First World Problem*

I am so tired from Bollywood class. And it was only the second session.

I recently took up Bollywood Dance For Beginners. I've been fascinated watching it on SYTYCD. I've noticed all these Bollywood Cardio classes sprouting up all over. The increasing popularity intrigues me. Plus it looks like fun.

But i didn't want to be taking a workout version at some gym. See, it's always been a problem of mine to be confined while exercising. It needs to be fun, engaging not only the body but the mind also. Exercise for me can't be stationary or repetitive. I get bored.

Now dance i can do. I dig rhythm. I dig grace and precision. I dig looking like i'm in the know.

Just the 10-minute warm-up in the beginning of class kills me. I lack the flexibility and the stamina to hold a position. I've let myself go for too long.

But i give it my all. Once i start moving, sweating, getting my heart pumping, hell, yeah, bring it on!

I'm reminded of when I was 16 when i didn't mind sweating. That seems so long ago. I had just moved to Brooklyn, NY, and, unaccustomed to being bused around and on a curfew compounded with having no friends, all I longed for was to sweat, to get my heart pumping, to be anywhere but inside. When the weather was nice I'd skip the bus and walked from school. It'd take me about 40 minutes. Piece of cake. I'd enjoy every minute of it. Wishing I'd never reach "home".

The beginning of not knowing where home is.

Tonight, in a mirrored studio, after a lesson even more strenuous than the last, i panted, soaked in perspiration, felt my chest heave.

I felt alive. I didn't remember the last time I'd felt that exhilarated.

There's gonna be a public group performance at the end of the quarter. I keep debating whether I should participate. I don't want to look like a fool. But something tells me if i don't, i'll be kicking myself for years to come.

Besides, as of tonight I'd already been selected to be in the front row on stage. So I'd better dance well!

(Later RJ would comment, "So you can't be that bad!")

After class, my paranoid self walked up to the primary instructor to make sure she'd be emailing us a video of tonight's series. Cuz there's no way in hell i'd remember otherwise.

Mariposa*assured me that she would as soon as Serena** the secondary instructor sent it to her.***

Then she smiled and added, "Good work, V."

I looked down at this petite young girl, probably half my age, whose smile had seemed timid just then. I felt like i was towering over her. I wondered if she wondered how old i was, what an Asian woman was doing in her majorly Indian (and neighboring nations? I'm ignorant) congregation. The only Asian there.

I don't know if she felt obliged for an utterance of encouragement, but i felt utterly approved.

When i came home, i felt filthy. My Nike True Dri top was sticking to my skin, not wicking away moisture as advertised. I complained to RJ about how hard it'd been, how i'd never manage to memorize every move, how beat i was.

Then i grinned widely and said, "But... It was fun!"



*A favorite hashtag between RJ and me
**Not her real name
***Oooh i just realized that together they're S&M!