What if—for just a minute in time—space could collapse onto one’s feet? 

We imagine it to be nothing less than stellar: fingers wrestling to draw constellations, each twist of a limb a shy away from a comet, or the sway of hips pulling fragments into rings—or the trace of an orbit, centering something that feels so hot, so big, and so great to describe. There is a mystique born from the nothingness we know, shaped by whatever force compels us to understand its origins. 

We watch a little more like a spell, and everything in its surrealism falls into place with the rhythmic funk of a beat. Yes, this is a space on stage. There is a performance. And on Earth, it is a reminder that what we are always bearing witness to is but the wonders of humans in motion. Yes, this is dance, and it is a joy—one older than any gesture we’ve ever made to show, to mean, and to be. It’s quite spiritual, relational, and almost celestial: a physical art form that speaks sequentially beyond and within words. 

Yet, it is not enough: for many, to dance alone is lacking. It must be ranked and labeled, to be crucified by a determined ideal of greatness. It is culture against culture, resource against resource. Despite this, neither a loss nor a win implies the worth of the dancer and their dance. This is where it becomes perplexing. In a world where art is struggle and artists struggle, what is there to gain from pitting art against one another?

This is the question that casts a shadow behind two probinsyanas, Sam, a 2nd year AB Communication student, and Kim, a 3rd year BS Psychology student, as they took the World of Dance (WOD) 2025’s  Los Angeles stage with the Company of Ateneo Dancers (CADs) last July. Each of their steps were weighted with love and lessons from the memories of a summer that made them reach for a star in spite of the circumstances they had to overcome.

Above so below

Sam has danced in every city she’s ever lived in. With roots in San Pablo city, she had spent her childhood attending schools as close to Metro Manila as the University of Santo Tomas and as far south as De La Salle Lipa. It’s mere hours before her flight, and there’s still a list of things on her mind. “I don’t remember [when it started to get serious],” she confesses, believing that the drive to dance has long been innate to her as she regularly took summer classes and workshops. If she was motivated by anything, it was definitely because of being a fan of the K-pop group, BTS, as she liked to follow their choreography and take inspiration from their fusion of dance genres. 

Sam notes that opportunities to dance in the province were always limited, only recalling competing in class-wide competitions or being part of the non-competing dance club. As she got older, some opportunities arose, but resources were scarce. There wasn’t even adequate space to practice. Thus, as captain of her senior high school’s dance team, she would hold sessions in public parks. 

With beginnings as a dancer from General Santos, Kim knew that limited opportunities for dance weren’t just isolated to Luzon. Despite an interest in dancing shared between her and her sister, a commitment to taking classes in the summer, and a spark for joining performances in their high school, Kim felt that her passion was often underused. “We didn’t have a dance team in my high school since it was really small,” she shared. “And we weren’t very art-focused either.” 

Despite already being dealt odds stacked against them, both dancers continued to pursue dance. Eventually, as their paths in Ateneo de Manila University crossed with CADs, both navigated a feeling of inferiority in being less experienced than their peers. Sam expressed, “I was so envious of the experiences na naririnig ko from my peers—na they were able to compete, let’s say, [in] Dance Supremacy or WOD, or other local competitions.” With funding limited, she contrasted this to an instance where they weren’t permitted to attend a dance competition in Metro Manila despite members offering to shoulder the costs themselves. 

On the other hand, Kim found herself thrust into an entirely different world when she moved to Manila with possibilities she had never imagined back home. “Compared to what I was used to growing up,” she recounts, “I got into learning more about the dance community and the [dance] environment here in Manila.” With that knowledge came a deeper hunger: to grow, to belong, and to make every moment count. “I’m never gonna dance like this again after college,” she admitted, aware of the finite nature of her time in CADs, “Because after college, I aspire to be [a doctor].”

With their hopes and aspirations from their youth shaping the backdrop of their journey, Sam and Kim faced unique challenges after being selected for the WOD street dance unit, earning the championship title, and setting their sights on Los Angeles.

Taking flight

Though Kim had been a member for two years, the last academic year marked her and Sam’s first time competing, with their debut on the international stage being this year’s WOD. This, however, was no simple feat to get near to. From October 2024 to May 2025, both she and Sam trained relentlessly, not just for WOD, but for a series of local competitions and events. These events and their training sessions, sparingly spaced away from one another, demanded both discipline and heart as dancers and as students.

The training for WOD 2025 took place during the start and peak of the Intersession period, from June to the first weeks of July. For most members, this meant balancing a 5PM to 9PM training session every weekday and an optional training session every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday. As for Sam and Kim, who didn’t have Intersession classes, it meant putting their plans to return home on hold while leading the charge in crowdfunding efforts to cover their organization’s anticipated expenses for WOD. With this responsibility came hurdles with gaining visibility and support for their activities, especially with fewer students taking up Intersession, making it hard to hold onsite fundraising events. When asked, Sam shared that as a  newbie, she is very grateful to Mia, her Minicon-head, and to Kim, the overseer, who was like a ‘savior’ and was attentive throughout the whole campaign.

As both leaned on each other for support, they also grappled with the personal consequences of the individual sacrifices they made along the way.

Sam, who lived with two roommates, had to shoulder more of her share of the rent and utilities. Kim, aside from these expenses, had to deal with a minor injury that required routine medical care. Moreover, as a junior, she made the choice to focus on WOD and put a hold on reviewing for the National Medical Admission Test (NMAT). Both had to put family and friend commitments on hold, missing out on moments with the very people who gave them strength and guidance. Nonetheless, both felt deeply understood and supported by the people closest to them, who recognized the passion behind what they were doing.

To Sam, this is a performance she can’t regret as it is one she dedicates towards everything and everyone she had sacrificed to get there. “Mas mabigat pa nga yung pressure na mararamdaman mo sa mga tao[ng] sumusuporta sa iyo, kumpara sa magiging mga kalaban mo,” she adds, “Grabe yung nalagas na pera, [kundi oras din] tas ang mangyayari is… I wasn't able to give it my all man lang?” Kim echoes this determination: “I know I've done a lot to be here, and I think I really do deserve to have the position I'm in now because of how much effort I've put into this, not just personally or financially but also physically and emotionally.” 

Dancing in the starlight

Sat in silence, both thought long and hard before answering this question: “Why do you choose to dance competitively?” 

Dance is an art and a craft. Kim competes because she loves CADs, its community, and its captivating human, experience-driven storytelling that has always been worth fighting recognition for: “[Our pieces] really solidify the fact that dance is an art form [because of the] intention [to relate to it] and being able to put so much thought and love and care into everything [through a thought] process—it's really beautiful.” 

Dance is a collaboration. Sam credits CADs and the community for a lot of her growth as a person and dancer, but particularly recognizes that the opportunities it has given her have only made her grit and determination as a dancer grow stronger. She believes that competition provides a technical assessment of skills, but it also re-invigorates a dancer’s art and craft. Dancing competitively is a means to proving both her deep passion and grit. It's not just about impressing judges or fellow dancers. Rather, it’s about showing the people who support and care for her that all their sacrifices were not made in vain. Even if she isn’t the best on the stage, it matters to her that at least she knows she can match up to them, and while demonstrating the skills she has grown to have now.

As they stepped onto the WOD stage, Sam and Kim carried more than just choreography. They also carried the hopes of their organization, the Atenean dance community, and the wider dance scene in the Philippines. For Kim, the dream is clear: greater recognition of dancers as student-athletes, and the support and legitimacy that title brings. For Sam, it's a call for more opportunities in rural areas like where she grew up. With that in mind, she stresses that dance isn’t just a gift blessed for the chosen few, but a craft anyone can learn, given the chance.

The final countdown

And so, even as the love for this art is constantly tested—challenged by the rising cynicism toward the humanities that discourages art as a noble pursuit,  most especially in the face of waning funding by institutions and appreciation among the youth—we are reminded that the poets will write, the artists will create, and the dancers will dance. (Perhaps, it is because the Earth is small, but there is motion that is constant, magnetic, and free.)

Sam and Kim have since danced their way to Los Angeles where CADs proudly ranked 5th out of 83 teams worldwide in the championship round finals. As cliché as it sounds,  this is not the end for both dancers. They will continue to dance even as the world spins on—small, demanding, uncertain—in pursuit of heights once unseen from where they began. And in doing so, the stars will shine a little brighter in their cities—and all will be worthwhile.

Photo courtesy of World of Dance Philippines

‍

Raine Goco is an AB Communication sophomore attempting to beatify her not-so-saintly encounters in the heart of Metro Manila. She hopes to write as she thinks and as easy as she breathes, drawing everyone to the unique sensibilities of her words. Otherwise, you’ll find her lost in her digital wonderland, caught in a love-hate relationship with the Internet. Find more of her words on Instagram and Substack: @navelgracer