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Chapter 28
Many of my peers didn't understand my hobby, which was somewhat of a secret. They classified it as "strange" that I - a male teenager - danced. The commencement of high school was marked by two significant changes in my life: needing to get up 12 minutes earlier to catch the big kids bus and weekly evening dance practices. As I would sit at the lunch table and describe to my friends the exciting escapades of my rehearsals, I would be ridiculed by eavesdroppers at the adjacent tables. However, I simply did not care about their feelings towards my hobby, retorting words that reflected this outlook. I was not going to let anything stand in the way of my enjoyment of my Indian culture - one in which men and women alike move their bodies to lively songs.
Ever since I was physically able to imitate my sister's steps as she practiced her Indian classical dance, my legs have automatically energized at the sound of an upbeat tune. After my first public performance at the age of six, I learned that I enjoy displaying my abilities to people other than just my sister. I began to perform regularly at my local Indian community's annual cultural functions. Every fall I would run evening rehearsals, culminating in the annual Diwali function at the end of the season. Choreographing my dances was always a bit of a challenge, but it was one of the few challenges that I genuinely enjoyed.
During the fall of my freshman year, my friends and I began practicing for our performance at the year's function. As we spent countless hours in each others' basements devising unique steps, I allowed my creative side to overtake my typically composed countenance - I found myself immersed in the breathless flow of the music and the throb of the beat. Within months, our dance was complete, ready to be performed on the intimidating stage.
A week before the performance, the local newspaper ran a story advertising the show. Included in the article was a picture of my friends and me practicing our dance at a dress rehearsal. When I first saw the article, I was concerned. Would I have to endure even more ridicule during lunch now that there was a photograph to accompany my numerous stories? These nonsensical notions were soon followed by a surge of assurance, however, as I remembered that the opinions of others were immaterial in my pursuit of my culture; the support of my family and community was all I needed.
Soon, I was lined up backstage with my fellow dancers. As I heard the music roar to the last row of the auditorium, I made my entrance. As I approached the center of the stage, my legs oscillated from side to side while my arms wavered to the pulsating beat. The audience cheered riotously and my excitement intensified. As I powered through the overly rehearsed routine, I remembered the anxiety I felt as news of my culturally traditional hobby circulated around my school. It seemed petty compared to the jubilation I felt as I performed. I was energized by the audience, each shout-out pushing me to perform the next step with more oomph than the one before. I was relieved to see the spectacle my friends and I had choreographed being met with a positive response. I could not wait for the excitement I would relive when I returned the next year, drawing on the encouragement of those closest to me and celebrating the culture that has allowed me this pleasure.
Chapter 28
Many of my peers didn't understand my hobby, which was somewhat of a secret. They classified it as "strange" that I - a male teenager - danced. The commencement of high school was marked by two significant changes in my life: needing to get up 12 minutes earlier to catch the big kids bus and weekly evening dance practices. As I would sit at the lunch table and describe to my friends the exciting escapades of my rehearsals, I would be ridiculed by eavesdroppers at the adjacent tables. However, I simply did not care about their feelings towards my hobby, retorting words that reflected this outlook. I was not going to let anything stand in the way of my enjoyment of my Indian culture - one in which men and women alike move their bodies to lively songs.
Ever since I was physically able to imitate my sister's steps as she practiced her Indian classical dance, my legs have automatically energized at the sound of an upbeat tune. After my first public performance at the age of six, I learned that I enjoy displaying my abilities to people other than just my sister. I began to perform regularly at my local Indian community's annual cultural functions. Every fall I would run evening rehearsals, culminating in the annual Diwali function at the end of the season. Choreographing my dances was always a bit of a challenge, but it was one of the few challenges that I genuinely enjoyed.
During the fall of my freshman year, my friends and I began practicing for our performance at the year's function. As we spent countless hours in each others' basements devising unique steps, I allowed my creative side to overtake my typically composed countenance - I found myself immersed in the breathless flow of the music and the throb of the beat. Within months, our dance was complete, ready to be performed on the intimidating stage.
A week before the performance, the local newspaper ran a story advertising the show. Included in the article was a picture of my friends and me practicing our dance at a dress rehearsal. When I first saw the article, I was concerned. Would I have to endure even more ridicule during lunch now that there was a photograph to accompany my numerous stories? These nonsensical notions were soon followed by a surge of assurance, however, as I remembered that the opinions of others were immaterial in my pursuit of my culture; the support of my family and community was all I needed.
Soon, I was lined up backstage with my fellow dancers. As I heard the music roar to the last row of the auditorium, I made my entrance. As I approached the center of the stage, my legs oscillated from side to side while my arms wavered to the pulsating beat. The audience cheered riotously and my excitement intensified. As I powered through the overly rehearsed routine, I remembered the anxiety I felt as news of my culturally traditional hobby circulated around my school. It seemed petty compared to the jubilation I felt as I performed. I was energized by the audience, each shout-out pushing me to perform the next step with more oomph than the one before. I was relieved to see the spectacle my friends and I had choreographed being met with a positive response. I could not wait for the excitement I would relive when I returned the next year, drawing on the encouragement of those closest to me and celebrating the culture that has allowed me this pleasure.
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