Every morning I wake up with an ache in my body that makes me wonder if monsters really do exist under my bed, and if they take turns using me as a trampoline through the night. If I turn my head slightly the wrong way, I fear it’ll just break clean from my neck; when I sit still in class for any longer than five minutes, my back will creak and crack loud enough to scare my classmates around me.
I bought a new mattress the other day, thinking maybe it would solve my issue. But even before I slept on it for the first time and woke up the next morning with the same soreness running beneath my skin, I already knew why I was in this constant state of pain: dance.
This year, I am the choreography co-chair for Eclectics and also a member of Motion, two dance teams whose combined practice time means I’m dancing for around 13 hours a week. I’ll be performing for TASA’s Taste of Taiwan the day after writing this, and for SLAM’s annual dance showcase exactly a week later, which means even more dancing than usual. Each of those hours are filled with sliding on the floor, dropping to my knees and an array of fast-paced movements that leave me bruised and panting. I’m probably one bad fall from breaking apart like a chandelier falling from the ceiling, and yet every day I show up to practice ready to risk it again and again.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently — each time I feel the tweak in my neck or brush against the bruises on my knees, the question pops back into my mind: why am I so willing to cause myself all this discomfort for dance?
Truthfully, in the same way I already knew why I was sore all the time, I knew the answer to this, too: I am simply glad to have something I am dedicated to and passionate about; something worth aching for.
When I got to Hopkins, the first thing I looked for was any opportunity to dance. My high school dance team had shown me it was something I loved, and so joining a team in college was something very, very high up on my list of priorities. I found Eclectics pretty much immediately, and joining them has had such a huge impact on me that I can’t imagine what life would be like without them.
In the first Eclectics events I went to, I met two of my current closest friends (love you, Crystal and Jiani), and everyone else was so welcoming that there wasn’t a moment where I felt like an outsider. Going to practice meant sweating and getting tired and hurting myself on occasion, but mostly, it meant laughing and learning and enjoying the art of dance in a room full of people who just get it.
At the end of my freshman year of college, someone in Eclectics suggested I choreograph for them next semester. In high school, my biggest fear was making my own choreography. It was the only assignment we had in dance class, and though my teacher would give us whole class periods to work on it, I would spend the time hiding in the corner because I was too embarrassed and scared of looking stupid. In the end I would only embarrass myself more when it was time to show the class my choreography and I wouldn’t have anything.
I was insanely nervous and it took me weeks to come up with anything substantial, but sophomore fall, I sent in my choreography, and we performed it twice that semester. Since then, I’ve made two more choreographies (one of which I will be performing at TASA tomorrow!) and somehow wound up as Eclectics’ choreo chair. My high school self thought choreography was something I’d never be able to create; I would’ve been floored to know people ask me for advice on choreography now.
Last semester, I twisted my ankle the day before our showcase. I wasn’t even rehearsing; we were just doing old dances for no other reason than fun. I probably should’ve seen a doctor, and I probably shouldn’t have continued dancing on it because the pain persisted for three months after it happened, but I wrapped it in a bandage wrap (that a fellow dancer lent me!) and performed like it didn’t happen. Afterwards, when the adrenaline wore off and I was left to wallow with my burning lungs, the heat and sweat tingling on my skin and the sharp throbbing of my ankle, I only felt satisfaction.
Tonight, I’ll take a warm shower and do some stretching to soothe my muscles and work out the kinks in my back to prepare myself for the performance tomorrow. Still, I know the ache will persist, and I’ll carry it with me to the stage and off it as well. It can serve as a reminder for the love I have for dance.
Harmony Liu is a junior from Queens, N.Y. majoring in English.
