Big step for me...returning to a Saturday morning African dance class, with my teacher, A, who is rarely in town but here tomorrow. I have only done Haitian dance since returning a few months ago. I really miss A and always did great in his class. I also miss my Congolese teachers, but those classes I can never return to.
One of my friends had some commentary on the situation, that he is glad I am beginning to focus on more positive experiences in dance and that I only keep people close to me in my life who cherish me for the times I really try to grow my spirit and strengthen my health. He was one of the first to point out that the only men who have ever accused me of victim behavior were of a certain ilk themselves and to remember that most people see me as strong, that they look up to me for what I have survived, that I give hope to people by getting up and pushing myself to be well.
No, I will not hide my light under a bushel basket. The place where I am going to dance tomorrow is fraught with emotion for me, of good memories in a time where I truly believed that I was loved absolutely, each memory of that time so tainted now in the wake of what a sad illlusion it was. And yet I go back and hold my head high, and reclaim all these places, these times, for this is MY hometown, too, and I deserve to walk and dance, and live, without a shred of fear.
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