Dancing under the lights

"The fight is won or lost, far away from witnesses- behind the lines, in the gym, and out there on the road, long before I dance under those lights."
                                                                 -Muhammad Ali


       I am sitting in a brightly lit Coffee Bean, using the complimentary Wifi and blocking out the activity of the baristas and customers around me, blocking the aroma of coffee being ground and blended, blocking the shifting chairs scraping the floor, the drinks being slurped through purple straws, and mouths moving in inaudible flux. To be honest, I suppose I'm also blocking out the fact that I live out of bags and sleep on an orange couch (circa 1970) in a compact dance studio -blocking out the fact that my current dance partner has terminated our professional relationship because he was seeking a personal one.

      Now, in reality, the room I live in is the basement dance studio of a beautiful home in Whittier Hills. It's cute and cozy, but definitely not the Ritz Carlton. Bags strewn on the floors contain all my belongings and as I turn around this coffee shop and spot the sophisticated homeless man with his shopping cart parked outside, charging his Toshiba laptop, I can relate.

      Actually, recently I caught a break. I'm sure most can identify with this moment. When you throw your hands up in the air and thank the universe for gracing you with such good fortune. This could be in the form of a job, money, an offering, a partnership, training, an introduction, an apprenticeship, or sometimes clothed in the disguise of a calamity that brings you closer to your destiny. Whatever the method of delivery, the opportunity presents itself. However sometimes in the excitement, you don’t fully inspect the hand which grants you with such a gift and the giver becomes a representation of tribulation, aggression, oppression, distress, adversity, worry and vexation. And when the giver has ulterior intentions, the wave of gratitude and inspiration you felt is washed away by a feeling of helplessness; because in that moment, you feel a false desperation for that person. And you feel helpless because you’re balancing your self worth, how you should be treated, and pride against your future. You’re weighing out the price it takes to get to your dreams.

      This situation is becoming more and more familiar to a lot of us. Given the current economic crisis, employers and superiors in every field are taking advantage of their current state of limited power and have abused their authorities.

      So this causes me to ask the burning question: How much does one person have to give up in order to achieve their goals? Or more importantly-what does it take to achieve greatness? What defines greatness?

       Some of us have goals and dreams and some of us want to aspire to some form of greatness. But in the competition known as life, there can only be one winner, one great man, one great victor. And it’s hard to say exactly what it takes to be in the discussion for the best at what you do.

       I have adopted the notion that it is possible for flawed, broken beings full of limitless determination to struggle through the odds, and rise to greatness. That despite low incomes, closed doors, uncertain fates, abuse, slander and other negativity, there is an opportunity in every man’s life to take what’s been done to him and transform the ugliness into something beautiful. That in each of us, there is a chance to create the human being that was always meant to thrive, to create a life without inhibition, to nurture dreams with vigorous faith.

      I know I have a responsibility to see my vision to the finish line. To transcend past my circumstances and to realize I am defined only by what I believe... and I believe I am great. I was great before I strapped the laces of my dance shoes, I was great before I knew how to put speech to paper, great before I uttered these words or wrote this sentence. I stand unguarded to say nothing will stop me.  Come hell or high water, nothing can shake me. No events, no medals, no words own me or define me. I am transcendent. I have changed my life for the game and I will change the game, one step at a time. I will send ripples through dimensions and times of this sport.  No one moment, whisper, or event can hold me down.

      I'm getting in the ring, putting on the gloves, ready to fight. I'm putting time on the floor, in the gym, making the impossibilities, possibilities. I have won the battle far before I have danced under these lights. It's undeniable. It is my destiny.



“I am the greatest, I said that even before I knew I was.”
~ Muhammad Ali

Hollywood...If the Price is Right

  

   
    I have often wondered about price when it comes to not only being a citizen of the world, but of a particular city where everyone is skeptical when something seems too good or better yet, for free. Gilded offerings often come with invisible price tags hanging on the outside of them, hidden from the oblivious, naive jerk offs who have told themselves that there will not be any consequences for this transaction. 

    Take for instance, the ooooh so beautiful city of Hollywood where there is such a breed as what's called Hollywood kids. Now these are not actually children although they often act like them. These are grown adults who wear Armani sweaters and live in neighboring trendy cities in LA where they have been funded by mommy and daddy for ages. These H kids don't have jobs, but rather live on the coattails of their parents as they live out their dreams. In reality, they are community socialites living like “rock stars”, known by local clicks and able to walk into clubs with free bottle service and barely a flash of an ID. They are hipsters- trendy, fashionable, and walk amongst those who dwell in silicone valley and in the pockets of others, materialistic in their tastes and their choices of friends. They have created a parallel universe where what they have dreamed has been materialized on a delusional small scale, like mini mansions.

            These kids are one financial crisis away from being x-ed out of their social scene and will remain on the D-list for most of their careers. Now, there’s nothing wrong with living the lifestyle you choose, in the fashion you choose except, when the facade is damaging to the individual. These kids have been playing a role like an actor in a film, fabricating the person they have wanted to be. And, as the role has been rehearsed to perfection, over time the mask has become them. Suddenly, it is a mask no longer and the lines between who they are or strive to be and the mask itself, gets blurred. This is forgivable for a kid in their 20’s who is finding who they are but for a person in their 30’s and beyond, the chance to want more as an individual and the awareness of where you are going in life is blocked by this facade; because identity and self worth has become based on this disguise and now everything around the individual- sex, alcohol, superiority in any form, clothes, cars, jewelry are all a part of the person’s identity. 

    Take for example, the character I happened to run into at a local show in Santa Monica. Her skin was ebony, breasts up to her chin, black bob haircut wig, pinned down tight, voice resonating in high octaves, schooling me on Tres Locos and the local singer who had his fellow followers present him with the forbidden drink as he ate melted Reese's peanut butter cups from his fan's hands and compared the chocolatey goo in repulsive detail to acts of defecation. You could assume that this would have sent me running, but like a bystander of an amazing disaster I was stunned into auditory paralysis. She went on to tell me that she was upset because her authentic fur coat had been drenched by the numerous clumsy cups of brimmed alcohol and- did I know that all of  her friends had big voluptuous, natural, Double-D breasts, as she presented me her pair like a badge of honor, clunked her Christian Louboutin boots with their glorious red trademark soles on the chair next to ours for me to gawk at, and proceeded to point out how her bedazzled jewelry was real in comparison to mine which she could tell, were not. 

   I felt instantly bewildered like watching a pig that could talk but I could not put my finger on what was troubling me the most. I realized a week later, I wasn't uncomfortable because I felt that I did not belong, I was uncomfortable because I was naively oblivious to the fact, that it was apparent to everyone else, that I did not belong. These socialites could smell an alien in their midst, an outsider, a misfit.

    My needs for basic camaraderie had gone unfulfilled in an environment that was a safety net for these Hollywood kids to feel a sense of belonging. I experienced this feeling later on in the week with some of the dancers on DWTS at a local pub. Every person there knew I was not one of them, and that I hadn't paid my price of admission whether it was through social status or with monetary power in any form that would explain my reason for being there. And I will mention this as a brief side-note: women do get an admission card for sex appeal and looks but it ain't no lifetime membership. The currency of sex as an exchange for power, status, or money is a dangerous game for a woman to play, especially a rookie and has detrimental prospective costs in the aftermath. Anyhow, every person wanted admiration as desperate as the chump next to them, but each group expressed this in different ways, some behind the mask and some with a flash of something that gave them worth. Regardless of the method, these were all attempts to raise levels of self-esteem that were not there.

    In that moment, I evaluated what gave me self-esteem and what gave me worth. Worth for me, comes from competence and mastery of my tasks, my skills, and my dreams. I suppose I want admiration as well and I will not deny that it gives one a sense of power or a feeling of accomplishment or control when one does receive it. And sometimes, friend's attempts to help like Adam B are a relief and comfort but I could never truly embody my confidence as a human being through unmerited hand outs because there is a freedom in accomplishing through persistence and independence. Choosing to accept money, nice cars, easy lifestyles and end up paying the price of those concealed price tags is not an option. The price could be a life filled with apathetic friendships, soulless relationships, selling oneself and giving up on one's worth, and becoming so jaded one is blinded by his/her possibilities and potential.

     There is beauty in the struggle and the passionate desire to become more than what one is and to become everything that one is capable of being. The truth is that we are all “need junkies” with cravings that must be satisfied and should be satisfied. But, there are some things like paying the vital price of your ambitions that go far beyond the physiological and materialistic.

 There must be truth somewhere in the hearts of these Hollywood kids, but as for me I shall be an addition through subtraction. I shall judge my acceptance of myself not by the things I have... but for all the things which I am not.

Flowers through cracks of Concrete

Have the courage to be nobody but yourself, in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else, and that means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.
                       E.E. Cummings

    Driving down Hollywood on a Saturday night gives one the sense that life is this magnificent inflation of one's ever so delusional ego; and on the same note, a cold awareness of the lonely lost souls of this city somehow undercuts that elated emotion, serving you a bitter hypnotic taste of fabulous LA. Los Angeles is the type of city that promises greatness, fame, and excitement from the dread of being common- of being a "nobody."


    Now, don't get me wrong. I love being a citizen of LA. But this acquired high is reserved for those up for the game- the Who's down for whatever game. Whatever taking on the form of dancing, drinking, making out with porn stars, up and coming band members, self-important managers, dancers, actors, musicians, making out with anyone for that matter, drugs, sex, taboo conversations, late night eats and any other irresponsible entertaining behavior you can come up with.


    For an individual not to falter, you need to be grounded, disciplined and most  importantly have a strong sense of self. This is a hard thing to hold down in an environment rewarding approval for those down to play.

    As I walked around the overcrowded club filled with hollow bodies who had all checked their souls at the door, impatient bartenders serving up overpriced drinks, and cheap dresses draped on young women just waiting to whet the appetite of these carnivorous men, I couldn't help but wonder...is LA nothing more than some cheap revision of a raunchy MTV music video, where most Angelenos and aliens to LA have lost their dreams and their souls for self-gratification- filling a void with their bodies and voices and then disappearing into darkness, or was there still hope in the freedom of doing the work we love, living the truth of our individual philosophies and following the journey towards our personal dreams?


    Before the eventful club scene, I attended a beautiful union between two young women declaring their love for one another in the glamorous city of Beverly Hills.  There was music, dancing, but most importantly we were surrounded by the warmth and energy of love, friendship and support. The reception was inspiring and genuine, a commodity in these parts. I knew, like all the guests of this joining, that we were in the presence of truth, of love, and of emotional vulnerability that comes from a place of sincerity. These two courageous women were declaring their truth and living their personal philosophies.


On the other hand, the club and the people in it were a dichotomy to the qualities mentioned above and as I drove home early the next morning, I thought about how these two events epitomize choice in a land where anything is possible.


Ultimately, it is choice that guides our decisions, guides our experiences, guides our beliefs, guides who we become. What we believe can ultimately shape what we decide to do or not do. It will shape the opportunities we attract or don't attract. It will determine whether or not we can recognize opportunities when they do come along and whether or not we are ready and know what to do with them when they arrive.


I know LA to be my home, a place that holds great promise and excitement for the possibilities that I believe are true for me; and these conclusions come from a place of great vulnerability and love- a love not just created by me, but from friendships and connections, like flowers growing in cracks of concrete, that have pushed me and shown me the light when I was lost in darkness. One of the brides of this lovely wedding, Christina L, took me into her home for a few painful months in my life and inspired me to make the choices that have allowed me to create beauty and live the life I have always wanted to live. To be the dancer and writer of my dreams and to be courageous enough to dream in a ridiculous and grandiose fashion.


For me, doing the work you love means living your philosophy. It means putting your values to work by determining to make what you do, reflect who you really are. Doing what you love is the ultimate freedom and it's always a choice.

The magic of the city of LA is undeniable if you are inspired enough to see it. There are moments where I seem to find myself in places that are dark, fun and irresponsible and those decisions make life complicatedly light-hearted, thrillingly empty, divinely sinful and an array of more oxymorons that tickle the senses . But on Sunday morning, when I take off my clothes from the night before, put on my worn CSUN t-shirt, my favorite cotton grey one with the holes in it, (no other will do), give a kiss to my 4 dogs and 1 cat, pick an orange from the tree in my backyard to make a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, hear the lulling noises of my families slumbered breathing as I walk down the halls of my home, I know where I have journeyed from, the elements that make me me. I take my breakfast to my room and meditate on the amazing events of my life, the gratitude I have for being allowed another day, and reflect on the dreams that have slowly started to make their way into fruition.

Hero

This past Veteran's Day weekend  I got to thinking about people in my life, past and  present, living and deceased, that have impacted me. Some have done a great deal of good, and some have done a great deal of damage, but all of them have done one major thing...effect change. Change- the ever uncomfortable yet inevitable part of life that determines whether you will assimilate to your surroundings or perish.

As our heroes embark on journeys through the battle grounds of Afghanistan, and others that journey into the next life, it is us, the common civilians that must journey into ourselves for a bigger purpose, something grander to dedicate our lives to, and perhaps even be the heroes of our own lives.
For me, this means to live my dreams and be true to myself in the face of all adversity. To live my best life and strive to be the best version of myself. This is a challenge to live out with daily obstacles that test my choices and patience.

I have used my hurts, past anger, and insecurities as fuel so far, but I feel a change in me- a need to heal, a need to let go, a need to surrender into the next phase of my life.

Although, there are some benefits to using your sadness and anger as fuel for creation, creativity and motivation  that has become used up in me now, a baser form of myself I no longer wish to be. I have discovered a new emotion slowly conjuring itself to the surface- the emotion of love.

Now don't get me wrong and slowly start moving your cursor towards the red x to the right of your screen. I didn't turn on you and become a blubbering Teletubby mindless sack of joy. This is not a Brady Bunch, Stepford wife, or religious cult call of duty to love all things with plastic smiles and comatose brainwaves. No, this is a gentler form of seeing connections and positivity with awareness and creating a love for yourself where there was none.

 I have chosen to find myself worthy enough to give myself everything that I desire. To create a space where I can love and nurture my dreams and become the astounding person that dwells within me...that is me. This is not a stroking of an ego, or Narcissus falling into his reflection but a realization and appreciation for this life that I am allowed to live in this moment, in this dimension, in this space and time- to make a difference, create a ripple in this world if for no one else but myself. This moment I am living has been created by my ancestors, by my heroes, by the strength and example they have left behind to be something more, or to simply just be.


I hear the ringing of Roman, our 5'9, dirty blond, curly haired Russian Latin coach wearing my favorite version of his shiny blue polyester pants, yelling at me, "Natili' you must look expensive, you are expensive, look expensive for your audience on  the dance floor."

While he meant this in quite a literal way, I will take this on the dance floor as I muster up the strength and confidence to step into my first major competition this week. I will know that this competition does not define me because I already know how far I have come, I already know my worth. I know, that just getting on that dance floor means I have taken the opportunity my heroes and my veterans sacrificed to make this all possible. I will walk down that floor, my expensive shoulders drawn back, my eyes ablaze, my ancestors shadows behind me, bravely choereograping myself as the hero of this story.

Into The Woods

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.


       I'm writing this at the crack of dawn, the only time I could find a little bit of peace and quiet and I feel afraid. Not the kind of afraid that gives you the fight or flight feeling, just afraid of the particulars in my life. When I look around and realize that I have sacrificed my life for this dance sport. I have given up Sunday dinners with a family I don't have, given up decorating a Christmas tree with a husband that never existed, I am giving up toasting a meal with a group of friends I never made ties with. I'm afraid I will be so busy I won't have time for a family of my own, afraid to have a family because maybe I don't want one, afraid I will be alone, afraid I won't be good enough, afraid of some "hypothetical fight" because I might be dead wrong, afraid to get hurt, afraid to have my dreams crushed by reality, afraid to die, afraid to live fully- whatever the hell that means, afraid to publish this post because it may be absolutely irrelevant to the person reading it and mostly, I'm afraid to make the choice to do what I love in life.
 
       Having already taken the plunge, I have put myself on the line so completely, that if I fall it will be a long hard thud into reality. And nobody give me that speech about how reality is what you make it because it's not completely. You can't choose your family, financial crises call for people with dreams to take "real" jobs and ailments, tragedies, and catastrophes are constantly plaguing the unassuming man on his daily walk.

         Oh and did I mention that I got a "real" job. I know I shouldn't complain-in fact, I'm not. I mean, in this economy I GOT A JOB. This should be a statement of exuberance, and god knows  I'm lucky to have one, but a part of me feels chained, defeated. As if the subliminal part of my mind has said, good luck trying to get your dreams to become a reality. Because that's what real jobs do, don't they? They make you conform to comfortable living, a  home with a 2.5 bath, and a wailing child you kinda sorta didn't want.

       Ok.... perhaps I exaggerated a little. I'm sure those slimy, screaming messes are a joy to their parents but for me, I want to to live off the wings of my desires and passions for a little longer while I feel I can still run.

         And that is just what I think my dreams are there for-in case I need to run. Because aren't we all escaping something? Personally, I take two hits of rumba, one shot of samba and maybe a waltz to come down because dance is my drug-  the vehicle in which I leave my body.

      Take point example, when I need to run from the snot nosed, know it-all, livin' with his mama, steroid pumped imbecile I knew in high school who berated me about why I was working in this "dumpy gym" when he thought I had moved on to bigger and better things since I graduated.

        Yes, the past few weeks have been peppered with statements by dear friends with good intentions, who all have opinions that they would like to share and naturally, that I am obligated to listen to. Statements about what I should do with my life and how to make myself a better person, a better dancer, a better writer, a better instructor and so on. It's like being forced to get through a bad date with a socially ungraceful savant so completely unaware of the bile coming out of their mouth that all you want to do is muzzle them and call that precious waiter to slip the bill so you can get home and wash yourself of this moron forever.
I can't listen to anymore biased advice. I'm all for change, but...what the hell do they know?
     
          I know I have hit a low point. The pressure has had me down for a few weeks. This insecurity that I have chosen the wrong road. This crossroads in my journey where I have re-evaluated the path to my dreams. But I have concluded (at least for the moment),  that nothing else makes sense except to do whatever it takes to reach the end of my destination. The pain and struggle is the only thing that makes sense to me, the only way I know. And to be honest, I am becoming stronger about expanding this idea that I can trust myself to do whatever it takes. If I have to write during strange hours of the night, endure judgment by those who will never understand, have existential crises, constantly change my course of action, never achieve comfort, endure financial instability, never have stability, then that's what I'm gonna do. Reality it seems is what you make it but the particulars, oh the particulars you don't get to choose. That's where the hardships, suffering and challenges come in.

      But I have chosen my road, or perhaps it has chosen me. A very inspirational dancer told me about his hardships on his journey of dance, the odd jobs he had to take, the top coaches that told him he would never make it...oh, and did I mention that he and his wife are the American style Latin Champions. I suppose that all is possible, and that minor setbacks are only part of the journey, part of  the program that builds character. There are a million roads, but I have chosen mine and while the woods can become consuming I know one thing for sure- when the music plays, and I start to move, I close my eyes and I am home.
       

Independence Day

Strangely, I am siting in bed on Sunday morning...relaxing at 9:48 am watching some infomercial hack on KCET and feeling oddly normal. My days usually consist of waking up straight out of bed at 7 am, frantically trying to work in a run, preparing food for the day, tackling small chores and then heading to a dance studio in Hacienda Heights by 10am where I train till midnight-never fully enjoying daylight. This is my schedule everyday with a few variations and exceptions on locations and dance partners.
But today, I realize I have gotten to the end of my rope and need to recharge, reflect.
So I'm at home this July 4th, and not a huge fan of the bullshit 99 cent store paper plates, banners, and other decorative patriotic nonsense of Abraham Lincoln in costume character tipping a beer in one hand and giving me a thumbs up with the other.
Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against patriotism or being proud of your country (in its minimalist, non-bastardized, appropriate setting of course). Recently, I had a friend visit South Vietnam and I couldn't begin to tell you the graphic stories of unjust, unorganized governments and rampant poverty.
I'm grateful. I'm grateful for where I am in life, where I am privileged to live, grateful that I get to choose my path, what I want to do, that I am free to go as I please, answer to no one but myself.
It has occurred to me that this idea of independence is much more personal than sipping cocktails on paper doilies and napkins decorated with the American flag as you sit at your Uncle Ned's house eating barbecue, listening to him tell you -in grotesque detail- the same old story about how he survived a wart on his neck the size of his fist.
Independence, on a personal level, is making choices my mother, grandmother, and close female family members didn't- couldn't. It's getting up out of bed in a way my comatose cousin never will. It's the freedom we have at the expense of the endless amount of blood we will never fully interpret, for reasons and intentions we will never truly know. It's being fully aware of the power in my ability to choose my religion, my relationships, my dreams and follow through on them.
Life has its limitations- government, finances, incessant paperwork, frustration over waiting in lines, health care, unexplained tragedies and so on which are road blocks in any person's journey.
To be honest, my dance partner and I had a falling out with one of our coaches and I am afraid to say that part of my motivation for staying home was to avoid the mental fatigue that comes with confrontation. So do I really have a free day, or an escape?
Am I really choosing dance, or choosing a way out of my problems...yet another escape. And am I really free to dance or am I chained to the studio in hopes of earning my three glorified minutes on the dance floor?
Independence, like most things in life is a perception. My heartbeat counts down my days and I am not so free...but this idea that I can create beautiful conceptions into reality makes me feel without sounding like a cheesy hallmark, like my life has purpose, a purpose I create and therefore I suppose, a declaration of my independence.
Special tribute to the men and women of the U.S. armed forces who are serving around the world or have given their lives in the line of duty.
Happy 4th.

Dancing to the call

It is said that dancing is never a choice in its inhabitants body but an essential way of life. As I stand inside the brightly colored studio with beautiful mahogany floors and stare out to see top coaches who are charging $130 a pop smoking their cigarettes with deep inhalations as if to say I know this life, this has been a hard life...I wonder if the obligatory call of duty has taken its toll on them. Which starts the inevitable banter, the voice in my head who like an evil stepsister says things like, you don't know what you are doing, you are a fool to even attempt taking this course of action, you will never make it and other incessant ramblings of a similar kind. What does it take to be a dancer, a ballroom dancer to be specific? Is it heart, or passion, or does it just take a human of Russian blood while the rest of us are hopelessly trying to push Sisyphus's rolling rock to the top of the hill. I am brave enough to say I don't know. I don't have a fucking clue. Which is what I suppose is the appeal to it all. The reason I have endeavored such an enormous task, taken on this goal with such vengeance it has-to my surprise- had the Russians calling me crazy. So who am I is the next question I suppose. Who is this lingering soul that dwells in dance studios and takes on big, almost impossible dreams that take lifetimes to build? I guess I'm just a kid-a 24 year old kid who has decided after years of being directed in every course of action from all forces of society, cultural, religious, scholastic and parental pressures to take on my own course. To free myself by endeavoring a challenge so great it had to be a maniacal choice of my own creation. And yet, and yet... I feel the call. I myself feel that it is no longer a choice. That I must drive my mind and body to interminable heights-beautifully and sadistically cherishing the pain it takes to reach this goal. I suppose I am not so free and yet... I'm flying.