As a child, I was registered during dance by my mother, as well as my three elders, undoubtedly in order to create peace in his life. She did not know that she was creating a space for a shy child and apparently invisible to be herself without fear.
I immediately fell in love with dance and dance studio. It was a playing field for my mind to find patterns and rhythms; I was attracted to the beats and crescendos of the music. I lost my first tooth and attached my first shoe to the studio. I knew right away that I was supposed to be there, even if I did not know that it would be forever.
Dance, for me, has always been instinct. My family can attest that when I was younger, if a good song took place, anywhere became my scene, even the aisles of the grocery store or the shopping center. I couldn't control it and I didn't want to. Now I channel this instinct to expand my understanding of humanity. In this polarized moment, which sometimes feels empty of compassion, I understand my responsibility to create a space where the differences disappear and the hearts are able to shine forward. We all have difficulties and we must not look beyond the emotions that make us only human.
At a time when many of our mentors and brilliant lights pass, I am even more empowered by the dance spirit. Dance was used to crying, celebrating, honoring, protecting, repenting, bringing hope, transcending fear. I dance as a way to honor our ancestors, to tell stories of people who, even if I have never met them personally, I met the story. I have to present the power and the possibilities of legends.
I am honored to be able to live and dance as an inheritance. They remind me every day how sensitive, eloquent, vulnerable and strong when I witness my colleagues at the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater. We use our collective power to amplify the voices that are lost so often, and to remind us of the forces that have opened the way.
