To the brim I boiled and shot

This was a very eventful week. There was a fest that I participated. Since almost a year and a half, since I have moved to Bangalore and started engaging myself in questions of academic gravity, I gave up on things like debates, dances, theatre etc. But everytime I looked at the big stage in the world class auditorium, I wanted the spotlight on me and big photographs the very next day highlighting every pixel of my graceful poise in tragedy. Somehow, I never summoned enough energy and courage to actually make an effort. But, this fest was for all. The whole class. So, we all had to participate. Somewhere in the middle the steam was running off but they all pulled me in back. I finalny debated after a long gap on topics like "Animals should go to beauty parlors and spas". It didn't matter. We fought. I fought. Words just bubbled out and I was ecstatic. Not me. Not the me since the academic passivity. It was like a catharsis. I wanted to be sarcastic. I wanted to see the opponent shut her mouth. I wanted to laugh at her publicly. Everybody in that big audi heard me. I was out again.
On the other hand, dance has never been my favorite activity because my body is way too rigid. But, when we ran up those stairs like a huge carnival, a chinese dragon fiery, I was again someone else. We danced, I danced. Every moment of the harsh yellow light and cheering I enjoyed. We were wild. We were young. I was younger, wilder and shouting. I was the old mother of Ezeulu, the mother of the chief priest of village and these were all mine, not children exactly.
Probably, reading and writing more and not indulging in such performing arts has its own advantages but I realised that I need both of them. I am a wild child and I should not stop myself from apparent foolish, naive celebration of sadistic, fierce, extreme emotions of sorrow, pleasure from defeat and instinct to dominate. I savored every inch.