Those are some of the dearest moments of my childhood: the exquisite glee and butterflies in my tummy while performing some rudimentary choreographed routine with a lumpia in each hand, like tiny batons for that little girl. And when the song was over, applause would erupt from the edges of the party, and then I’d bite and crunch all the lumpia I could. Why did I somehow forget that elation, those dances, when I was fourteen?
