A Language We Can All Speak

Music is inescapable in Kunming: our dorm is next door to a piano shop, choir and dance practice seem to meet in the park at every possible hour, the wails of street performers and handheld radios drift through the smoggy air, even the garbage trucks sing. As a dancer, I have a difficult time ignoring this constant aural bombardment - whenever I hear music, I want to get up and dance! But living in a new city with a foreign culture makes it hard to feel comfortable letting loose and expressing myself.

One day when I rounded a corner on my way back from class, I encountered an iPad blasting hip hop, surrounded by students in camo uniforms. Although I had already passed through this impromptu group, something told me I should turn back and ask them if they were going to dance. I asked one of the girls, named Siwei, what kind of a group they were, how often they met, and whether or not I could join in. She asked what kind of dance I wanted to learn, and I replied that I honestly didn’t care as long as I could dance.

We exchanged phone numbers so I could ask more questions as they came to mind. When I asked them how old they were and found out they were all first year high school students, I felt a little awkward. I asked her if it would be strange for me to dance with them. She texted back responding (translation) “No, street dance is a free dance, it has no age restrictions, it does not differentiate between good or bad, no matter where you are or who you are dancing with, it could never be strange. Now, whether you are a high school student or a college student, as long as you love street dance, we will happily teach you.”

Feeling taken aback by this sincere, inspirational text, I resolved not to let my fear of awkwardness keep me from this chance to dance, this chance to make new friends. So the next Tuesday, my classmate Melanie in toe, I retraced my steps into the alleyway behind the building where they meet. The dancers giggled and chattered in Kunmingese, their iPad bumping familiar Hip Hop and Break music.

We joined them and began to practice the steps the more experienced dancers were teaching. As we moved our bodies to the music, occasionally witnessing one boy’s classmates mob him and turn him upside down, or girls pretending to be zombies, we discovered that it was incredibly easy to enjoy ourselves; just as Siwei had said, our age, nationality, and language barrier had no effect on our ability to laugh and dance with these kids. 

I had to miss their next few practices, but two weeks later when I returned for the second time, one of the girls hug-attacked Melanie and I, her screech of excitement reaching a decibel that would make even a deaf person cringe. The group fanned out, a boy leading one group in b-boy style breaking, one of the girls teaching hip-hop, everyone relaxed and happy. We danced until the rain sprinkled down cooling our sweaty faces and reminding me that I should go home and bring my laundry in. As I walked home, the fragrant rain falling on my head and arms, I knew I had found a safe place to be myself.

Photo credit: Hayley G.