If you've followed me on my previous pieces, you are aware that I am thriving in blended roots from many cultures, colors, and traditions. With that have come some obstacles that I won't bore you with (for now), but what I will do is embrace them.
All throughout middle school and high school I dealt with finding where to fit in. It wasn't a typical matter of jocks, nerds, or the cool kids. For me it was different, it was about my mystery.
The white girls knew I wasn't just like them, so they stayed away. And the black girls either took me under their wing or envied my mixed girl features. Yes, of course not EVERY girl was like this. I had my group of friends, which was fairly diverse if I might say. But the point here is that I always felt the pressure to prove myself. Like I put myself through the need to show how I could fit in with this group or that one.
At the age of 22 and a recent college graduate, I now know that I went about it all wrong.
In my four years at West Chester University, I always made a way to fit dance classes into my schedule. Dancing at home was fun, freeing, and comfortable. But here, things were different.
Here, I took modern and jazz, stepping out of my comfort zone with hip-hop. And I loved it, but...
In my spring 2016 beginner's jazz course there was this girl, dancing across that floor like she ran the place. Her chin up high, toes pointed and the kind of confidence that can easily be mistaken for cockiness. This girl, in my group for our choreography final, said something to me that deserved a reaction. But the reaction my mouth would have fixed for her is not one she could handle nor understand.
Trying to implement a tumble-turny-thingy into our dance, I couldn't get the hang of it thanks to that hip-hop background of mine. But this girl, this girl didn't understand why I couldn't do it. Why I had never done it. And after wasting a half an hour on this thingy, her words to me were "I don't understand how someone can't do this. What type of childhood did you have?"
A good number of you are not going to understand why this hit me like it did. It wasn't the harshness of her words, or even her tone. It was the heaviness behind them.
This girl did not know me outside of those four mirrored walls. She did not know me outside of this credited-class where I presented myself with manner. This girl did not have a clue what type of childhood I grew up with.
For the record, before you start thinking I have some sob story of a bad upbringing, I don’t. I had a damn good one. But that's not the point either, so keep reading.
What I'm getting at is that her spitting those words at me carried a heaviness followed by the look in her eyes staring down on me. This girl felt she was better than me.
From that moment, I remained silent. Not because I felt little or embarrassed, but because I chose to smile. I smiled at this girl, and I danced in that room the best way my body knew how. In that moment, along with many others, I realized not every action needs a reaction. And that, as much as it is OK for her to feel as she did and act as she did, it was OK for me to be silent. Because my silence carried a message heavier than her silly words.
No, this wasn’t some crazy, heart-wrenching, dramatic story of why I learned a life-long lesson, and it wasn’t meant to be. But its simplicity is what makes it important. Because my message here is that not everything in this world will be accepted or understood. But those things do not always welcome a reaction. And not every reaction has to be a loud one.
Everything you face in this world begins and ends with the image your mirror reflects as you stand before it, where you find the balance between understanding self-concept and self-love. So plant your two feet with confidence, strength, beliefs, and [the million other words that can fit here]. Because what speaks to the highest volume is not what slips from between your lips, but what stands in the power of your presence.
