Love of Movement

Tonight, I got double fulls for the first time.

It’s one of the tricks I told myself that, once I got them, I would be able to rest easy and stop tricking.

That was a complete lie. I’m not about to stop tricking.

Perhaps it was related to getting a double full, but I had a thought about dance that I posted on Tim Tang’s Facebook Group, Insight. I said “All movement is dance.” I had immediate misgivings about the way I phrased it as I took a shower and added a comment to clarify. As it turns out, I had it backwards. All movement can be dance, but not all movement is dance.

Movement is everywhere. The arc of an arrow in flight, the vibrations of an atom, a ballerina’s elegant, pointed toes. I realized that there is nothing to differentiate the radiation signature of a red dwarf star from the ballerina – all just molecules. What really makes it different is that someone appreciates the ballerina. Not to say that no one appreciates the star. Actually, someone does appreciate the star and its radiation signature.

That’s what makes dance different. The human element. The human appreciation of movement. This appreciation is what makes sports entertaining. This appreciation is what makes the arc of a rocket as it escapes Earth’s orbit a beautiful, man-made gift to the heavens. This appreciation is what makes bboying, ballet, and tango irresistible and captivating to watch. As the music moves us through time, the dancers move through space. It’s why they call it a “movement” in music composition, is it not?

Maybe I am alone in this nearly universal appreciation of movement. After all, I am the only person I know who will stare at an iMac’s screensaver for over ten minutes, mesmerized. I played with Google’s bouncy bubble logo for 45 minutes. I have a witness to my weirdness.

But if anything, I think I’m just an extreme case. Everyone has some sort of appreciation of movement, unavoidably. Everything in our universe is in a state of change. So while you admire the football player’s charge toward the endzone, you may equally enjoy the wild stallion’s charge through a racing river, and the sure, rolling thunder of a bowling ball headed for a strike. A dancer may duck and dodge like a football player, charge like a stallion, or even roll like a bowling ball. Even if you don’t appreciate the similarity the dancer will. She will appreciate the movement that she is trying to bring to life for you.

Try. Please. For your own sake. The entire world, and every instant we spend in it, is full of opportunities for enjoyment and amazement. And it’s all in the appreciation of movement, whatever that movement may be called. I’ve been calling it dance, but I’m beginning to think that there might be a better term.

What would you call it?

Beautiful Pain

     I’ve been meditating and, perhaps more importantly, journaling almost every day, and I’ve made some realizations, but none so visceral as the beautiful pain I felt tonight after I attempted choreographing.

     As a dancer, I feel like I’ve reached a limit. I can learn to do other peoples’ dances, but it is almost consistently at the same level. I can feel the ceiling. Not that I couldn’t overcome it by grinding at it by learning other peoples’ dances, but there’s something else much more effective that I could do.

     Absolute failure. That’s what I can do. As I struggled to cobble something, anything, together to limp along with the music, I felt my inadequacy so strongly that I literally started trash talking my reflection. I couldn’t understand why I was so bad at remembering the movements I had just made. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t think of concepts ahead of time. I just. Could. Not. Understand.

     I have not felt this kind of self-hatred since I started tricking.

     It is painful. But it is beautiful at the same time. This kind of failure is what makes life worth living – knowing that what I want to do and what I can do are so far apart. Not only knowing it, but demonstrating it to myself over and over, like driving a screwdriver into my clavicle and twisting.

     I’ve missed this. I need this. I need this everywhere in my life.

One Thing

There’s something called Curly’s Law, which you can use to succeed in anything. It’s simple, really: Do One Thing.

Unfortunately, I’m not very good at doing one thing.

This is an understatement. Even when I sit still to think my life out, I can only bring it down to three to five items. They are as follows: Dance, Game, Restaurant, Languages, and Act.

Dance, because I don’t think I can stop. Game because I want to start a video game company. Restaurant because I want to open some sort of concept restaurant. Languages because I enjoy learning languages. Acting because there is a grievous mark on my soul. However, the main focus are the first three.

I sat down and meditated to figure this out after I went on a walkabout/dancestroll. I was distracted by how cool I thought I looked XD – we are on the outskirts of a storm, winds were whipping my bandanna around, and I was meditating on a concrete outcropping.

Peacock.

But all in all, it was productive. I’m rethinking my teaching English in Korea after I graduate. I don’t think it fits with any of my goals, or teaches me anything I can use to reach them better. Instead, I might run away to California to work for In-N-Out Burger and dance with the crews out there. That is, if I’m good enough. I just have to fit the video games in somehow…

I guess there is just One Thing I can be good at – Life, and loving it. I can’t help but feel it’s all up from here.

Small Tired

Five seven.

Kinda skinny.

Lithe, you could call him, if you were feeling pretentious. He doesn’t take up much space, hedged into the crevice before his laptop.

Chicago, I can’t afford you, he begins to write, and then deletes it all. He looks at the poptart, so near and tempting, imagines it toasted and slathered with Nutella, and then imagines eating it when the sun has risen. It would be a better use of resources.

His eyes feel dry. Well, just one, really, but it’s enough to make him close them as he types. He thinks about his decision to stay away from his home, the place of his birth, and the love-family-place. Is it a mistake? Maybe. But he’s used to making high stake mistakes and the wreckage it leaves his body in. Just not now.

Now he is just tired. And thinking about money makes him feel small.

Chicago, I cannot afford you.

His eyes are closed again, thinking about what he can’t afford. He can’t afford the gear he has bought for motorcycle lessons. He can’t afford the groceries he has just purchased. He can’t afford to keep holding on to things, but he hasn’t yet learned how to let go.

All he can afford is his small-tired mind and the reflections of a window where nobody will find him. He can, at the very least, afford to dance where no one will see.

Every Day is Worth Writing About

I just had a friend tell me that every day is worth writing about. This is something I can agree with, so today begins a new experiment. I’m going to try to write something in this blog at the end of every day – summation or random thoughts, or, most likely, a combination of the two.

Yesterday never really ended. I spent a long time talking to a friend last night until the birds started chirping. I learned that not everybody is looking out for me, and though that’s for granted, I expected it at least from the people I called friends. That was depressing. That, along with various issues I’ve had with people. My Chinese name means benevolence and I try to live up to it. I don’t know why anyone would have issue with me, but it’s something I need to try to understand and overcome.

So instead of sleeping, I commenced wandering around outside and made my way to a gas station, where I waited to meet up with some friends around 5:30AM. We made our way back to their place, where we just talked and I helped Audrey study until 8AM. When the sun came out, it felt like all my troubles dissipated with the night.

I went home, fully intending to do work, and then passed out until 11am, missing out on Jason Hsieh dance battling his Physics 211 professor. I was late to my dance class and tanked a choreography, but by the end it wasn’t so bad. I have a showing for it tomorrow at 11.

Two of my friends from class joined me for free food at the AACC. The food was late, and when it arrived, it really wasn’t that good. Poor quality sushi from a Vietnamese restaurant. Yes, you and I are both confused about that, because sushi doesn’t come from Vietnam.

Class class class…went home and passed out for five hours, missing dinner and the first half hour of a group meeting for an oral exam. We finished the script and Mike was kind enough to buy me a drink and a hamburger from late night. I finished downloading something using the high speed connection in the dorms, and then I headed back here (my apartment) to do laundry and, ostensibly, work.

Laundry, check. Work? Never. I plan to head over to Don’s place to get some work done, actually.

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Dance. An Update.

Dance.

I’ve come a long way this semester. And yet, it seems I’ve come no closer to my goals.

I set out this semester knowing I was going to be investing myself more and more into dance. Bboying, tricking, and choreography. I was supposed to become battle ready in breaking and tricking, and learn how to learn choreographies thoroughly and accurately.

I failed at all of these.

Tricking: I learned how to injure myself and what fear is useful for. I learned that, even if you’re in the air only for fractions of a second, you still have to learn to be patient and wait. I probably picked up or solidified a few tricks that I hadn’t otherwise been able to do, but nothing meaningful.

Bboying: I learned that windmills hurt your ass. I can say though, on good days, that I have solid windmills. I learned the kickstep, the hip twist, the samba variation, and various toprock, but no downrock.

Choreographies: I learned a lot of choreographies very badly this semester. I learned that people think that I learn choreography very quickly, which is strange to me, because I feel as though I don’t. I learned that choreography is a skill as much as windmills are a skill, and my skill with choreography is pretty bad.

On the upside, I learned that there are two ways to approach dance. There’s the visual method, which is common, as it is easily accessible through visual spectacle, and then there’s the choreographic method, which focuses more on the dancer and how he or she feels. I might be wrong with that label, though, so I’ll call it the kinetic method.

The visual method is what I’m used to learning by rote in choreographies – to look a certain way at the right times in the music. When I’m watching a dance or practicing with a mirror, it’s about what the dance looks like.

The kinetic method is what comes naturally to me when I’m dancing for the sake of dance. I close my eyes and just do what I feel like at the moment. What comes next is determined by a combination of my mind, body, and music at the time.

As a tricker, I need both. When I watch a video of a trick, I need to see what’s happening – what goes where at what stage in the move. But on the other hand, if I can’t feel how the trick should be executed, the momentum won’t pull me through at the right times, or I won’t spin as fast as I need to, or jump as high.

Perhaps the most important thing I learned this semester I only learned recently, after speaking with my friends, who are the much-admired dancers in my life. Being a good dancer is subjective. So when the bboys in Planet Bboy say that they are bringing their sense of beauty to the world, that is exactly what they are doing.

I should do the same, but in order to do so I have to truly know what dance looks and feels like in my body. I have to develop my own unique sense of what dance is.

That’s my mission now.

UIUC AAA Fashion Show

It’s been a few days since the AAA Fashion show ruined my life. My life has been somewhat in a disarray.

I bought $263.99 worth of merchandise for the show with the intention of returning it. Then my credit card information was stolen and my account shut down. During the week leading up to Fashion Show, I was basically either in practice or asleep. I uncharacteristically spent a great deal of money on going out to eat, clothes, and liquor, and it’s biting me in the ass.

School has suffered, but that’s always the first casualty.

I learned a lot, though. I learned that people coming together for something is almost, by itself, a worthy cause. I learned that I am not alone in my independence. I learned that meeting new people is something I still enjoy. I learned that I learn very, very fast.

But not fast enough. In terms of dance, I learn quickly, but there are glaring mistakes. I don’t get the timing correct. I can’t learn as quickly as I needed to. There are things I could have done to improve my learning speed that I didn’t have the time, energy, or motivation to do, like running choreographies in my head.

Again, I got myself into something way over my head unintentionally. Twelve choreographies in a month was too big of a task. I guess that is my lot in life – to try and fail. But then, we fail until we succeed, and then we pick something else to fail at, yeah? I just haven’t stuck at anything long enough to succeed…

Ah well. Applying for Head Coord for next year. Updates to come!

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Life of Dance

BBoys on the Street in Front of the Midtown Li...
Image by kk+ via Flickr

“Life is Dance. Dance is Life.”

Coming out of a seven hour marathon of street jazz dance sessions followed by a long conversation about life, dance, and hopes for the future, there is a hesitant ring of truth in those words as I sound them out in my head. Hesitant because I don’t know where dance will lead me, or even what dance is, exactly. Hesitant because I don’t know where my place is in dance, or what I can do. True nonetheless, because Life is Dance.

It’s frightening to see something that you truly want, that resonates with your every cell, and calls to you, bleary eyed, in the middle of the night. It’s frightening to think that we might be able to do it.

I wonder what might happen if I pursued dance like so many of my friends are afraid to. Dance is our plan B, our plan C, some knock it down to plan Z, and we live our lives reaching, but never leaping.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about balance in life. A little bit of this, a little bit of that, a nine to five job, steady pay, a life of relative comfort. Being able to buy what I want. But all I want is a few very specific things, and I can’t buy them.

And one of them is Dance.

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February Dance Reactions

Dance Journey Final Performance 25

Twitter version:

  • 7:30 – Show more or less beginning. I hope I won’t regret this. Modern dance really isn’t my thing.
  • 8:00 – Oh god, kill me. Another hour and a half of this? I wish I had brought my laptop.
  • 8:01 – People discussing the “meaning” of the “piece.” This ain’t dance. I call bullshit.
  • 8:30 – Well, this one isn’t bad. Perhaps there is hope.
  • 9:00 – It’s crunch time! Time for the flash mob dance!
  • 9:01 – NOT KNOWING THE CHOREOGRAPHY FAILLLLL
  • 9:02 – POORLY TIMED UNNECESSARY FLIP FAIL

I’ll be sure to post the video of our flash mob dance when it goes up!

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