My first ever fiction:
Incomodo
I realized I hadn't been breathing and sucked air slowly into my lungs, so as to not show my panic at the realization. When I didn't know what to do with my face, I involuntarily smiled. I hated it, but I couldn't change my face, no matter how aware I was of it and how inappropriate it was for the setting we were in.
The dance teacher said, "dale," and I knew it meant it was time for something else, but I didn't know where to place my body or how. Or what to do with my face. I tried glancing at the others in the class. As everyone sat down cross-legged, I made sure to sit in a way that showed it was my own idea. "Oh yes, I planned on sitting too, obvio." I straightened one leg and tucked the other one in so as to say "look, I am not copying. I am doing my own thing. I'm comfortable here." But I wasn't comfortable and all this thinking was making me tired.
I was performing for no one. My audience was my own perception of others' perception of me. No one was looking at me. I knew this, but I continued on with that heightened sensibility that comes from an audience. My heart beat faster and I kept forgetting to breathe.
The teacher described the next set of movements. The only word I picked up was "infinito."
Is she talking about infinity? Like, philosophically? Or is this a specific dance instruction? I never know with her, her language is so damn flowery. How am I supposed to tell these things? If I interrupt for clarification it'll ruin the flow of the class. I know this. I've done it. Just see what the others are doing and figure it out as you go. This is good for you. Get out of your shell a bit. Get out of your damn head.
I step into the corner of the room, in line with the others. The teacher stands facing us. Each one of us takes turns moving in any way that occurs to us, while making eye contact with the teacher. "What movement will I make? Do I make the same movement each time? Should my movements be decided by what the other students are doing? How can I get this smile off my face?"
The exercise starts and each time it is my turn to confront the teacher I am thinking of everything at once. "Breathe. Control your face. Do something interesting, but don't stand out too much. Don't laugh. See what the others are doing and do something like it, but don't look like you are doing what they're doing. Ok, a simple spin. I've been doing this spin too many times, I'll switch it up to a clap. Oh god, clapping and making eye contact feels like I need to erase my existence from history, try something else. Back to the spin. Oh no, too many spins, she is probably noticing. What are other people doing?
This time I'll do a dip. Can't use any of my go-to dance moves from gradeschool. I put my hand up on your hip. Twerking with my little 10 year old body back when we called it juking. Yeah, definitely don't do that. I wonder if it would be considered vulgar here? Just don't do it, you'll stand out too much. But do I try to do something salsa-y? Or like some kind of Shakira belly dance? I know the teacher's dad is Egyptian. I'm going to come off as laughable if I try to pull off something like that. My sense of these kinds of dances have the depth of a cartoon. I can imagine someone from here trying to twerk like they see on American TV. That would be funny. Ha. So, what do I do then? I can't be who I was, I can't yet be who I'm going to be. Ah shit, it's my turn again and I haven't thought of anything. I do a belly dance move. Ah, just kill me please. Just get through this. Let this song end. Who am I praying to exactly? Just remember to breathe, at least. Stay alive."
The teacher puts the students in the receiving position. It's now my turn. As each dancer comes up to me and moves in front of me, looking me in the eye, I panic. My face. Oh god my face. I am trying to control my smile with closed lips but my mouth just keeps moving up and up my face until it is right under my nose. Where do I put my hands? Behind my back? No, that's terrible and everyone sees it. Just put your hands to the side. Act normal. What does normal look like again? No, I know they aren't looking, but it still feels like they are looking. No, they're definitely not looking.
Now my teacher comes up to me, looks me right in the eye reflects my ridiculous face back at me with her mouth just up under her nose. In less than the time it takes to have a conscious thought I think, all at once: she has been looking, erase yourself from history now, stop smiling, change your face. And then I laugh out loud, acknowledging what she is communicating to me while I drown in my prison of thoughts.
At the end of this first class, she asks the group to reflect on how the experience was for them. "Comodo. Comfortable," people were saying as she went around the room. "What in the hell?" I thought. "INcomodo," I found myself saying, when it was my turn, without first thinking it through. The instructor looked a little horrified. Did I make some kind of faux pas? At this point, who cares. I am so tired of thinking. "I don't know if I'm using the right word. For me, in order to learn something new, you have to be at least a little bit, uncomfortable." They all smile. Relief. They were feeling it too, but the culture here is too polite to say such a thing. Maybe that's who I am here. The one who says what others only think. Lending a moment of freedom to their prison.
Maybe I will twerk next week.
Incomodo
I realized I hadn't been breathing and sucked air slowly into my lungs, so as to not show my panic at the realization. When I didn't know what to do with my face, I involuntarily smiled. I hated it, but I couldn't change my face, no matter how aware I was of it and how inappropriate it was for the setting we were in.
The dance teacher said, "dale," and I knew it meant it was time for something else, but I didn't know where to place my body or how. Or what to do with my face. I tried glancing at the others in the class. As everyone sat down cross-legged, I made sure to sit in a way that showed it was my own idea. "Oh yes, I planned on sitting too, obvio." I straightened one leg and tucked the other one in so as to say "look, I am not copying. I am doing my own thing. I'm comfortable here." But I wasn't comfortable and all this thinking was making me tired.
I was performing for no one. My audience was my own perception of others' perception of me. No one was looking at me. I knew this, but I continued on with that heightened sensibility that comes from an audience. My heart beat faster and I kept forgetting to breathe.
The teacher described the next set of movements. The only word I picked up was "infinito."
Is she talking about infinity? Like, philosophically? Or is this a specific dance instruction? I never know with her, her language is so damn flowery. How am I supposed to tell these things? If I interrupt for clarification it'll ruin the flow of the class. I know this. I've done it. Just see what the others are doing and figure it out as you go. This is good for you. Get out of your shell a bit. Get out of your damn head.
I step into the corner of the room, in line with the others. The teacher stands facing us. Each one of us takes turns moving in any way that occurs to us, while making eye contact with the teacher. "What movement will I make? Do I make the same movement each time? Should my movements be decided by what the other students are doing? How can I get this smile off my face?"
The exercise starts and each time it is my turn to confront the teacher I am thinking of everything at once. "Breathe. Control your face. Do something interesting, but don't stand out too much. Don't laugh. See what the others are doing and do something like it, but don't look like you are doing what they're doing. Ok, a simple spin. I've been doing this spin too many times, I'll switch it up to a clap. Oh god, clapping and making eye contact feels like I need to erase my existence from history, try something else. Back to the spin. Oh no, too many spins, she is probably noticing. What are other people doing?
This time I'll do a dip. Can't use any of my go-to dance moves from gradeschool. I put my hand up on your hip. Twerking with my little 10 year old body back when we called it juking. Yeah, definitely don't do that. I wonder if it would be considered vulgar here? Just don't do it, you'll stand out too much. But do I try to do something salsa-y? Or like some kind of Shakira belly dance? I know the teacher's dad is Egyptian. I'm going to come off as laughable if I try to pull off something like that. My sense of these kinds of dances have the depth of a cartoon. I can imagine someone from here trying to twerk like they see on American TV. That would be funny. Ha. So, what do I do then? I can't be who I was, I can't yet be who I'm going to be. Ah shit, it's my turn again and I haven't thought of anything. I do a belly dance move. Ah, just kill me please. Just get through this. Let this song end. Who am I praying to exactly? Just remember to breathe, at least. Stay alive."
The teacher puts the students in the receiving position. It's now my turn. As each dancer comes up to me and moves in front of me, looking me in the eye, I panic. My face. Oh god my face. I am trying to control my smile with closed lips but my mouth just keeps moving up and up my face until it is right under my nose. Where do I put my hands? Behind my back? No, that's terrible and everyone sees it. Just put your hands to the side. Act normal. What does normal look like again? No, I know they aren't looking, but it still feels like they are looking. No, they're definitely not looking.
Now my teacher comes up to me, looks me right in the eye reflects my ridiculous face back at me with her mouth just up under her nose. In less than the time it takes to have a conscious thought I think, all at once: she has been looking, erase yourself from history now, stop smiling, change your face. And then I laugh out loud, acknowledging what she is communicating to me while I drown in my prison of thoughts.
At the end of this first class, she asks the group to reflect on how the experience was for them. "Comodo. Comfortable," people were saying as she went around the room. "What in the hell?" I thought. "INcomodo," I found myself saying, when it was my turn, without first thinking it through. The instructor looked a little horrified. Did I make some kind of faux pas? At this point, who cares. I am so tired of thinking. "I don't know if I'm using the right word. For me, in order to learn something new, you have to be at least a little bit, uncomfortable." They all smile. Relief. They were feeling it too, but the culture here is too polite to say such a thing. Maybe that's who I am here. The one who says what others only think. Lending a moment of freedom to their prison.
Maybe I will twerk next week.
