Point. Point what?
Flex. Huh? Oh my god! What are you doing?????????
Arabesque. Attitude. Tendu. Chasse. Wait, I know this… come on legs. Yes, you do. Now move! Er, what am I supposed to do with the hands???
That was me and my body trying to communicate with each other during the jazz technique class tonight. That’s right! Watch out world. The dance phenomena has returned, carrying five months’ of rust and extra pounds around her waist, hips and bums, and a fat mentality. Her hands and legs have developed a disconnect and refused to get along. And her body is screaming WHAT ARE YOU DOING???
What am I doing? I’ve started dancing again or at least, took the first step to get to the point of dancing. No, not memorising a series of choreographed steps to music. I’m talking about dancing.
A time when I am in the zone, when consciousness and sub-consciousness become a blissful blur; when my body flexes and points without fighting with me; when I am free of constraints, fears of making a fool of myself in front of others, of not getting it due to a lack of formal technical training, of getting the wrong counts, of missing steps. A place where I can be anyone I want to be. Proud and free.
I was very far from the zone tonight but I enjoyed the class, my first in 5 months. I frowned at my inability to co-ordinate my hands and legs like I once did; I laughed at how silly I look trying too hard; I blushed when the teacher called my name to guide me along. I perspired, worked my body, tried to mentally scrap off the rust as quickly as I could; I debated furiously with my body parts from limbs to hips to back muscles that I am not mad, cajoled them to wake up from the hibernation I put them through in the past 5 months. Reluctantly but surely, I felt them responding.
During a drill where we were supposed to execute a series of steps, I struggled to keep up. I kept missing the counts, had no control over my feet and hands, always a few steps behind, tentative. At one point my teacher said to me,”Trust yourself. Commit.”
Yes. I used to dance freely and I trusted me. I would dare to commit to a double pirouette, an axle jump and a pencil turn, even if I know I have not yet perfected them consistently. Yes, I am not formally trained but that doesn’t stop me from dancing, something I love to do.
Tonight I was touched by that glimmer of hope and felt the excitement of taking to the floor again. Trust yourself. Commit. This is the stage for me to regain the trust in my body and free my mind, to create a space where I am free to be. It will be done.