A year that felt like a decade

Today marks my official quarantine anniversary. On March 11th, 2020 an hour after I finished teaching my CSULA pilates class, I had just walked home and pulled out the midterms to grade when I got the email. We were officially closed for face to face instruction and were to move everything online asap. The following day was filled with zoom meetings with our department as well as with the various movement studios I taught at as we quickly tried to assess how to serve our students safely, effectively, and with care. It was a marathon of technology, conversations, and experimentation. Inequities came up immediately. Who had access to internet, who had a computer, who had space to move in, who had family members to take care of, who had alone time to focus on themselves, who had work, who didn’t have work, who had support, who had food, who had visas, who could stay in the country, who needed to leave asap with no idea if they would be able to continue their education…none of us knew what was about to unfold.

The grocery stores were out of paper products and cleaners as a community of people tried to comprehend what a pandemic meant. I picked up extra coffee, peanut butter, beans, rice, and a really large bottle of mescal. We cozied up and rearranged the house to facilitate our art productions at home. My home office became a film studio outfitted with full sound, wireless mic, multi-angle lighting, and cameras. I reworked my curriculum for smaller spaces with a heightened focus on self expression to help students self monitor and keep themselves safe and healthy. My partner shifted into past projects and reworking material that had gotten pushed aside. Out of concern for people’s mental health, I also took to instagram with daily workouts to keep people connected and moving. 22 days straight of dance, pilates, and HIIT.

Three weeks in, things started setting into a routine, an intense routine but none the less something that felt in control. I was finding new ways to produce my monthly haflas and was getting use to clearing things off the calendar as events slowly began cancelling further and further out. And then things started getting crazy. Gun sales skyrocketed as people prepared for potential mob rule. Cars drove through the neighborhood lighting things on fire and tossing small explosives out the window, and nightly we could hear gun shots in the distance. A month later on May 25th, George Floyd was murdered by Minneapolis police, and the wave of anger and injustice that had been mounting from our pandemic and generations of racism came crashing down. The streets were filled with our communities coming together in solidarity, in strength, in power. Curfews got earlier and earlier. Text announcements going out from public officials sometimes 10-15 minutes beforehand. Life felt so uncertain, both full of possibilities for great, much needed change as well as incredible fragility. Work was drying up fast. Spaces closing down. Classes cancelled. No events. No recordings. We hustled as the artists we are, but we were watching the life we knew evaporate in the summer heat.

As my semester finished and several studios closed, I started focusing on developing my Patreon school as a way to serve my students. Having this flexibility allowed me to offer a wide range of classes including lectures on music, history, culture, choreography, and more. My Patreon now has a library of several hundreds of classes on a variety of styles, techniques, and workouts. And after a few months I found my groove offering weekly live classes, private training, and a diverse curriculum. My students have grown and flourished, and it’s become a grounding force as well as constant inspiration. The power of community.

With all the creativity we started this quarantine, July brought some harsh lessons. So my little family of two cats, an enthusiastic puppy, and my partner and I packed up and left the city we had called home for over twenty years and found solace in the tranquil woods of western Washington with my parents. Disconnecting symbolically and literally was cathartic, heart breaking, and healing. Toes in the mossy forest floor, breathing in the fresh pine air, and playing cards laughing into the night. It was a much needed break and amazing gift to have that time with my family. I commuted into Tacoma to teach my Patreon classes (cuz very little internet in the woods) and continued my deep dive of reading, learning, and committing to social justice. It felt poetic to spend the election season in Western Washington, one of the most beautiful places on the planet, where I would drive by a confederate flag daily and was very aware of my “other”ness while in town. I grew up in this area as one of a very small group of Asian Americans. The deep divide of our country felt very tangible here.

Almost immediately after the election, my partner and I realized it was time to figure out how to get back to LA. With a renewed sense of purpose and focus, we returned to serve our communities in more grounded and expansive ways. And so just before the new year, we packed up a Uhaul and all the animals and made the trek back down the coast to our new little home in Long Beach.

It was time to take even bigger steps forward. I applied for a Masters in Arts in Art Management program at Claremont Graduate University and was accepted! I start this fall. My partner has already been apart of a wide range of recordings and new projects celebrating his music and ingenious creativity. All the fur babies have happily settled into our new home. And then on January 23rd, I found a swollen lymph node in my left arm pit. I had no signs of infection. It didn’t hurt. I pulled out my medical books and confirmed it was an axillary node connected to the breast. I made a phone doctor’s appointment. Within three minutes of talking to the doctor on the phone, he told me to hang up and immediately go into urgent care. This was at the height of covid numbers. The idea of going anywhere near a hospital stressed me out. But I did, double masked and gloved. Two days later I developed a lump in my left breast. And one week ago, I was officially diagnosed with stage 2 breast cancer.

So, here we are…changed in so many ways. And although the future is probably gonna get messier before it gets better, I will honestly say I’m grateful for it all. I have learned and grown so much, I have dug in deeper than I thought possible. This quarantine has not been a gift but it has allowed us to reexamine what is important and vital for making our lives the master pieces we want to create. And for that, I feel very blessed. More to learn, more to do, but first a deep exhale. We made it this far.

Education and Rebuilding

Most dance education has been a creative field outside of acedemia, and some of the most influential aspects of dance education happen in social spaces undocumented for the preservation for future generations and without the benefit of potentially wider accessibility. This is not a judgement but an observation as to how dance, a universal cultural expression and art, exists and is studied in spheres outside of educational study. Thus many dance educators that influence the introduction to cultural arts do not have a background in education, and our practices are commonly valued on experience versus research and examination. I am not referring to how cultural identity is passed between generations. I am talking specifically about dance studios and how cultural art forms are studied and passed along often without cultural identity or involvement. And this is where we must focus a light and understand how we integrate educational practices with intellectual humility and cultural representation as a potential experience to expand one’s own understanding of identity and compassion to differences and diversity.

We are in a social revolution learning about our history, recognizing our participation in potentially harmful practices, and acknowledging the privledge we have had to explore dance, create artistic expressions, and build community. Building on last month’s discussion about the self work involved in this, I wanted to spend some time focusing on the educators’ role and how we as teachers may rebuild with integrity.

Most begin with terminology. Representation and historical context is vital to how we use terminology. Understanding the legacies of our words allows us to communicate more clearly what we are teaching and from what context we are approaching the subject. I have been in countless conversations over the years about terminology. It is something I post about regularly. And it is the thing I get the most questions about currently. So I’m changing up the Learning Circle for March to focus specifically on three consecutive weeks of small group discussions about terms and unpacking their history and usage.

What I feel is a more foundational aspect to examine is the what and why. What are you teaching and why is it important to you? This is more than the course description. In a recent conversation with a fellow fusion dancer, we discovered what she was teaching was not the fusion form that labeled her classes but inclusion and empowerment. This immediately changed the attachment to the material as it had been taught and launched her into a whole new inspired way of looking at her what and why.

Doing this examination digs into the motivations of why are you teaching and clarifies your biases and attachments. Personally my motivations for teaching have grown and changed over the years. As a teen, it was a great way for me to refine what I knew and test my understanding with the main focus on what was physically possible. Maturity shows me that what I was truly motivated by was proving I existed and that I was worthy of doing so. Over the years, my focus turned to the embodiment and relationship we have with our own physicality. Teaching movement became a way I could help provide tools for my students to develop body awareness, self acceptance, and hopefully appreciation and celebration. This changed much of the way I organized my classes and courses, how I introduced new concepts, and what material I would put together. Doing this through cultural dance forms such as folk dance or raqs sharqi or even transcultural, gave us a way of experiencing universal human connection through movement while exploring potentially new ways to be, move, hear, and connect. The newness gave us the ability to explore our assumptions, comforts, and self imposed limitations. This understanding could expand our compassion to differences and hopefully build new ways to approach diversity with excitement. My what is self awareness for greater humanity and connection. My why is a devoted sense of service to our community out of gratitude and hope.

With a understanding of your motivations, how you restructure your material and what your material even is becomes much clearer. We can now take an honest look at how we have learned dance in the past, understand the filters it was presented through, and make thoughtful decisions as to how we navigate forward. Some elements should probably be left as apart of history. Nurture the things that were profound for you, but I caution us from attaching to the wrappings and not digging deeper to find the true core. A large majority of us will uncover racist, sexist, and/or colonialist concepts in our dance experience. You may not have known better then, but now you do. Go to the source. Study with native dancers. See what they are expressing as important and essential. Get feedback. As dance teachers, we have the ability to change how dance is experienced and passed down. Make sure you are apart of a lineage you are proud of. We are not perfect, but we can keep listening, learning, and doing the hard work to reassess and make sure our students get the best education we can offer.

Along those lines, I think it is important to understand where you are in the cultural bridge of education. I envision this as an actual bridge of stones from one shore to another. The stones closest to a shore are deeply embedded in that culture and are more specifically expressing and connecting to other people of that same culture. This means I am of service to mainly people of mix cultural backgrounds usually with a western foundation of understanding. My responsibility is to introduce concepts and arts to them in a way they can understand and lead them down the bridge to more direct cultural sources. I am not in competition with Native teachers. I am of service to them. Where are you in this process? Who are you speaking to? And where are you hoping to take your students?

A month to reflect, learn, and be inspired

February is Black History Month, and this year has a potential to reach more people in the wake of our recent social justice movements. Plus since we are still in quarantine, there are a plethora of events, resources, and programs available online for easier accessibility. I relished the inspiration of watching and listening to the Dance Theatre of Harlem’s 51st Anniversary Founders Week that happened last week including amazing conversations with dancers from over the years as well as the movers and shakers behind the scenes that helped build the legacy of DTH. Reclamation Ventures in Brooklyn has been doing an outstanding daily email of “28 Days of Black History” bringing thoughtful, provocative articles to my inbox everyday this month. Haymarket Books continues to offer profound talks featuring authors and social justice advocates tackling huge conversations with intelligence, dedication, and activism. Ibram X. Kendi and Keisha N. Blain came out with, “Four Hundred Souls: A Community History of African America. 1619-2019” at the beginning of this month. It’s a brilliant book written by ninety writers each examining 5 year increments of our history. It dives into history, culture, people, connections, and so much more you never knew existed and does so in a celebration of unity and diversity. And this month’s Qabila book club is exploring Cynthia J Becker’s “Blackness in Morocco: Gnawa Identity through Music and Visual Culture,” which is a great read. (Everyone is welcome to join this casual book club. More details HERE. )

There is a tremendous about to celebrate in Black History. But it comes with an understanding of the systemic racism that has restricted, harmed, and silenced so much of our Black communities. Here are three resources I whole heartedly recommend as tools to help understand our history, privilege, and how to grow forward.

First, I’m a huge fan of Brene Brown and feel like her “Unlocking Us” podcast has been one of the most inspiring and growing resources to come out this past year. This episode in particularly is something I want to share become it addresses a root issue of where we are and how we build forward~ dehumanization and accountability. Please take a listen and share your thoughts. Listen HERE.

Next, check out Baratude’s “How to Citizen”. Each episode is full of thought provoking talks about our current world and how we can build forward. It’s action oriented and about getting into the work of building strong communities and connections. It’s about how each of us make a difference. It’s inspiring and so much of the advocacy I hope we can nurture. Listen HERE.

Lastly, the Diversity and Resiliency Institute of El Paso has one of the best online programs I have taken tackling racism, bias, nuance, and complexity to develop an understanding of what it means to be anti-racist and how to be more involved in your own work and participation. They are offering another session with registration happening now. It’s only $5 (although they will accept donations), and I truly cannot recommend this program enough and will in fact to taking it again as a refresher. For more info, click HERE.

How are you celebrating Black History Month?