Belly Dance, you've been my identity for almost 40 years. You almost left me a few times, but then you'd come back in a new way, breathing new life into me, new reasons for dancing. Through longevity & serendipity, I've attained a certain amount of respect, a tiny amount of recognition. But I'm starting to feel the blood flowing quickly out of my dance veins, & I don't know if I'll be able to stem the flow this time. I just might have to let her go - my alter ego as dancer. The heartbeat is fading, & I don't think anyone will notice if one day she slips away for good. That's when you know it's time to bid farewell.
So an obituary of sorts for this once dancing girl: She did it as a lark. She wanted attention & didn't know another way to get it. She didn't really love it, she didn't really invest in it. Her dancing was shallow & average. She was thrown into a new culture that she never fully embraced. She was an "It" girl for a fleeting moment, & she had many falls from grace. Yet she kept trying. She kept reinventing. She started caring & wanted to get it right. She would feel confident, only to be torn down, she never really believed the compliments, yet sometimes she thought she just might be ok. Because deep down below the glitter & glamourous costumes, the eyelashes & hair, was still the unbearably shy, sad child, the one who tried to be invisible - & maybe this was the best way for her to hide. It was a facade - an artificial & deceptive front.
I don't expect anyone to show up at her funeral. People move on, & in an instant one can be forgotten. She wanted respect, she wanted recognition, but she didn't put in the work to deserve it. Yet she persevered & had many successes she was proud of. Was it a wasted life? I don't know. Will anyone remember? Maybe a few. So maybe she really did care, maybe she cared too much.
