On the market today there are a variety of homeopathic remedies available to help you return to a state of natural health: ayurvedic something, cranio-sacral therapy, massage therapy, cognitive behavior therapy, body talk (the newest I have heard of yet), rolphing or deep tissue massage, and special diets targeted toward different blood types, chakras, and energies.
Despite all of these natural therapies, there is one that has yet to be touted as bringing measurable results: Argentine Tango. Everyone and anyone who dances it knows its emotional, psychological and somatic health benefits. But, we don't necessarily tell everyone, because that would mean that tight, eclectic, and diverse group of people who dance with each other regardless of single or married status would suddenly have to share with others who may not be so sharing or caring.
I am running the risk of sharing, knowing that most people will either A. Not believe me B. don't like dancing, so therefore disagree with the whole premise of my thesis anyhow or C. don't want to invest the money into learning a very complicated dance that will make you literally kick ass at every other dance you ever learn in the future, and perhaps may make you the Mambo King or Queen of your next high school reunion. Who wants to do that?
Regardless of believing or not, those who dance Argentine tango worldwide are able to share a common and rather complicated dance language which is four basic steps in which all other steps stem off of. Then you have the four different styles of tango (which can further be broken down, but will be simplified for this treatise): tango nuevo, vals, regular tango and milonga. Each of these requires in-depth study as well.
Somehow the intricate study involved, the need to literally turn off your brain and let your body feel how it should weigh on the floor, react to your partner, and turn your whole being over to interpreting the music makes whatever happened earlier in the day a small speck in the universe of possible foot patterns, embraces, kicks, boleos, sacadas, etc... You feel, as you hold your head high, perhaps for the first time that day, that even though you couldn't conquer the jerks at work, or the endless piles of to-dos on your desk, that you have conquered the floor and surrendered to becoming one with what could be a practical stranger, your wife or someone new to your dance studio.
In addition, if you find that people hated you all day long, almost everyone at your Friday milonga loves you, even if they can't speak the same language as you. They kiss you on the cheek, ask you how your day was, and will want to sit down to have some bubbly water or wine. The body says "thank you for seeing I'm a human being like you, needing to have the platonic affection of others. The mind says, "thank you for not overusing me and letting the body take over for awhile."
And, when you wake up the next morning, after dancing for five straight hours on a Friday night, you don't look in the mirror and say "Oh do I look fat." You think, "I've been dancing, I have to look good, my tired muscles are telling me I have worked hard."
Perhaps there is a new cure for the body asking us to pay attention to it (and thus go through various homeopathic remedies which may or may not work). There is an old tried and true method to the blues, the not-so-feeling-fantastic body, and the "work sucks attitude": Argentine Tango. Its adherents will tell you, once you are hooked, you can't get enough of it. Anywhere you go in the world, there they are, ready to receive you and dance the night away: regardless of race, religion or creed.
Saturday, February 04, 2012
Sunday, December 04, 2011
A TRIFLING TUNE IN A FLAT
Wanting to know isn’t the same
as hearing the answer
spoken on your lips, parting to reveal the crooked teeth
I hadn’t noticed earlier
Melancholy strains were playing at the beginning
as your tortured visage
attempted to beat out the bad
with meagre strains of Debussey
Laughing until it hurt, rolling around
on the scratched wood floors
and hoping all the bubbling of mirth
was a never-ending chain of bliss
The eye cannot see what it does not want to.
As inadequate as disappointment is
conjuring trumped up dreams
It seems the gods are laughing at this moment
to tell me what I could not see
in every glance
every note sung
and every key struck:
there wasn’t any chance you would have stayed.
--Anjali Sen
© 2011
Saturday, November 05, 2011
When you are free
I could have considered myself American once...when I was living in New York City where I thought the true America could possibly reside. It seemed that everything strange and unusual had a definite degree of acceptance. Being somewhat Asian, picking up a Latin beat and wanting to explore the world, but maintain a spiritual closeness, was okay.
Then I moved back to Asia: South Korea to be specific, and it seemed that the world was going to turn on its hinges again for me, especially culturally. The church I attended (all Korean) started to consider me part of their flock, one of the family, part of the tribe. I liked that. Suddenly Korea was not a country infested with rude people, horrible drivers, and a completely unintelligible language. There were nice people here, and I belonged to them: for a time.
I've lived in Germany for three months now, and am starting to study German with a more steady pace as my German and Spanish begin to meld together. My brain thinks they are the same language, much the same way my brain thought Korean and Japanese were the same language (even some of the letters have similar shapes, but different sounds). Like "ka" and "fu" same shape: different sound. More to the point, I have already begun to blend visually: in a way that has been startling and confusing for both me and others.
I open my mouth to utter a few German words that have just the right lilt to pass me off for a few seconds. Suddenly, a whole conversation begins and I haven't been discovered...until I reach the impasse of not understanding any longer or utter "oh $@#%" like I did in Real today when I realized I hadn't weighed and labeled some of my fruit. Or, I simply say in German "I'm sorry, my German just isn't very good." (Forgetting in my nervousness to add "I've only lived here three freakin' months). About half the people I encounter are completely floored. They were convinced I was German, their suprise always scares me, because I think "Man, I really need to improve my German then." I was even waiting outside an event with a woman whom I had already introduced myself to in English and a few minutes later she started to speak in German to me, and then stopped, "I just can't believe you're not German,"she exclaims.
The best part of all is when I explained this whole scenario to an American girl (very new to Germany also) she stated simply, "Well of course they think you're German, no offense, but you have a German nose."
Ah ha. There lies the rub. I began to tap my nose and gaze at it fondly thinking "You are the source of all my grief, my little friend!" (Not really).
The best comment of all, since moving here, was while walking in Nurnberg (a.k.a Nuremberg) and a friend stated to me, after realizing I had never seen Saturday's Warrior, "Well, you're not really American anyway." And, I felt a little sad in my heart for reasons I am still trying to straighten out.
Being American is supposed to be an all-encompassing feeling that we all belong. In reality that isn't true. We have all these regional factions who claim their own form of the American Dream. And they compete every election year for the spotlight. In addition, we have a pop-culture spinning out its own version of the American Dream: have lots of sex, wear skimpy clothes (unless you're a dude who's straight), eat organic, spend lots of money or other people's money and blame all your mistakes on someone else.
Then there is the new American dream, which is really a new world order when you come down to it: people like me who belong everywhere and nowhere. I felt I belonged in Asia, but would never truly blend in. I blend in, somewhat in Europe, until I open my mouth. I am truly stuck between many worlds and I haven't even brought in the interesting part. I am also Mormon (better known as Latter-day Saint), which complicates and rounds out everything perfectly.
I would like to think I belong to the new American dream, which is that I actually know where countries are on the map. When someone makes a comment about Estonia I don't say "What city is that in Russia?" and people aren't suprised that I know where Brunei is, just because I'm American. Or, that I'm aware that the United States became a unifed country before Italy did in the late 1800s. The list could go on.
I could say that this knowlede is all because I am some super hybrid who was blessed with an amazing talent for amassing geographical data, and has nothing to do with being a new type of American. However, there are plenty of us out there: very comfortable living outside our country. Indeed, there are those who can co-exist with other cultures living inside of them and still carry a blue passport that says "Los Estados Unidos" in English, of course. We also don't immediately walk into a restaurant and say "Do you have an English menu" in a Texan accent.
I wish I could say that more of my countrymen are "blendable." The vast majority are not ever-expansive in their mindsets, just as most people who live in most industrialized countries are perfectly happy where they are. And I do not wish to ask them to join the new world order, just to acknowledge that everyone does not fit into a category.
As I stepped off the elevator after heaving my mineral wasser and groceries into the hallway I was reminded of sitting on the stoop in New York City at 2am and watching the city hum and buzz with life, even at that late hour. I was a foreigner in my own country then, just as much as I am a foreigner in Germany. But, I find I am comfortable with this specter-like status, wandering between worlds. I think it is the way things are meant to be and perhaps is the only true form of freedom available to mortals at the moment, because nothing media is toting will bring you freedom other than seeing life through someone else's eyes and reaching new levels of understanding.
What would our world be like if we chose to understand rather than assume, appreciate rather than label? It would be an interesting world indeed.
Then I moved back to Asia: South Korea to be specific, and it seemed that the world was going to turn on its hinges again for me, especially culturally. The church I attended (all Korean) started to consider me part of their flock, one of the family, part of the tribe. I liked that. Suddenly Korea was not a country infested with rude people, horrible drivers, and a completely unintelligible language. There were nice people here, and I belonged to them: for a time.
I've lived in Germany for three months now, and am starting to study German with a more steady pace as my German and Spanish begin to meld together. My brain thinks they are the same language, much the same way my brain thought Korean and Japanese were the same language (even some of the letters have similar shapes, but different sounds). Like "ka" and "fu" same shape: different sound. More to the point, I have already begun to blend visually: in a way that has been startling and confusing for both me and others.
I open my mouth to utter a few German words that have just the right lilt to pass me off for a few seconds. Suddenly, a whole conversation begins and I haven't been discovered...until I reach the impasse of not understanding any longer or utter "oh $@#%" like I did in Real today when I realized I hadn't weighed and labeled some of my fruit. Or, I simply say in German "I'm sorry, my German just isn't very good." (Forgetting in my nervousness to add "I've only lived here three freakin' months). About half the people I encounter are completely floored. They were convinced I was German, their suprise always scares me, because I think "Man, I really need to improve my German then." I was even waiting outside an event with a woman whom I had already introduced myself to in English and a few minutes later she started to speak in German to me, and then stopped, "I just can't believe you're not German,"she exclaims.
The best part of all is when I explained this whole scenario to an American girl (very new to Germany also) she stated simply, "Well of course they think you're German, no offense, but you have a German nose."
Ah ha. There lies the rub. I began to tap my nose and gaze at it fondly thinking "You are the source of all my grief, my little friend!" (Not really).
The best comment of all, since moving here, was while walking in Nurnberg (a.k.a Nuremberg) and a friend stated to me, after realizing I had never seen Saturday's Warrior, "Well, you're not really American anyway." And, I felt a little sad in my heart for reasons I am still trying to straighten out.
Being American is supposed to be an all-encompassing feeling that we all belong. In reality that isn't true. We have all these regional factions who claim their own form of the American Dream. And they compete every election year for the spotlight. In addition, we have a pop-culture spinning out its own version of the American Dream: have lots of sex, wear skimpy clothes (unless you're a dude who's straight), eat organic, spend lots of money or other people's money and blame all your mistakes on someone else.
Then there is the new American dream, which is really a new world order when you come down to it: people like me who belong everywhere and nowhere. I felt I belonged in Asia, but would never truly blend in. I blend in, somewhat in Europe, until I open my mouth. I am truly stuck between many worlds and I haven't even brought in the interesting part. I am also Mormon (better known as Latter-day Saint), which complicates and rounds out everything perfectly.
I would like to think I belong to the new American dream, which is that I actually know where countries are on the map. When someone makes a comment about Estonia I don't say "What city is that in Russia?" and people aren't suprised that I know where Brunei is, just because I'm American. Or, that I'm aware that the United States became a unifed country before Italy did in the late 1800s. The list could go on.
I could say that this knowlede is all because I am some super hybrid who was blessed with an amazing talent for amassing geographical data, and has nothing to do with being a new type of American. However, there are plenty of us out there: very comfortable living outside our country. Indeed, there are those who can co-exist with other cultures living inside of them and still carry a blue passport that says "Los Estados Unidos" in English, of course. We also don't immediately walk into a restaurant and say "Do you have an English menu" in a Texan accent.
I wish I could say that more of my countrymen are "blendable." The vast majority are not ever-expansive in their mindsets, just as most people who live in most industrialized countries are perfectly happy where they are. And I do not wish to ask them to join the new world order, just to acknowledge that everyone does not fit into a category.
As I stepped off the elevator after heaving my mineral wasser and groceries into the hallway I was reminded of sitting on the stoop in New York City at 2am and watching the city hum and buzz with life, even at that late hour. I was a foreigner in my own country then, just as much as I am a foreigner in Germany. But, I find I am comfortable with this specter-like status, wandering between worlds. I think it is the way things are meant to be and perhaps is the only true form of freedom available to mortals at the moment, because nothing media is toting will bring you freedom other than seeing life through someone else's eyes and reaching new levels of understanding.
What would our world be like if we chose to understand rather than assume, appreciate rather than label? It would be an interesting world indeed.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Sunday, April 06, 2008
INSPIRATION
Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% what you do with what happens to you.
---Anonymous
---Anonymous
Thursday, February 28, 2008
New Lovely Babe
My friend Shimmy had a new baby and I made my very first matching set of booties and hat.
Here's a picture of Shimmy Jr. (not the baby's real name!) wearing his hat.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Delicious dinner
In my family, everything surrounds food. Dinner was and still is sacred. To not either help with dinner, state that you intend to be home or not, or state you are "simply not hungry" are not acceptable to the head matriarch of the Blanca Asiatic family.
In the last two years, due to having to change my diet because I am a "celiatico" in Spanish or have celiac's disease, I have noticed that my desire for cooking has declined. I use to relish in going to the bakery and finding a variety of breads for my famous Italian cooking sauces, or picking out fresh Thai ingredients from a grocer on Mott Street in Chinatown.
What made my love for cooking die? Well, maybe it was the lack of love in my life (of a romantic sort, or it could be my ever changing stomach).
Today, I made headway. I actually cooked and I cooked well. I imagine myself to be Martha in the film "Mostly Martha". I gave myself three hours to prepare, clean and set-up a proper dinner for two. I was amazed at the results for my self esteem.
I made a simple dish of thin steaks (about 6 of them, requiring two of my pots), and a Thai stir-fry with brown rice. For hors''d' oeuvre I had two types of Manchego cheese with fresh Membrillo (quince paste) and my very own homemade (well, breadmaker) gluten free bread. Dessert followed with large grapes and apples.
My guest was suprised and actually stated when he left that "I didn't realize you could cook so well". I almost wanted to say "Never underestimate a woman who wears saris and dances Argentine tango." I am the best blend of east and west that Washington Heights has ever seen (well, maybe I go a bit far in my post-culinary glee).
To all my encouraging and loving friends:
I say thank you and bon appetite!
In the last two years, due to having to change my diet because I am a "celiatico" in Spanish or have celiac's disease, I have noticed that my desire for cooking has declined. I use to relish in going to the bakery and finding a variety of breads for my famous Italian cooking sauces, or picking out fresh Thai ingredients from a grocer on Mott Street in Chinatown.
What made my love for cooking die? Well, maybe it was the lack of love in my life (of a romantic sort, or it could be my ever changing stomach).
Today, I made headway. I actually cooked and I cooked well. I imagine myself to be Martha in the film "Mostly Martha". I gave myself three hours to prepare, clean and set-up a proper dinner for two. I was amazed at the results for my self esteem.
I made a simple dish of thin steaks (about 6 of them, requiring two of my pots), and a Thai stir-fry with brown rice. For hors''d' oeuvre I had two types of Manchego cheese with fresh Membrillo (quince paste) and my very own homemade (well, breadmaker) gluten free bread. Dessert followed with large grapes and apples.
My guest was suprised and actually stated when he left that "I didn't realize you could cook so well". I almost wanted to say "Never underestimate a woman who wears saris and dances Argentine tango." I am the best blend of east and west that Washington Heights has ever seen (well, maybe I go a bit far in my post-culinary glee).
To all my encouraging and loving friends:
I say thank you and bon appetite!
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