RV60: A Performance of Change
Wushu Mass Display
Photo credits to Sun Han Chen and RV Photography Club
When the announcement first came, everyone hated it. At least, I know I did. But today, as I write this article, I feel rather proud of all that we have achieved since November. It never occurred to me that RVians, including myself, were capable of putting up such a spectacular display. Sure, the lions were good, the dragons were beautiful, and the Tai Chi was amazing. Everyone seemed to play an important and “cool” role in RV60, everyone but the people from "立化拳". To ourselves, we were the most insignificant and unimportant people – those without talents and made to do Wushu just because everyone had to have a role. Initially, the rehearsals did nothing to trample this mindset. Every rehearsal, there would be little pockets of spaces indicating people who had skipped the rehearsal. We relied heavily on the juniors at the front to guide us into remembering what we had to do, and when the coach chastised the whole lot of us, she chastised the seniors. The fact that we tended to leave during water breaks didn’t help, neither did the fact that, at every rehearsal, the coach was faced with a sea of fresh, new faces of seniors who were clueless about what was going on. If I were to describe my experience during Wushu rehearsals, I would summarise it in two words: irritating confusion. There were many changes that we had to adapt to. We had to finalise the formation, memorise the moves and know where to stand or where to run, etc. Those many changes were exasperating, particularly at 3.30pm when everyone was tired and dreaming of home like never before. We were confused and frustrated, partly because of the many changes, partly because we could not hear what the person on stage was saying, and partly because we weren’t listening anyway. One finale became two, two became one finale and one grand finale eventually became the “running thing” and finale. Despite the changes, our dependence on the juniors at the front remained constant, and whatever uncertainty we had was clarified with “Aiya, just follow the juniors lah!” Eventually, we came to be more familiar with what we had to do. Eventually, we stopped running off during breaks and stayed throughout the entire rehearsals. Eventually, we became more adaptable, filling in the gaps left by people who were absent. Eventually, we took pride in what we were doing, and believed that our performance was just as spectacular and important as others. The complaints never went away, but at least, “This is so stupid” metamorphosed into “I think we actually don’t look too bad.” The RV spirit, however, only truly surfaced during the preview. Instead of whining, we said, “Hey! Let’s shout together!” People who never came for rehearsals showed up. We shouted instructions to them during the finale to ensure that they were aware of what to do. Instead of slumping at the end of the finale, we clapped along with the music that signalled the end of the mass display. We applauded one another, reassured one another and encouraged one another. RV60 didn’t change us to be better individuals. Instead, it brought out the RV spirit that was already in us, prompting us to support one another for the ultimate success of the night. It rained on the rehearsal after the preview – our last rehearsal before the big day. As we took shelter at the grandstand, we murmured amongst ourselves about what would happen if the weather was unkind on the actual day. Just then, I heard someone remark, “I’d still perform even if it rained on RV60.” At that moment, I felt as though the raindrops had become diamonds that encapsulated the RV Spirit, and at that moment, I realised that even before the actual performance, RV60 was already a success