It's interesting how much of a person's character you can glean from observing dance lessons. Instructor always in front – which goes without saying, for practical purposes, resplendent in her hiphop glamour, and fast learners behind, slightly to the sides, comfortably pushing their bodies into ripples and practising complicated footwork with a subtle pride-- pride understandable simply because the slightest hint of pyschomotor problem deterred feet co-ordination. Most students, however, looked on with a stony silence, not hostile, or unpleasant, but because there was hardly any other expression they could assume. An awkward grin, perhaps, cheerful laughter when the instructor cracks a joke or does a cute action. That was mostly the extent of their emotions. Otherwise they followed steps methodically. But you could tell who was at ease with themselves.

Though back to the point. The girl in the centre of the room, face blank, hand occasionally reaching up to brush away an awkward lock of fringe – here alone, no pals to laugh off her self-consciousness with, a picture of seriousness smiling only shy smiles when the instructor has the rest of the class in an uproar of laughter. You could imagine towards dance she was really passionate, and she'd practise in the easy solitude of her home, slowly getting used to herself, and how she moves.

&then i stopped because i couldn't concentrate with all that thumping hiphop music which i can only appreciate when i'm either in clubs/dancing.