Dear Friends,
I'm grateful my insatiable appetite for dancing is more inspiring than revolting! I must let you in on a secret! Dancing is not a manifestation of my hyperactivity or a proof of my expertise.
I was ten years old when my uncle got married. Towards the end of the evening reception, all the youngsters were encouraged to get up and dance (the grownups were tired of celebrating, but didn’t want to go home yet!) Somebody, I don’t remember now who, called up my name. As I was trying to figure out who was encouraging me to step on the dance floor, I heard my mother’s voice rescuing me “Lili doesn’t know how to dance! Let her be!” I returned to the sidelines. After that night, I often heard my name being associated with “stiff”, “wooden” “ungraceful!” After all, I was a tomboy!
A few years later, when I went to boarding school, I roomed with a couple of Iranian girls who were blessed with supple bodies and femininity, and they knew how to dance! Every night, I would do their grammar homework and in return they would dance for me, so I could mimic them.
When I returned to Iran, I shocked myself and everybody else! At a party, as all the girls were asked to get up and dance, all in our late teens now, once again my mother stepped forward to rescue me: “Leave her alone. Lili can’t dance!”
“Oh, yes I can!” I stepped forward and joined in.
Little by little the dancers moved back and formed a circle, living the dance floor to me and an uncle (in my culture all male relatives and friends of the family are uncles!) The thrill of a personal achievement combined with the fact that I knew everyone was watching in awe, and most importantly, my mother’s dropped jaw, made the experience next to none!
Needless to say my mother hates my dancing, “Too much, too much!” She always whispers. To her delight, my first husband didn’t like me dancing either.
In some sense my mother is right. I am an unskilled dancer. I cannot follow steps. I tried ballroom dancing, line dancing, salsa, belly dancing - zip, nada!
My obsession with dancing could be categorized as a manifestation of my rebelliousness, a personal triumph, the outcome of a public humiliation, prohibition, or perhaps a simple case of “I’ll show you!”
I’m very grateful to everything and everyone who made a “dancer” out of me! It has become my stress reliever! (I went dancing on Saturday!) Nowadays, I dance like no one is watching. It's a manifesto of my illusionary freedom!
Have a victorious day everyone!
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