Images that speak more than words
A couple of pleasures that feed my soul
Consider it basic self-care. Rituals of self-preservation. Routines that nurture what is human in me
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A creamy cappuccino, come rain or come shine.
Sprinkled with cinnamon or dark chocolate.
Books.
Reading them, above all; smelling their pages; browsing bookshops; discovering new books; last but not least, writing books (I have two published; more on the way).
...
Self-Empowerment comes in all shapes and forms.
It can come from teachers, books, life events, tragedies and pleasant surprises; it can come from strangers and from the person next door. It can also come as a surprise, from where you least expect it.
I grew up with a tough mum. Hard as nails, demanding, no-patting-on-the-back love style; doing the solo parenting job the same way Jesus held the cross - suffering, in plain sight; not making an effort to hide it.
...
I know it´s harsh but it´s true: you have to die - again and again - in order to live.
I am crazy. That´s a fact. But keep reading.
I look forward, yet again, and I see the crossover.
It shows up like an Indiana Jones bridge - crumbling, dangerous, adventurous, uncertain in its ability to sustain me; not promising to get me, safely, to the other side.
I´ve been here before - this moment of death and rebirth - but it always catches me...
There´s poetry in Egyptian Rhythms.
I´m aware that´s not how most dancers, and even musicians, see rhythms but that never changed the facts: rhythms aren´t just rhythms.
They´re Poems.
Each Rhythm, a Poem.
Each Rhythm, a flavor, a story, a mood, and a feeling.
Each Rhythm, a cultural context with an entire world on its back.
Maksoum (click here to listen to it) tastes like honey. It´s a poem about a sweet, happy love affair.
...
Picture this (sorry in advance for the unpleasant image):
I have my period.
I´m exhausted. Gloomy. Feeling like hell. And my inner demons crawl out from under my bed, like in a terror movie.
On the mirror, I see a distorted reflection of a woman I used to know. I look at my swollen belly and aching breasts - I sigh; I turn around and observe my butt, my thighs, my back. For some reason I don´t care to scrutinize, I don´t like what I...
We´re on the highway, between Cairo and Alexandria, and Abdel Wahab is playing on the radio.
There´s light - a light you only find in Egypt, attached to a scent of past and hope - peaking through my window in the backseat of the car. A soul-comforting light; one of the reasons why I lived and worked in Egypt for almost a decade of my life; a return home.
There's me, Mahmoud Reda, and his wife, in the car.
I´m singing...
Every dancer has a moment that has changed her, or his, life; the perspective they have on dance, music, themselves.
Some times, those turning points are negative - I´ve heard terrible stories of dancers traumatized by teachers, colleagues, audiences, employers -; hopefully, and in many cases, those turning points are positive. Dance and life changing.
I´m privileged to have several of those moments, the ones Oprah would call "ah ah moments", in my...
Do THIS today.
If nothing else, do it today.
(Curious? Keep reading this post)
I can only share what I´ve become and, therefore, learned.
And here´s an interesting thing I´ve learned:
Not everyone wants to evolve.
All of us grow older - that´s mandatory - but few actually grow up - that´s optional.
Outch.
Take a second.
Yep, that one hurts.
Saying no to growth - dance and/or personal growth - is...
A dear friend once told me, after a backlash from an old friend who´d turn her back on me for no apparent reason:
-You´re inflammable, Joana. Your presence triggers people - not always in a good way.
I´d just decided to move to Egypt, leaving family, the beginning of a successful career already established, boyfriend, and everything that I knew behind. My then friend decided that was unacceptable.
-Who do you think you are? -...
I´m sitting at a coffee shop - a cozy, warm, dim-lighted nook -, writing about my Christmas.
There´s a calm atmosphere in the air; a kid asks his mum for a brownie (mum says no, kid throws a tantrum); a geek reads the "Wuthering Heights" at the table next to me.
My man comes in my direction holding two cappuccinos in his hands - he´s smiling at me, trying not to spill the coffee; his face, tender.
(Idyllic)
This is how I´d have...
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