle... I looked at her and asked in disbelief, "what the fuck are we in a movie????"

Miraba fijamente a la encuesta que estaba en frente de mí, la pregunta, “¿Qué se benefició usted de este curso?” Sentía una pérdida de palabras; cerré mis ojos y mi memoria voló hacia una semana antes, cuando también sentía la misma pérdida de palabras cuando estaba mirando otra hoja de papel…

Hace una semana, después de anotarme con la Universidad de Pekín, recibí un dosier con las instrucciones y detalles del curso. Di un vistazo a la lista de atendencia, “Guau, 83 estudiantes, no me van a prestar mucha atención entonces.” Sonreía a mí mismo. Cuando aplique a este curso, pensaba de tener que interactuar y discutir con todos los profesores veteranos que son chinos nativos que viven en otros países, este desafío me dio bastante preocupación, porque no solo no tengo tanta experiencia, sino también no estoy muy seguro con mi nivel de chino. Entonces sabiendo que hay tantos estudiantes, pensé que podía desaparecer en la multitud.

Mientras examinaba con cuidado la lista de atendencia, ví, “Chino viviendo en Canadá, ok, Chino viviendo en Inglaterra, ok, ¿pará que es esto? ¿Rusa? ¿Nigeria? ¿Portugués? Anastasia, Okoye Christiana, Joao Jose… ¡no son nombres chinos!” Entonces tenemos profesores que no son nativos. ¡Increíble! ¡Y bueno, mi chino no puede ser peor que suyos! Pero por otro lado, ¿podes imaginar cuanta vergüenza tendría, si hablaran mejor chino que yo? Y ¿Qué más excusas tendré yo si siendo un chino y no hablo buen chino?

El curso entero de una semana a cabo en un barrio que se llama Chang Ping, 1.5horas por auto desde el centro de la ciudad. Se hallaba arriba en las montañas, “闭关修行” (meditar en retiro) se dice. Entonces cada noche, después del curso, no hay mucho más para hacer. Por suerte tuve la inteligencia comprar un paquete de cartas. Tenía mucha curiosidad a mis compañeros. Ni bien llegue el lugar donde íbamos a hacer el curso, ya hice amigos con otro profesor de mi edad, Qi Yue, de Canadá. Nació en Beijing, se mudó a Canadá cuando tenía 12 y ahora está haciendo su educación en la universidad de allá. Su próximo proyecto es enseñar chino. Un acento de Beijing perfecto, habla Francés y también inglés. Desde el principio, nos llevamos muy bien e incluso durante la primera noche jugábamos snooker y ping pong en la sala de recreación del hotel.

Todos los estudiantes tenían que compartir su habitación. Mi compañero de habitación fue un Tayikistano increíblemente amable y pasional. Se llama Rustam, tiene alrededor de 50 años y es el decano del departamento de Filología en la Universidad de Tayikistán. Habla ruso, árabe, tayiko, latín y japonés pero muy poco chino porque lo está aprendiendo. Por lo tanto nos comunicamos en una mezcla rara de su chino limitado y mi japonés limitado. Pero todo se hizo mucho más fácil porque cada noche tomamos su vodka – Ruski Standard. Hablábamos de todo, su familia, su trabajo y Tayikistán etc. “¡Tayikistan tiene mucho oro! ¡Tenes que venir!” Me gritaba, emocionado. Hice un amigo de vida en el fin de siete días.

No solo hablaba con los profesores nativos de China, sino también hablaba con los profesores de Rusia, Kenia, Nigeria, Kirguistán y Tayikistán etc. Me daban mucha inspiración; salvo los de Kenia y Nigeria, todos hablaban excelente chino. Los rusos por ejemplo ya enseñaban chino por muchos años en la universidad de su propio pueblo, hablaban con casi ningún acento y su nivel de chino fue increíble.

Los de Kenia, Nigeria, aunque no hablaban bien, pero tenían grandes proyectos, iban a ser pioneros en enseñar chino en sus universidades.

Y los profesores chinos que ya enseñaban en países con tradición larga y rica de enseñar chino a los extranjeros, por ejemplo Inglaterra, Estados Unidos, Corea y Canadá etc. Estos profesores traen sus conocimientos en técnicas de enseñar y materias de clase y los compartieron con nosotros. Sus conocimientos y profesionalismo me dieron mucha inspiración.

Así fue mi repuesta a la encuesta. El curso fue muy informativa pero la inspiración y beneficio principal que recibí de este curso fue las interacciones con mis compañeros. Ver estos hablantes y profesores no nativos que tienen nivel de chino tan alto, verlos con tanta pasión para aprender y enseñar chino. Estar en contacto con estos profesores que tienen diez, veinte años de experiencia en enseñar chino y viéndolos en acción. Estos profesores, mis compañeros establecieron un estándar para mí, en su pasión y conocimiento.

Al final no pude esconder, no pude huir; aun en la presencia de todos estos profesores con tanto conocimiento y experiencia, fue elegido representar mi grupo para dar una presentación delante de todos. Dos veces. No deslumbre pero tampoco lo hice mal. La próxima vez me prometo que deslumbraré.

Estuve en Beijing con mi familia hace 15 años, cuando tenía 15. Fue durante el invierno, y fueron del color gris mis memorias del cielo de Beijing, fue gris también la ciudad que estaba llena de villas tradicionales pero pobres que se llama ‘胡同’ (Hutong). Fueron como gris los colores de la ropa de los ciudadanos, que clamaban a los turistas por su dinero. La situación social no fue atrayente. Recuerdo los baños públicos que olían tan mal, sin puertas donde toda la gente defecaba cara a cara a un desagüe común.

Esta vez, cuando salí del subte expreso que se conecta del aeropuerto al centro de la ciudad, y emergí a la calle, lo que vi que me rodeaban eran los edificios modernos más enormes que he visto. Patio de shopping, oficinas, y hoteles enormes. Recuerdo este año cuando volví a Singapur, vi el shopping que se llama ION. ION era gigante, las ventanas de las galerías tienen la altura de un piso, los carteles de Gucci, Armani son casi 3 metros en altura. La idea era proyecta un aire de opulencia; por otro lado, le hace sentir pequeño a la gente, por lo menos a mí. Ahora parado en el medio de un barrio moderno de Beijing, el edificio más pequeño es como ION, los edificios normales son tres veces en tamaño. Beijing se trata de su gigantez, cada edificio está separado con bastante distancia, destacando aún más su grandeza.

Aproveché de estos días libres que tenía para visitar Beijing, antes de empezar el curso que va a durar una semana. Los lugares que me centraba visitar eran ‘Ciudad Prohibida’, ‘Plaza de Tiananmen’, ‘Templo del Cielo’ y el Museo Nacional. Todos estos lugares salvo el ‘Templo del Cielo’ están muy cerca de uno a otro.

La Ciudad Prohibida fue el palacio residencial y administrativo para la dinastía Ming y Qing. Es tan grande y tiene tantas habitaciones que si un bebe recién nacido duerme en una habitación nueva cada noche, tendrá 24 y medio años cuando alcanza dormir todas las habitaciones.

Cuando entré la puerta principal, se me acercó una guía y me preguntó si quería un paseo guiado. ‘¿Por qué no?’ Pensé. Era mejor que caminar solo sin entender nada de lo que veía. Entonces, ella me mostraba los diferentes lugares donde dormían el emperador y varias realezas; donde hospedaban los huéspedes y dignitarios, donde hacían reuniones diarias, donde hacían exámenes imperiales anuales etc. Un lugar interesante era el dormitorio del emperador, donde elegiría una concubina, y la concubina vendría a la noche a servir el emperador y se iria cuando el emperador está satisfecho; lógicamente significa que el emperador nunca pasó una noche con una mujer. Además tenía tantas concubinas que muchas de ellas jamás lo vieron al emperador.

La visita guida de la Ciudad Prohibida’ me tomó tres horas. La guía me dijo, si quería explorar el lugar en detalle, me tomaría días. Para eso lo haría otro día. Le despedí a la guía y caminaba hacia la plaza Tiananmen y eso me tomó más que 45 minutos. El Partido Comunista de China (PCC) está festejando su 90 años aniversario. Me llamó atención que los chinos son muy patrióticos a su país y al partido. Recuerdo que cuando sacaba fotos en el parque, había gente saludando y elogiando, ‘¡Viva Presidente Mao!’.

En el centro de la plaza Tiananmen estaba un símbolo grande de la insignia roja del PCC. Había una gran multitud del hombre, chinos y extranjeros, sacando fotos y descansando en la plaza. La muchedumbre era casi insoportable: fue las vacaciones del verano y peor, era el sábado. En la plaza también estaba el Monumento a los Héroes del Pueblo. Conmemoraba los héroes que lucharon y murieron por la sobrevivencia y el establecimiento de la nación china: ‘民族英雄’- Los héroes del pueblo. El cuerpo del héroe más grande y más respetado – según los chinos – Mao Ze Dong, Presidente Mao, yace en el Mausoleo de Mao, que está en el fin de la plaza, para que todos puedan visitar y elogiar. ¿Por qué el pueblo necesitaba héroes? ¿Qué significa ‘pueblo’? ¿Por qué había que tener tanto sacrificio? Todas estas preguntas se contestan en el Museo Nacional.

El museo nacional está ubicado al lado de la plaza Tiananmen. Se divide a dos exposiciones principales: China Antigua, y China Moderna (El Camino al Renacimiento). En la sección de China Antigua hay exposiciones prehistóricas, por todas las dinastías desde la dinastía de Los Tres Augustos y los Cinco Emperadores hasta la dinastía de Qing. Muchos artefactos históricos, imágenes y representaciones de la forma de vida, los pueblos, los edificios, la ciencia y cultura de cada época. Es inmenso el museo, revisar cada detalle necesita muchos días.

En la exposición ‘El Camino al Renacimiento’, mostraba como al final de la dinastía Qing, China estaba en una situación muy terrible. La crisis social y económica empezó debido a la presión extranjera para que China abriera su comercio. El gobierno Qing que era débil, fue forzado firmar tratados injustos con los países europeos y Estados Unidos. Así que resultó en mucha pobreza por toda China y en su vez inspiró la revolución burguesa que fue representada por Sun Yat Sun. La revolución contra la vieja sistema feudal fue un paso a la dirección correcta; la dinastía Qing fue derrocado por esta revolución. Pero esta revolución no sucedió en liberar china de su pobreza. Fue ese momento cuando Mao Ze Dong usó las ideas comunistas de Marx para reunir China, invocando el ‘espíritu del pueblo’: Donde todas las clases sociales se borraron, no hay más propiedad privada y agricultura se volvió más importante.

八月十六号
新疆女

非新疆女也，但容貌酷似，众人称之。让我刻骨铭心，滋滋难忘者。高耸的身段，秀眉如弯月，大眼汪汪，眼神摄人，鼻高脸尖，长相有如波斯，伊朗一族。但令我倾心非只限于她的美貌，而是她雪亮般的心思，坚铁般的个性，让人肃然起敬，情不禁称之“好女子”！我与Zukhra相遇区区七天，但彼此心照，无所不谈，相逢恨晚。

第一个印象非常深，可是不佳；那时星期一晚间，刚住入培训班酒店不久，同学们都到食堂里用餐。我与一群年纪较轻的老师同坐，在我旁边便是此篇好女子，但此时还未相识。饭间闲谈起来，得知其名，“我叫Sara，其实真名Zukhra，但对中国人来说不好念，自然变成Sara”。此时便感觉她有股不一样的魅力与自信。她说起中文竟字圆腔正，还有隐约带着北京腔，令我啧啧称奇。原来她是塔吉克斯坦人（Tajikistan），语言系毕业生，因赢得本国汉语桥比赛而得取赴北京大学汉语学校的奖学金，在那里学有两年之久。谈天时，词语便给，说话单刀直入，有一回，我把‘同屋’说成‘同房’造成笑话，她便说道，“你是不是中国人啊？！”我因而不喜，也淡淡附和。

但随着七日中的接触和交流，我被她的才智思敏折服。不知不觉，食饭时都是与她同坐，晚间无事，打牌消遣也与她共享时光，慢慢亲近起来。

有一日用饭时，见她食量惊人，大碗下肚，不禁问她原由，而后告知，原来她有了四个月的身孕。下嫁也已有五六个月了。我细看她的肚子，果然稍稍凸起。此后我也无他想，把她当朋友般敬重。也因此我们的友谊，对彼此的了解也才能更上一层。

跟着她一起从塔吉克斯坦来的是我的室友，Rustam，也是她的教授。Zukhra对Rustam照顾的无微不至，有一次还听到她问Rustam是否需要为他洗衣，我闻之莞尔，也问，“那妳也帮我洗好了!”她竟然把话当真，对我说，“好啊!那你就拿给我吧！”原来在塔吉克斯坦朋友间彼此帮忙洗衣司空见惯。

我与她谈到她的家庭，从夫之事。我问道，“妳在结婚前，在中国时没男友吗？”她对我说其实来中国也是为了结束一段三年的恋情，男方性格不佳，但苦苦痴缠，因而母亲把她远送至中国，但愿他就此罢休。“在中国读书时，我也有做工。那时认识了公司的老板，他看上了我，向我求婚，我却谢绝了。”我问道，“为什么呢？是否对他没感情？”她回答，“起初没有，但后来有了，却也只数友谊一般，不能称爱。”我又问道，“那妳就是没有那种非要他不可的激情啦!”“确实没有！”“那就是对你现任的丈夫有吧！”她的答案至今让我无法忘怀，“也没有，就算是爱，也不能全然说的上，特别是开始时，现在慢慢的有爱了。”我奇道，“那妳既不寻物质上的保证，也不须爱情激情，为什么会选择现在的丈夫呢？”“我看人不看外表，也不看身份地位，我是看心。我看到了他有个很好的心，也意味到我们的性格非常合适，所以跟他交往半年，当他求婚时，我也答应了。我其实也没想过那么早结婚，（她今年二十四岁）我本来还想继续深造，读个汉语博士之类的。但缘分于此，我现在也很开心。”我听着她的话，感触良深，脑子里转着她所说的，“非激情，非物质，而是性格合适。。。”当头棒喝，令我想起我所有的多班恋情，拈花惹草，处处留情，但始终是孤身寂寞的。

“你也三十岁了！应该结婚了吧！”Zukhra似笑非笑，郑重的对我说。Rustam和其他吉尔吉斯斯坦般的同学们也有此一言；怎么都来关心我的婚事呢！我自而莞尔，但想想他们的文化婚姻为大事，是年轻人命里的第一关，青年立家，理所当然。我有所感，想想新加坡、阿根廷等，现代爱情主义，婚姻家庭个个伦理颠倒。

“缘分已尽吧！”我微笑而答，“曾经想过但无此缘分，再者，现在过惯了单生自由的生活，结婚生子，缚手缚脚，无法想像。”Zukhra点点头，“我看也不一定，我跟你谈话，听你的声音，知道你的内心，是个好人，有一天会寻的良伴的。”但愿如此。

我与Zukhra促膝长谈，但觉得她非常吸引人，也无需肢体上的诱惑，而确实是她的健谈，深思，果断，对生活的精细，与她对爱情、家庭传统的看法。尝过现代自由爱情主义，但却能对自己的信念坚定不移，做出明智的抉择，令我肃然起敬。“我们在塔吉克斯坦男女之间未婚前最大程度只有拉手亲嘴（此番得知中亚民族都是如此）。有一次我的前任男友喝醉了，对我动手动脚，不规矩起来。我打了他几个巴掌，叫他清醒清醒。”

我们的培训班星期天早上结业，星期一她与Rustam便要走了。至少我与Zukhra有了星期天下午逛街之缘。我们去了秀水市场，我又看到了Zukhra聪明的另一面，她把450元的Gucci假皮包杀价至100元。小贩们个个称奇道，“妳杀价比中国人还厉害！”

临走时我送了她一本书，有关于唐诗。唐代诗人，多半游子，处处结交好友，但也处处是离别。我有所感，送礼题字时想写水调歌头里的，“但愿人长久”云云，但觉不妥，最后还是送了她王勃之词，

“海内存知己，天涯若比邻。”写时也不禁心酸。

30 Julio 2011

Anoche el cielo fue gris, he llegado a un Beijing lluvioso. ¿Acaso no es verano en Beijing? Pero esta mañana, cuando me desperté y abrí mis ojos, vi los rayos oros del sol entran por las cortinas. Mi corazón sentía una alegría enorme. Es el momento para mi costumbre favorito – correr por la mañana. Siempre que esté en un nuevo país, barrio o lugar, me gusta mucho correr alrededor del barrio. He corrido en Malaysia, Taiwán, Borneo, Tailandia, Nepal, Chile, Argentina etc. Y incluso mi propio país, Singapur corría en su microcentro: Para mi es la mejor forma de observar la vida cotidiana de los ciudadanos.

Vi en mi mapa que cerca mi hotel hay una parque que se llama ‘Ri Tan’. “Muy bien,” pensé “vamos ahí para correr en tranquilidad.” En mi mente, estaban las imágenes de los parques de Singapur y Argentina. Las parques de Singapur casi no hay nadie, solamente pocas personas caminando; es demasiado caloroso y húmedo para estar afuera. En los parques Argentinos, podes ver novios retozando o haciendo picnic, o chicas bonitas tomando sol. Pero nada puede prepararme por las cosas que voy a ver.

- Había una vez, tenía una conversación con un amigo de Hong Kong, sobre las diferencias culturales entre los chinos y los latinos. Llegamos una conclusión de que la viejez es una época terrible para los chinos mientras que los latinos se divierten mucho, como bailar. ¡No puedo estar más lejos de la verdad! -

Cuando llegue el parque, vi un enorme grupo de señores y señoras; señor en sus edades, pero no en su espíritu; estaban haciendo una suerte del baile aeróbico, dirigidos por un grupo de gente no mucho más jóvenes que ellos. Me hizo recordar las mañanas de Singapur cuando iba a correr con mi hermana en el estadio de mi barrio, donde había grupos enormes de personas grandes haciendo aeróbico o taichí juntos. Saque fotos y continuaba correr en el parque.

Es un parque lindísimo y grande; ahora los parques de Singapur son organizados, naturales, tropicales, con la vegetación muy densa. Los parques de argentina son abiertas, más salvaje, adornados por estatuas. Pero éste parque de Beijing donde estaba en ese momento, hay una belleza natural con arreglo humano, donde la naturaleza y el hombre alcanzaron una fusión. Esta organizado pero no está molestada su belleza natural, a contrario, lo aumenta; la belleza todavía pertenece a la naturaleza, pero más manso, más amable y más en armonía con el hombre; supongo es la sabiduría china del ‘Feng Shui’.

Por todos lados, no importa donde corro, veo diferentes grupos, de diferente tamaños, de diferente actividades. Un hombre practicando kung fu, cuatro hombres jugando Ping Pong, siete personas practicando ‘Jian Zhi’, incluso hay un grupo de 20++ personas bailando ballroom latino. Y no solo actividades físicas sino jugando cartas, ajedrez etc. Me emocioné, me gustaría que sea así yo, cuando tenga esta edad. Paro de correr en un patio de recreo donde están un grupo de señoras. Están haciendo ejercicios de estiramiento, con sus piernas puesto muy alta, delante de ellas, estirando sus tendones. Hice Kung Fu cuando era chico, de edad 14 hasta 18, ¡y ellas están haciendo exactamente los mismos ejercicios que hacia yo! ¡Son tan flexibles! Me sumo y ellas empiezan a charlar conmigo, tan natural, tan abiertas. Empiezo practicar Kung Fu en este parque, que no hacía por muchos años. Siento que es la única cosa para hacer, la correcta cosa para hacer; nadie ni me mira – soy parte de ellos.

Estoy otra vez arriba el avión.

Es mi segunda viaje a la vuelta del mundo en tres meses. 30++ horas, de Buenos Aires, esta vez a Beijing; el objetivo del viaje – trabajar. ¿Cómo puede ser que un Singapurense, estudiando en Buenos Aires viaje a Beijing a trabajar? Y qué raro que es, tomando este camino que suele llevarme a casa, pero esta vez no voy a llegar a casa.

Hace tres meses, cuando volví a Buenos Aires, decidí que tenía que empezar a pensar mi vida después de recibirme, que será en dos años. Quería un trabajo que fuera estable, interesante y más importante, me permitiera viajar. Enseñar lenguas fue una de las opciones. Aunque inglés es mi idioma más fuerte, y un día seguramente quiero enseñarla, pero tengo una cara china. Por lo tanto enseñar china seria la opción más sensible. Ahora bien, mi chino fue muy bueno, gracias a padres chinos muy tradicionales, las novelas chinas de Jin Yong y las historietas chinas. Pero en estos últimos años, uso más inglés y español, entonces me tengo que acostumbrar otra vez usar chino. Esto será un desafío.

Pero como todos mis trabajos anteriores; soldado, masajista, profesor de tango, estudiante de filosofía en una universidad que usa castellano y otras muchas cosas que he hecho, siempre creía en la máxima china, 天下无难事只怕有心人 – “No hay cosas difíciles, solo falta personas con voluntad”; es cuestión de pasión e interés. Con esta actitud, fui y lo hice; llamé la primera escuela de chino en Buenos Aires, que encontré por Google y arreglé una entrevista con la directora. Tres meses desde luego – después de dar un curso de chino exitoso y haber entrenado dos alumnas que ganaron el primer y segundo puesto en el concurso internacional ‘Puente de Chino’ ronda Argentina – mi directora me dijo de repente un día de Julio, “¡Isaac, arregla tu valija, te vamos a mandar a Beijing con una beca! ¡Ya te vas el fin de este mes!”

Por eso estoy otra vez haciendo este viaje de 30++ horas. A otro lado del mundo, buscando nuevas experiencias y sabidurías.

NOSTALGIA de Giuseppe Ungaretti

Quando
la notte è a svanire
poco prima di primavera
e di rado
qualcuno passa

Su Parigi s'addensa
un oscuro colore
di pianto

In un canto
di ponte
contemplo
l'illimitato silenzio
di una ragazza
tenue

Le nostre
malattie
si fondono

E come portati via
si rimane.

Nostalgia (en español)

Cuando
la noche está desfalleciendo
poco antes de primavera
y rara vez
alguno pasa

Sobre París se adensa
un oscuro color
de llanto

En un ángulo
de puente
contemplo
el ilimitado silencio
de una muchacha
tenue

Nuestras
enfermedades
se funden

Y como transportados
se permanece

Giuseppe Ungaretti

Nostalgia (Locvizza il 28 settembre 1916) .

Tres poetas del siglo XX,
Ungaretti, Montale, Quasimodo

When you set out on your journey to Ithaca,
pray that the road is long,
full of adventure, full of knowledge.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the angry Poseidon -- do not fear them:
You will never find such as these on your path,
if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fine
emotion touches your spirit and your body.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the fierce Poseidon you will never encounter,
if you do not carry them within your soul,
if your soul does not set them up before you.

Pray that the road is long.
That the summer mornings are many, when,
with such pleasure, with such joy
you will enter ports seen for the first time;
stop at Phoenician markets,
and purchase fine merchandise,
mother-of-pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
and sensual perfumes of all kinds,
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
visit many Egyptian cities,
to learn and learn from scholars.

Always keep Ithaca in your mind.
To arrive there is your ultimate goal.
But do not hurry the voyage at all.
It is better to let it last for many years;
and to anchor at the island when you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches.

Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.
Without her you would have never set out on the road.
She has nothing more to give you.

And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you.
Wise as you have become, with so much experience,
you must already have understood what Ithacas mean.

Constantine P. Cavafy (1911)

----------------------------------------------------------------

Ιθάκη

Σα βγεις στον πηγαιμό για την Ιθάκη,
να εύχεσαι νάναι μακρύς ο δρόμος,
γεμάτος περιπέτειες, γεμάτος γνώσεις.
Τους Λαιστρυγόνας και τους Κύκλωπας,
τον θυμωμένο Ποσειδώνα μη φοβάσαι,
τέτοια στον δρόμο σου ποτέ σου δεν θα βρείς,
αν μέν' η σκέψις σου υψηλή, αν εκλεκτή
συγκίνησις το πνεύμα και το σώμα σου αγγίζει.
Τους Λαιστρυγόνας και τους Κύκλωπας,
τον άγριο Ποσειδώνα δεν θα συναντήσεις,
αν δεν τους κουβανείς μες στην ψυχή σου,
αν η ψυχή σου δεν τους στήνει εμπρός σου.

Να εύχεσαι νάναι μακρύς ο δρόμος.
Πολλά τα καλοκαιρινά πρωϊά να είναι
που με τι ευχαρίστησι, με τι χαρά
θα μπαίνεις σε λιμένας πρωτοειδωμένους·
να σταματήσεις σ' εμπορεία Φοινικικά,
και τες καλές πραγμάτειες ν' αποκτήσεις,
σεντέφια και κοράλλια, κεχριμπάρια κ' έβενους,
και ηδονικά μυρωδικά κάθε λογής,
όσο μπορείς πιο άφθονα ηδονικά μυρωδικά·
σε πόλεις Αιγυπτιακές πολλές να πας,
να μάθεις και να μάθεις απ' τους σπουδασμένους.

Πάντα στον νου σου νάχεις την Ιθάκη.
Το φθάσιμον εκεί είν' ο προορισμός σου.
Αλλά μη βιάζεις το ταξίδι διόλου.
Καλλίτερα χρόνια πολλά να διαρκέσει·
και γέρος πια ν' αράξεις στο νησί,
πλούσιος με όσα κέρδισες στον δρόμο,
μη προσδοκώντας πλούτη να σε δώσει η Ιθάκη.

Η Ιθάκη σ' έδωσε το ωραίο ταξίδι.
Χωρίς αυτήν δεν θάβγαινες στον δρόμο.
Αλλο δεν έχει να σε δώσει πια.

Κι αν πτωχική την βρεις, η Ιθάκη δεν σε γέλασε.
Ετσι σοφός που έγινες, με τόση πείρα,
ήδη θα το κατάλαβες η Ιθάκες τι σημαίνουν.

Κωνσταντίνος Π. Καβάφης (1911)

M asked me, 'What colour do you think I am?'

I wasn't surprised by her question. Young M once described to me how Valentina Igoshina's rendition of Chopin's Tristesse made her feel like a shower of sparkles had been sprinkled above her, "the music is like 'whoosh'" she said articulating her delicate ballerina hand above her.

I looked at her, her almond shaped face, long black hair, clear fair skin. 'You are blue. The kind of blue that brings a feeling of calm and tranquillity. But its a lighter shade of blue, light because it is a youthful shade of blue; not young like baby blue, yet lighter than the normal shade.'

I closed my eyes and pictured the colour emanating from her, "its also like the colour of clear blue sea on a sunny day, it has softness and fluidity, at the same time profound and curious." "Blue, that's your colour." I smiled, pleased with my answer.

"And I?" I asked.

M gave me a thoughtful look, she seemed to know but wasn't sure, hesitating, she needed to think again.

Before she told me, I already know my colour, I am bright red, or orange of flames, with my passion and impulsiveness, I am the fire sign, my chinese name is made up of four fire and a sun.

"You are black." She said, to my surprise.

"Black?"

"Yes black." She didn't burst out laughing, its not a joke.

"I'd like to hear why. I've always thought I am red." I smiled. M always have very good reasons of her own.

"I know red seemed like the obvious answer. But you are not red. You are more than red. You were red once, when I first met you, there was wild fire shooting out from every pore. But now you are black, metallic black, like a bar of iron that has been smelted under hot fire and has now cooled to black. But it is a glowing black, the outer shell has cooled but the inner core which is hidden is still glowing red."

"You were lighter then, when I first met you, more rash and flamboyant. But now you are heavier, and harder, with more steel, but less approachable, like black. But inside, its still warm and glowing."

I nodded along with her answer. Black then will be my colour, metallic black.

440am, that was the time the phone showed. I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep again, but I can't, and I know I cannot anymore. All I can think of was the old face I saw in the mirror; the last image I saw before I opened my eyes.

I was playing football with a few friends. It was strangely at night, I've never played football at night. Then I remembered how I started playing at night. I was looking for a particular friend out in a field when I found out that he was playing football and so I joined in. On my team were a few friends, grown ups my age, and also a kid.

I felt all the anger and competitiveness I usually feel when I play football, there was scarcely any joy. On two occasions our opponents scored, because the goalkeeper, the kid, was wandering around off his line. I got so angry that I went up to him and slapped him hard a few times on his face, he had round cheeks; they became rounder and redder instantly. I remembered the anger diffusing and turning into guilt instead when the kid looked at me in shock and started crying.

We continued to play and I was afraid, I was afraid that the kid would tell my team mates that I'd slapped him; I felt bad because I had hurt him. I had a sudden urge to want to make up to him, to want to redeem myself. Suddenly I was playing the role of a striker, and the kid was just behind me, he made a shot and the keeper saved, I slid in from behind to try to rescue the ball and pass to the kid, all I could think of was getting him the chance to score. He did, I felt happy that he felt happy. We celebrated together, there was still no joy, only relief. And then they all disappeared.

I was alone at the football court, walking in crutches, the football court was empty, I shouted out, 'hello', and asked if my friends were here. Silence. The football court appeared almost exactly like how it was; almost, like a place that looks almost exactly like how it was 10 years ago, the form is there but the cracks appear on closer looking; the paint more dull, even duller because in your memories it had a more intense colour.

I walked slowly across the football court towards the dressing room, I passed by a door which had a list of rules, like the ones you usually have in a gym; I read the rules and smiled, they sounded more like moral rules. I rested my crutches and washed my hands, I stared into the mirror. An older face peered into me, not so old like 80s, maybe 50s; his hair was still black, but the wrinkles were there. I looked deep into his eyes and they looked right back at me.

How lonely these eyes are! I thought to myself. And then I awoke.

Dear tango friends old and new,

When I first thought of returning to Singapore in August 2010 to teach tango and organize milongas, I was not sure how the reaction would be. I told Esthee - studio UP owner - with whom I was discussing, "never fear, the tangueros will come!" Then as the time neared to December 2010, the date of travelling, the lukewarm response and various feedback made me realise I was maybe too haughty and took my reputation for granted. I remembered on reading one of the publicity emails, Jean-Michel told me, "the email only has pricing and no class details, makes me feel like you only want my money." I was resting too much on my laurels.

Truth be told, two years ago in 2008, when I conducted the first series of workshops I was more excited, younger, filled with more crazy, can-do energy. This time round I was calmer and less ambitious. So as the workshops start date loom and the response was still around 15s, I consoled myself; a smaller class might be more beneficial and more fun to conduct. And even if the milonga attendance are below 20, I would have a nicer time dancing with whoever turned up.

Come 1st week of December, my "Milonguero's Cadencia" had 36 students, of which around 10 of them were walk-ins! I was taken aback by this great number. That class was the least satisfactorily conducted one in my opinion. Nevertheless Su-Lynn and I learnt from the mistakes and came up with different strategies, henceforth we would meet 3 hours per week to discuss the class structure and material. The 'UP' way of walking, where everyone would start from the studio entrance and walk across the mirror towards the window was a strategy that we came up with, to resolve students moving backwards and stepping into other people.

The December milongas were encouraging, yet the energy of the crowd was difficult to control. Of course Amanda did an excellent job being the DJ. She had a romantic contrast to my more energetic music, which gives the night more depth. The Friday nights cumulated in the Christmas Eve Milonga where we saw the attendance of over 40 people. With Colin and Vivien being the last pair standing, dancing till 430am in the morning.

The Sunday practica had a surprising energy. The numbers were around 22 average. But unlike the Friday milonga where there might be tandas where the majority of the people just sit and chat; during the practica, there was almost never an empty dance floor. That is why in Feb 2011, I decided to swap Friday night milonga to Sunday tea dance and Sunday practica to Friday.

The biggest and most pleasant surprise was, surprisingly, provided by Wei Tang. Through his ballroom contacts he managed to round up a bunch of complete beginners and I gave this group of beginners, who include Gary, Jerry, Jolene, Jody, Lydia and May Lin etc, group lessons that started from absolutely zero. The transformation was amazing, in February 2011, during my Farewell Milonga most of the students were on the floor with a comfortable embrace and plain simple walking. They had provided the most joy and satisfaction. As the students were constant hence the bonds formed in this class were much stronger. They gave Su-Lynn and I the ultimate class gift, a DVD of class videos and pictures and well-wishes from individual students: Something I made too for Royce and Jean-Michel, my first tango teachers.

January I took a short break in Greece and I was back in February 2011. In Greece, a strangely wonderful idea dawned on me, that I wanted to see some dear tango friends of mine from overseas - Leonel and Florencia, Jean-Michel and Royce - and the best way is to invite all of them to Singapore. And so negotiations and arrangements began in earnest. 'Milonguendo Con Los Amigos' was born (Partying with Friends)

February 2011 flew by. It was already a short month, then there was Chinese New Year. The 'I am going away' effect was quite strong; people rushed to book classes. On the busiest day I gave 8.5hrs of private lessons. More than half the time was to Japanese. I remembered Misae and Chiharu, and the nervous Ryu. I was explaining to Ryu about the Japanese sensibilities and how he should overcome them to dance tango because it is causing him to be shy of the physical embrace, when I was starting the talk, Misae said, "Yes now listen to him, he is a Japanese culture expert." We had a good laugh, I thought I knew the Japanese, but they are so much more; Misae, Chiharu they showed me that the Japanese had as much heart as anyone, in fact more profound and more refined, they just needed to overcome the shyness.

The last weekend ended with a bang, the 'Milongueando Con Los Amigos'. The korean couple was well-loved, their class averaged around 35 people, and the first two classes had exact guy-girl ratio, even though the registration one day before showed twice as many girls to guys. The two milongas were DJ-ed by Royce, and she controlled the crowd perfectly. She was impressed by the change in the local tango scene, "now the dancers are much more choosy, they recognize the famous songs and more dancers dance them, if the songs are not famous, less people will go down on the dancefloor. People used to dance indiscreetly to whatever music." The Farewell Milonga at Seven, Iluma had 88 tangueros attending!

Of 'los amigos' - 'The Friends', Leonel and Florencia were busy teaching and getting ready for the performance, Royce was busy Dj-ing, Jean-Michel was recovering from his endless work in India, Su-Lynn and How Meng were busy helping me out, I was busy with the organizing. Leonel remarked at the end of everything, "we should have called it 'Trabajando con Los Amigos' (Working with Friends)" Yes I forgot, we should have had a night where we went to someone else's milonga and just enjoyed dancing... well that's something for next time.

I want to end this last note with a big thank you list; First of all to James and Irene, who had been there to support not just me but almost all the activities of the Singapore tango scene; you guys are the true milonguero and milonguera. To Wei Tang who brought together the surprise package of my trip. To the Tango in Spring students, you guys are the surprise package, you guys are my dearest students thus far. To Amanda and Tian Haw, you guys are the most promising DJ Singapore have... we haven't exchanged music! To Valerie and Kar-Su, may you guys always have love and tango. To Jean-Michel and Royce, I'll see you real soon, in or outside of tango. To Leonel and Florencia for coming to Singapore with so much goodwill and on such short notice, we had lots of fun, we will go to other's milonga next time. Lastly and most importantly to Su-Lynn and How Meng; How Meng, you should lead the practicas and think about giving some beginners class. Su-Lynn my dance shined because you were the shining star.

Singapore tangueros, thank you for all the fun in December and February. Keep up the dancing and may we meet again. Let's hope this is just a cortina; Till the next tanda!

Dear tango friends,

For the final week of Feb, as the finale for the ‘Alma Porteña’ workshops, we have invited Leonel and Florencia from Seoul (their website here) to teach and perform on 25th – 27th Feb. Jean-Michel and Royce will be joining us as special guests; Royce will be the guest DJ for the milonga on Saturday.

My tango journey started with Jean-Michel and Royce in 2005. They were the ones that introduced me to the wonders of an intimate tango embrace. Their style is milonguero, subtle, musical and most of all, they dance amazing milonga. Royce is often invited to overseas tango festivals, such as Hong Kong, Seoul, etc, as a guest DJ. What they have taught me in tango still has deep influence in my dance.

Towards the end of year 2008 I met another special couple, this time in Buenos Aires – Leonel and Florencia. We shared similar ideals in tango and we had a hell of a great time living together for 2 weeks in the apartment of Jean-Michel in Buenos Aires. Since then, they have opened a tango school in Seoul and have been teaching and organizing regional tango festivals.

What better way to end this; a reunion of old and new tango friends; laughing, sharing and connecting through the dance that brought us all together- tango: Milongueando Con Los Amigos.
a warm tango embrace,
Isaac

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PROGRAM

Saturday, 26th Feb
2pm - 330pm: Tango Milonguero
330pm - 5pm: Men and Women’s Technique
9pm - 2am: Milonga*

*Special Guest DJ – Royce Chau. Plus performance by Leonel and Florencia of Seoul.

Sunday, 27th Feb
2pm - 330pm: Giros and Enrosques
330pm - 5pm: Tango Fantasia
5pm - 830pm: Tea Dance**

**Special Guest DJ – Leonel.

VENUE
UP Studio @ 79B Tanjong Pagar Road

PRICES

Walk-in
Classes: $35
Milonga: $18
Tea-Dance: $12

Combos***
Combo Milonguero: All 4 classes, milonga and tea-dance for only $120 (Instead of $173)
Combo Fundamentals: 2 Saturday classes for only $60 (Instead of $70)

***All participants of December 2010 and February 2011 Isaac’s Alma Porteña classes will get a further 10% discount.

Dear tango friends,

Here we are again, we took a short break in Jan 2011, and let's continue in the month of Feb. Due to Chinese New Year and a special program called Milongueando con Los Amigos in the last week of Feb, we will only have 3 Friday and 3 Sunday classes.

Also now, Friday nights we'll have the practica and Sunday afternoons we'll have the milonga.

The Friday classes are suitable for all levels. The Sunday classes are for tango dancers who already have a comfortable embrace and walk comfortably in close embrace. Due to the popular response and feedback from the December workshops, we’ve decided to cap the Friday classes to 25 students and Sunday classes to 20 students for the February workshops.

To register, just send me an email isaachoyenyang@gmail.com indicating the classes, milongas or practicas you want to participate!

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TIMINGS

FRIDAYS (11,18 and 25 of Feb)
Class: 830pm-10pm (All levels)
Practica: 10pm-12am

SUNDAYS (6, 13 and 20 of Feb)
Class: 3pm-430pm (Intermediate/ Advance)
Milonga: 430pm-8pm

*Special Lambadazouk Class all Feb Sundays 2pm-3pm
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PROGRAM

FRIDAY
11th Feb – Embrace, Connection and Rhythm.
All the fundamentals you need to make tango the dance of romance that lasts for three minutes.

18th Feb – Cross, Stop and Passovers
Whisper a cross, slow down to a stop and enjoy a quiet moment.

Feb 25th – Ochos and Calesita
Learn how to lead pivots and make the woman look and feel beautiful.

SUNDAY
6th Feb – Attacking to the Beat of D’Arienzo
We’ll explore the musicality of D’Arienzo and other rhythmic tangos with some energetic tango moves.

13th Feb – Milonga Lisa and Traspie
More milonga tricks from the milongueros.

20th Feb – Paint a Beautiful Picture with Pugliese
Discover the pauses and the variations of the dramatic Pugliese tangos.

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PRICES

Walk-In
-Tango class: $28 per person per class
Guided practica: $10 per person per practica
-Private class: $120 per hour ($90 if 4 privates or more. Not including studio rental)
-Milonga entrance: $15 per person per entrance

SPECIAL COMBOS (Sign Up Before 4th Feb)
-Combo Alma Porteña: All classes + All milongas + All practicas for only $175 (instead of $296)
-Combo Estudiante: All Friday Classes and practica for only $95 (instead of $114)
-Combo Danzarin: All milongas for only $40 (instead of $60)

Men's Special
If you get a guy who is a complete beginner or dancing less than 6 months, to signup for any of the Combos, each of you will get 30mins of free private class.

Dear tangueros,

After two years of absence, I'm finally coming back to sunny Singapore! This time, I'll be bringing back the same authentic tango milonguero of the traditional milongas of Buenos Aires.

Classes, milongas and practicas at UP studio*! December 2010 promises to be a month where you will fall in love with tango over and over again.

I'm touching down 30th of November and getting right into the action. Here are the class, milongas and practica timings. All activities will be at UP Studio.

Check out the workshop Facebook page forr all the latest.

a warm tango embrace,
Isaac
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Timings

Fridays (First 4 weeks of Dec)
Class: 9pm - 10pm (All levels)
Milongas: 10pm - 2am

Sundays (First 4 weeks of Dec)
Class: 4pm - 530pm (Theme based** - All levels)
Practica: 530pm - 730pm

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Program

Friday
3rd Dec - Cadencia: The Milonguero’s Groove
Discover how to express your emotions and music with just your body.

10th Dec- Ochos: Sweet and Spicy Figure 8
Make her melt with sweetness or delight her with your naughtiness.

17th Dec- Ocho cortado: The Milonguero’s Bread and Butter
No social dancer is complete without mastering this move.

24th Dec- Giros: The Tightest Turns
Now both of you can giro anytime, anywhere you want!

Sunday
5th Dec - Lapiz: Painting The Music With Your Feet
One of the most elegant and beautiful tango moves.

12th Dec- The Melodic Sacada
Enjoy an intense moment together with the melodic sacada.

19th Dec- Fancy Milonga Tricks
Make your lady laugh with moves that are creative, humorous and bold.

26th Dec- Enrosques: Twists In Turns
Create a beautiful effect while you twist and the lady turns.

PS: I'll be teaching beginners Lambadazouk too in UP! Learn to move your hips brazilian style!!
Class: Sundays 3pm - 4pm

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Prices

Walk-In
Tango class: $28 per person per class
Guided practica: $10 per person per practica
Private class: $120 per hour ($90 if 4 privates or more. Not including studio rental)
Milonga entrance: $15 per person per entrance

Special Combos (Sign Up Before 30 Nov)
Combo Osvaldo Pugliese: All classes + All milongas + All practicas for only $195 (instead of $325)
Combo Carlos Di Sarli: All classes for only $180 (instead of $225)
Combo Juan D'Arienzo: 4 Friday Classes for only $100 (instead of $112)

Men's Special
If you get a guy who is a complete beginner or dancing less than 6 months, to signup for any of the Combos, each of you will get 30mins of free private class.

"Most days of the year are unremarkable. They begin and they end with no lasting memory made in between. Most days have no impact on the course of a life."
- 500 Days of Summer

"Any life, however long and complicated it may be, actually consists of a single moment - the moment when a man knows forever more who he is."
- A Biography of Tadeo Isidoro Cruz, Borges J.L.

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On my 28th year old birthday, I had a small dinner gathering. The people present were Javier my tango teacher, Adriana my Spanish teacher, Bichy, Vanessa, Lionel and Flor. And if there were others, then I cannot remember who.

I was asked what my birthday wish was. On that day, after 27 birthdays, I have finally made my first meaningful wish; it was not to be smarter, better looking, richer, healthier etc, as I consider myself either to be sufficient in those areas or I can attained them on my own, thus rendering it not as a wish to God.

This was my wish to God that day, and I am certain this will continue to be my wish for all future birthdays to come: more time. More time not in the sense of less busy, but more time in the sense of more time alive; As I am infinitely aware of the brevity of life and the richness of things to learn and experience.

Fast forward two years later, two months ago, during a philosophy discussion, my philosophical friend explained to me Heidegger's concept of 'event time': Time is not linear, but has different density. Time is concentrated at the moments when significant events occur.

Ask the man on the street what is time based on, he'll say, "hours and minutes." What is 'hours and minutes' based on, one would ultimately come to the conclusion that it is based on the rotational motion of Earth and the revolutionary motion of Earth around the Sun. Hence there is 365 days in a year, 24 hours in a day, 60 minutes in an hour: Standardized modern time.

Yet not everyone on this Earth receives 12 hours of day and 12 hours of night. Buenos Aires where I am now is pitch dark by 6pm and the day does not break till 8am. And one day Earth would stop revolving around the Sun. Does that mean that time does not exist anymore? The conclusion we can draw from this is 'Time is arbitrary.'

Man then is the best measure of time. Why does 30 years old sound so daunting? Why does 18 years old hold so much promise? Why do people celebrate 100 years of life? Why does the passing of the birthday hold such significance if yesterday and the tomorrow we age at the same rate? If humans do not exist then does time still exist? And even if it does, does it still matter? Take human history for example; these last 3000 years of recorded time hold more significance to the billions of years of universe history and the billions of years to come.

The remark made by my philosophical friend made me think of this; the years of World War II 1939 to 1945 can be considered more concentrated time than the years before and the years after, because everyone remembers only these years of the war. Like iron fillings concentrated and the north and south poles of a magnet. Time is non-linear and has its concentration at the significant events which are recorded by memory.

A man's time is never measured by his sleeping hours of which he had no significant memory, instead by his most memorable hours of the day when he is awake. The time that you had lived, are defined by your past memories. You are as old as you can remember; your life is as long as you can remember. And your life is as worthy as the memorable experiences you accumulated.

My first memory was when I was just a little child, before I went to kindergarten so before I was 4 years old; I was sitting in the living room of my old house in Bedok, I was counting; from one to a hundred. I remember the resolution I had in myself to count out loud in English, starting from one and ending in a hundred. I remember accomplishing the task and in all pride I shouted to my mom who was in the kitchen, younger than 34 at that time, "I did it!"

Some would say they had not lived, as they search back and try to remember the time they lived, they could not find much. Yet some lived till only 35 but had so many events in their lives so much memories, that they would have felt like they had lived a hundred years.

And how terrible is it! When one day you forget it all! As if you look back and you had not lived. I remember my late grandmother, who in her last years called me her brother and my father had became hers.

Some, like me, travel through time, through their memories, we become young again and then old again; we stretch and compress time. Sometimes, my all childhood years are remembered in an instant; sometimes I remember every second of the first ten minutes of football match when I was 14 years old; sometimes I even slow it down when I recall every single detail of the first girl I fell in love with.

I recently saw the movie 'The Jacket' and the main protagonist did a little time travelling, into the future to change his present. It was never clear whether it was real time travelling or was it just a manipulation of memory. But one thing is for sure, for us humans, we do not live by the constant ticking of minutes and hours; our time, that we can stretch, prolong and also waste is determined by the significant events that happen to us, that we make happen...

I don't know if God would grant me my wish, but I do know that I could make the time I have more dense, more concentrated; if only I can remember my life better... and make my life more memorable.

- For she who made me realised the modes of silogistic arguments are necessarily 256.

As told to me by Bente and Ernst over dinner, the loving couple from Denmark to whom I had the good fortune to teach tango.

- For The Other Oriental Listener That Night
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One morning Kierkegaard (Soren Kierkegaard, Danish philosopher, 1813 - 1855) woke up, it was a warm sunny morning and it occurred to Kierkegaard that it was a fine idea to visit the beautiful forest that is about 30 minutes horseride away from his home.

Lying on his bed, peering out the window, inside Kierkegaard's mind, he imagined the beautiful golden sun, olive green trees, idle birds chirping, light fragrance of the summer flowers and the warm breeze that he will feel tenderly caressing his face. Kierkegaard was filled with this incredible yearning and passion to visit the forest. Such was his urge that he jumped right out of bed, put on his clothes and leaped unto his horse and sped along the trail towards the forest.

As the horse galloped towards the forest, halfway on the journey, small but irritating doubts began to creep into Kierkegaard's mind. He began to wonder if the forest would be as beautiful as he had imagined it. Already the sun's golden rays did not look as golden as the golden rays of the image his mind conjured. What if the birds would not sing? The trees not abundant with olive green leaves? The flowers not as fragrant and the breeze not as gentle? Would not then the great passion and yearn he felt this morning, this great desire that had brought such great power to act in him turn instantly into the greatest disappointment?

Finally just as he was 5 minutes away from the forest, just as he was about to reach it, Kierkegaard stopped; the doubt was too great and he was finally convinced that the real forest that he was about to see would never be as beautiful as the forest he had imagined just 30 mins ago in bed; at least there is no way he could guarantee it. He would rather possess eternally and surely this incredibly beautiful image he had in mind, than face the possibility of a cruel ugly reality and disappointment.

Kierkegaard turned his horse around and rode back home.