I am a dancer. That is all there is to it. I do not look like the typical "Dancer". I am 5'2.5" tall. I am not a size 0. But dancing is what over 50% of my dreams are made of. What I think of when I look out a window. Hear music. Or see fireflies bobbing through a field as I lay watching the stars dance in the ethers in the arms of my love. Dancing is me.
I started dancing at age 3 in ballet class. Now, most little girls go through phases where they want to be a ballerina. I REALLY wanted to be a ballerina. I practiced and practiced. One day though, I realised as much as I practiced I was 15 years old in a tiny Oklahoma town. I rehearsed to VHS tapes in my living room. I had a ballet barre, but no real instruction besides what I had taught myself and two years way back when with Ballet Arkansas. I had won no competitions, done no internships and for heaven's sake I had boobs! I wasn't going to be a professional ballet dancer. I kept dancing, though. I still loved ballet. Until several injuries later and a bad car wreck. Then I faced another hard truth. My body in no way wanted me doing pointe. And so I quit. I physically was unable and with no instructor support was by now mentally unable, even to do basic floorwork.
This, however, is not the sob story of a wannabe ballet dancer. Or an actress. This is the story of a little girl. A little girl whose parents, as white and upper middle class as you could get, had very culturally diverse interests. The little girl's parents loved her very much, and took her with them almost everywhere they went. And every May the little girl's parents went to the Greek Food Festival in Little Rock, Arkansas, their then home. And there, the little girl saw a woman. The most beautiful woman she had ever seen. She had olive skin, dark hair, radiated joy and light, and wore a green costume. She was a Bellydancer. The little girl watched her, mesmerized, and thought to herself "That will be me one day."
And the little girl grew up. She did ballet. She had no opportunity to be like the beautiful woman. Until one day at 13 she came across a VHS of twin bellydancers. She bought it for her mother, for her birthday, because her mother had always loved bellydancers too. The VHS ended up sitting unused in its box, though. Then one day that summer, the little girl put the VHS in. And started learning the moves. And kept learning and kept learning, with books and videos, because lets face it, you don't really want to flash the fact around that you kinda like bellydancing around in a small Oklahoma town, much less can you find an instructor. She Googled and Youtubed. Alot. Then there she was, finally taking workshops with some of the most amazing dancers. But only for small periods of time. Days. Then she would go home. Back to her solitary dancer life.
She discovered that this was the dance she longed to do. This was the dance that never left her feeling like she was not good enough, or too fat. This dance left her feeling beautiful. Happy. Good even when she was bad. This was unsurpassed by anything; ballet, her other major creative outlet and college major; acting, nothing measured up to the feeling of bellydance. Until she met the love of her life, but that's another story for another time.
Bellydance was to her a beautiful lady, her other mother, her breath, her life. Even after a year of "being too busy" here she is. Back because she can't live without it.
The little girl is me. This is my story. This is my path back to my lady. This is my journey. Please hop on for the ride.
Ahlan Wa Sahlan
Elena
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