Individuality shines through a person’s enthusiasm, and mine lies in dancing. I have taken ballet, tap, and jazz, but for the last eight years my focus has been hip hop. While the number of years is important, what really matters to me is the passion I have. Without the rush I feel when dancing, it wouldn’t matter if I danced for twenty years, it wouldn’t be the same. It’s important to have an emotional outlet where you can use your freedom of expression to simply be themselves. While freedom is a key component of dancing, precision and style are essential in not only properly portraying a choreographer’s vision, but in a successful performance.
            

I don’t generally refer to myself as a particularly graceful person, which thankfully is not necessary when it comes to hip hop dancing. When I first started dancing, I was a ballerina like any other three or four year old girl, and I truly enjoyed it. I was never really good at ballet, or at least good enough to merit a front row placement or solo. The situation repeated itself in my tap class; I had fun but I never really shined. Once I turned nine and was headed to second grade, I had a change of heart. Perhaps it was a consequence of getting older or simply developing a better understanding of what I really liked, but ballet and tap were becoming progressively less engaging and jazz seemed like a good alternative. I tried it for a year, but I still hadn’t found the connection with it that I was looking for. This led me to a different dance company in third grade, where I first learned how to dance hip-hop. Changing the genre of dance I focused on created conflicts with my own identity. I was in limbo: I didn’t know who I was or what I liked. In hip-hop I found not only something I was enthusiastic about, but a part of me that was laid-back and fun. By finally committing to hip-hop, I was able to build upon my potential.
           

When I began dancing, even hip-hop, I always found myself living in mediocrity. I could always remember the moves I had learned, which earned me the respect of my peers, but when it came to dancing I was no match for those with natural talent. Nevertheless, I worked hard to improve my abilities and in time, I was recognized by my teacher and by other people who saw my performances. While it can feel good, being recognized can lead to a disruption of this mutual respect.

About three years ago, I was trying hard to work on a dance during class, when my teacher suddenly turned off the music and had us all look at her. Her face clearly showed the anger boiling within her; the room was dead silent. She began by saying, “I can see that only one person in this class practiced over the past week. And that person is Sabrina.”

While part of me swelled with pride because she recognized my hard work, the looks I received from my friends reminded me of the uncomfortable situation I was in. Hip-hop does not have the competitive atmosphere that ballet does, so in reality being singled out did more harm to me than good. I felt isolated, without friends who understood my struggle with her praise. My experience with that teacher continued to go downhill, until it finally hit a breaking point. During one class, we all gathered in a circle, and looked at each other nervously because it was so out of the ordinary. Once we sat down, she had us each answer extremely personal questions that led to most of the girls breaking down in tears. Some went as far as to involve our family lives. I hadn’t even understood what was happening until I walked into my house that night, suddenly sobbing while trying to explain the situation to my mom. Before I knew it, emails had been sent from multiple parents and my class was suddenly without a teacher. Yelling at students and picking favorites had been weekly reminders of her personality, and the negative side that can come from dance. This was the first time I had been exposed to someone who worked solely to receive praise, ignoring the respect her students and their love of dance deserved.

As I work hard to improve my skills, I also use it as an emotional calmant of sorts. Dancing is calming and can always shift my mind from negative thoughts to positive ones. I dance for myself and no one else. On the other hand, the community of dancers that I am surrounded by not only boosts my self-esteem but also encourages me to improve myself. I’ve had times where I almost wanted to quit dance because I believed I would never be any good at it, but I believe that the only recognition a dancer needs to earn is from themselves. If you respect yourself as a dancer, others will recognize your skill.
           

The commitment I place in my role as a dancer is what truly keeps me grounded. The idea that I was able to keep a hold on something for 12 years of my life is a testament to my passion. I have never made a habit of boasting my dancing to my school friends or those not in my dance classes, but it is something I am immensely proud of and wish to continue for the rest of my life.