June 2017 

When I opened my eyes, the first thing that popped into my head was how to style my hair. I stared up at the ceiling as my eyes adjusted to the dark. A million possibilities rushed through my mind. I didn’t want to come across as a try-hard, nor did I want to look like Princess Merida when she just rolled out of bed. 

It was my first day in a new school, in a new country. The impression I left behind would determine what the rest of my school year looked like. Sitting in front of the mirror, I analyzed my options. Should I have my hair slicked back into a high ponytail? Or should I leave it down? Which one will frame my features better?

My mom peered her head into my room. “We have to leave in five minutes. What are you doing sitting there staring at yourself?” 

I explained my conundrum to her, hoping for some solid advice, only for her to add on to my burden by giving me two more options to choose from. Before I could eenie-meanie-miny-moe my way between a braid and a bun, my mom continued. 

“Carys, you’re not going to magically attract more attention if you have a certain hairstyle you know.”

I froze. Why does she always have to bring this up? Why does she always make it about attracting boys’ attention? There was more to just being popular. This being my third transition into a new school, I had learnt that appearing “chic” and well put together was the best way to fit in and make friends. It was my way of coping with change, a change I did not ask for. 

“Fine, whatever, let’s go,” I replied as I stormed out of my room.  

October 2020

A single spotlight was cast onto the center of the stage. I took a deep breath and walked confidently towards my first position, waiting for the crescendo of the music to be my cue. This was my first hip hop dance competition audition at my fourth school. In each new school, despite having to compromise parts of my identity in order to fit in, in dance, the world–no, the stage– was my oyster. I channeled the heights of my excitement and my love for dance into each kick and jump. I let the music drown out my worries and my muscle memory guide me through each groove and bounce. 

“Thank you. And next, your contemporary piece please,” the judge announced.

I settled into my next position. Breathe, I reminded myself, as the pounding of my heart matched the rhythm of the music. 

“Thank you!” The judge commented as I completed my routine and held my last position. 

Despite having auditioned for both the hip hop and contemporary competitions as part of my dance team, I would only be able to participate in one, which meant I had to indicate my preference should I be selected for both. This was an easy decision for me. Contemporary was a dance style slightly out of my comfort zone. Instead of pique turns and arabesques, I was much more familiar with biz markies and waacking. So in order to perfect my hip hop piece and ace my auditions, I had sought advice from my family and friends and familiarized myself with the choreography by practicing it everywhere, even in the shower. 

Two days later, as I stood in front of the bulletin board and saw my name under the list of “selected students” for both categories, I couldn’t conceal the smile that lit up on my face. Just as I rushed towards my friends, ready to celebrate the news, I saw Leah, a senior in my dance team, make her way towards me. Uh oh, I thought, nothing good like ever comes out of that girl. But before I could find a hole for me to crawl into, she was right in front of me. 

“Hey Carys, congrats! I just wanted to tell you that your contemporary piece the other day was like really good.” 

I beamed at her, slightly taken aback by the compliment. 

“So would you consider indicating your preference for the contemporary dance competition instead? Grace, Aiden, Andrew and I would like love for this to be our last high school memory together.” 

The sinking feeling in my stomach returned. “Uh, I uh–” I stammered, desperately trying to find a way out of this situation. 

I recounted last Friday’s audition to my dad. 

“So what do you think I should do dad?” I asked, unsure of how he would react.

A look of incredulousness appeared on his face. “You’ve been rambling about how excited you were about this competition for weeks! You can’t possibly agree to give up all of your hard work?”

Oh. Picking at the hem of my shirt to avoid looking at his face, I explained that when she phrased it that way, I couldn’t possibly say no, could I? It would make me seem like a horrible person for taking away her last high school hip hop dance competition. 

“Your mom and I raised you to be much more firm in your beliefs Carys.” My dad replied. 

I scoffed, tuning out his voice. It was easy for him to say. This was my first year at my fourth school. It was important to me that I make a good first impression. What if Leah went around telling other people not to befriend me because I was like so selfish?  I wasn’t always doing things to please other people. My parents expected me to be strong and independent, but also easygoing and adaptable. How could I satisfy both their demands and their wish for me to be happy? 

Undeterred, my dad continued, “You care too much about what people think. In the future, what happens if…?” 

I try to keep my feelings bottled up, but my vision turns blurry and tears of frustration gather in the corner of my eye. “Why do you and mom always act as if my goal in life is just to please other people?” I snapped. “You don’t get to say that I’ve let you and mom down. I didn’t ask to be the new kid every year. I didn’t ask to have to cope with adapting to my ever changing environment.” I replied as I slammed my room door shut. 

December 2020

“I’ve been stuck in motion, moving too fast…” The lyrics blared from the speakers. 

“Tryna catch a moment but it slips through my hands…” I close my eyes and immerse myself into the melody of the music. 

This was it – competition day. I ran onto stage to begin my verse. Kick step step, leap and … Although this wasn’t the hip hop competition I initially preferred, I channeled my longing for a sense of belonging into each reach and turn. I tapped into my personal experiences of where my home was despite the transitions I have undertaken to convey the meaning behind this song, “Coming Home”. 

Before I knew it, the dance was over. I stood in my final formation along with the rest of the dance team, the stage quiet except for our uneven breathing. Then the crowd erupted into applause. As my dance team and I cheered and congratulated each other, out of the corner of my eye, I saw two familiar faces standing and waving the flowers in their hands, beaming.