Dance, Monkey. Dance.

There are so many things I want to say about dancing but I’ll try to keep it as short as possible. Dancers are my favorite type of people. I don’t necessarily mean professional ballerinas or salsa masters who dance with the stars or the ladies trying to pay for college, although they are by no means excluded from conversation. I am simply talking about people who dance, whether it be a dance troupe doing a choreographed number, an athlete celebrating with a viral internet dance, or some off-beat white dude trying to whip and nae-nae. Sometimes you get the unmatched grace of the twirling ballerina and sometimes you cringe at the guy who’s had one too many tequila shots humping the ground on the dance floor. It isn’t always pretty but it is always beautiful. It’s beautiful to see people using their bodies to express their emotions. Joy. Sadness. Pain. But mostly I think dancing brings out a dormant confidence in people, a freedom to just move like nobody is watching and not give a fuck even if there is someone watching.


The silhouette in this picture is my best friend, Bryan. In a weird way, he’s like my solemate (heh). Not solemate in a latently homosexual kind of way (there’s nothing latent about it), but, more like an every-buddy-cop-movie-you’ve-ever-seen-times-infinity kind of way and it’s just all love. Bryan, here, is the one who taught me to dance. No, he doesn’t give weekend tango lessons (I think). What I mean is that he taught me to not be afraid to dance. You probably wouldn’t believe it from looking at me today, but I grew up a timid, fat kid. Thank God I didn’t have bad acne. During my adolescent years, my weight ballooned quite a bit. (Funny story: one of my friends went away for a while and when he came back, reintroduced himself to me because he didn’t recognize me from all the weight I had gained.) So coupled with my moderate social anxiety, you can imagine the insecurities I’ve had to deal with. But anyway, I met Bryan when we were both picked up for a league basketball team and I quickly realized that this guy does. Not. Stop. Dancing. And seeing him constantly dancing made me want to join, but I was just way too self-conscious and apprehensive about looking foolish to anyone who might be watching, and that sort of translated to other aspects of my life. But during one of our games, and I’ll never forget this, I had the ball and was sort of looking to pass but I could hear him from the bench. “It’s your world, Nhat. Eat!” Something about those words or the way he said them just made a light go off in my head, and it was at that moment that I began to dance. Figuratively, I mean. I didn’t start dancing right there on the court, that would be stupid. We probably ended up losing that game because I decided it was my world, but I’m okay with losing on my own terms. I think the lesson here, if there is one, is that you kind of have two choices: one, you can be a little bitch like young me, or two, you can be less of a bitch, like Bryan. No really, though, what you should get from this is that you should dance your heart out whenever you want. Remember: it’s only embarrassing if you care what other people think.

P.S. This came as sort of an afterthought, but this is my favorite picture that I’ve ever taken and I fucking love it. It’s edited a bit, but even without the edits, I fucking love it. Take that shit and apply it to your life. Whether you change a little, change a lot, or don’t change at all, you’re still a beautiful, magnificent mother fucker so stay golden, Pony Boy.

P.P.S. I apologize for the accidental foray into sentimentality. I don’t know what came over me. I promise my next post will be way more hate-filled and cynical.


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