Yesterday, I went back to school.
Once the treehaus got sorted out-
I could then turn my attention to finding daycare, and all the other things that needed to be done, to prepare myself mentally, and physically, for school.
Over the weekend I began buying my books. I tried reading the slimmest volume. I stumbled through its forward.
My stumbling made me scared.
It’s stage fright.
I awoke early. I did an abbreviated warm-up routine of what I always did before stepping on stage. I got my hair done the night before as well; it’s an old dancer habit- we put our hair up, we fix our face, we get into costume.
Bruno was sent to daycare.
We’ve been visiting daycare all week to practise for the day of my actual leaving him behind. I walked 8 blocks south. With each step, I felt less afraid, more curious, more determined.
My classmates are mostly fine arts or art history majors. Someone is working at Sotheby’s. Another is a painter who wants to explore fabric and gender. Yet another makes lace. When it was my turn to introduce myself, I said- Hello, I’m Tammy Wong. I come from 20 years of dance, and I’m here to seek a new language.
All eyes remained on me, awaiting more. But that’s all I had to say. I tried again.
I just relocated from London… I’ve been hibernating. I used to dance here, so it’s like coming home.
In hibernation, I grew older. I lived in a cold country where people are reticent. I had forgotten how much Americans (in general), enjoy chatting about themselves, openly sharing abcdefg. I had become more private a person, even as ironically, I began building a blog, and an IG account.
A young man old enough to be my son, asked if I was a freshman.
Then he tried to impress me by telling me he was a junior.
Mid-Afternoon, a sudden torrential downpour. My sandals got drenched through, my bag took a beating, my hair frizzled. My spirits?
My spirits soared.