I've been told that I have a face that encourages people to talk to me. In fact, it encourages people to spill their guts to me. So I've been told. And so I've experienced. Today was one of those experiences. My dance instructor spilled her life story into my lap. I haven't been able to stop thinking about her.
She is a presence, a whirlwind of a presence. She flies into class all decked out for belly dancing: two piece outfits with form-fitting bras and flowy harem pants, scarves, jewelry, a jingly coin belt, full make up, exotic perfume. She speaks quickly, promising to tone our lady parts, slim our torsos, and strengthen our cores. Turning the music up loudly enough to irritate the class next door, we dance. In fact, we dance so enthusiastically as we follow her lead, that one of the ladies flipped herself smack onto the floor today. (She's fine.) The whole time the teacher encourages us to smile, to feel the music, to express the joy and the freedom of the dance.
She's talking to me, an arthritic old fat lady in shorts and a t-shirt, like I'm the next Shakira.
She believes in us. She loves shaking us up, literally and figuratively. Because she knows where she came from, and now so do I.
R. was a chef in Singapore at the Hilton Hotel. I remember being in Singapore, and indeed, that was a very prestigious hotel and she must have been a very important person. Maybe so, she said, but she was miserable, depressed and hated her life. This little woman I now know was once 300 pounds. Every movement was a chore. All day on her feet was torture. She was the brunt of every joke ever told in that kitchen and in her social life. Being overweight in America is difficult enough. But to be that obese in an Asian country where small is the norm, she was an oddity and people did not hide their comments and contempt. Every day brought new humiliation, and she could not stand her life. So, she decided to end it.
When she's teaching us a stomach roll, I stare at R's belly to understand the move. She has an ugly scar that is exposed by the outfits she wears. I assumed she'd had surgery. No. That's a self-inflicted wound. In a rage, in a fit of anger and hatred for herself, she began stabbing at her ugly body, determined to kill the ugliness she believed was her. By the time she was taken to the hospital, she had torn the body she hated into pieces and was on the verge of death.
R. will tell you she saw God. He told her that her life wasn't over. She had more to do on this Earth and He was sending her back to do it. After thirty days in the hospital she was released to nothing. No job. No friends. Nothing but the determination to figure out how to live and do what God had planned for her.
R. found a job in a small café and began to work on herself. She studied dance. She studied the body and how it worked. She became certified to teach dance, and she took her skills to other women who needed to learn to free their bodies through dance. She ate a strict vegetarian diet. She rented time at a dance studio where she worked out her frustrations and practiced rebuilding her life. She traveled to other countries to study dance, Cuba being one of them (she'd noticed my Havana t-shirt that day). Women around the world were changed as she taught them the freedom of dance. It took her four years, but she lost the extra weight. She has a body that is imperfect enough that we oldsters are able to trust her to teach us, but it is healthy and just perfect for R. She married a military man who brought her to America and to us.
Belly dancing class is on hiatus until January. If you'd like to join the winter Belly Fit class, registration at the Senior Center is open until December 22.
Dance is for everybody. I believe that the dance came from the people and that it should always be delivered back to the people
If we danced and shared music, we’d be too busy en-joy-in’ life to start a war.
