When the music began, I was hiding in the darkness with a katana in my hand. Crouching low, just underneath the white streak of the spotlights and the staircase leading to the center of the stage, I watched from behind as the rest of my team moved into action. I squinted up; my heart pounding in my chest as the familiar music poured over me and the thump of my teammates’ synchronized footsteps filled the air. I could see the tops of Daniel and Andrea’s heads as they jumped to their feet, right on cue, and started their portion of the dance.
Only 15 more seconds, I thought, and my stomach tightened.
The katana in my hand grew heavy, and for the tenth time, I checked to be sure it hadn’t snagged on anything behind me. Palms slick, legs trembling, I waited. I listened to the audience’s screams and inhaled their excitement. I tried to warp my fear into determination.
Too soon, Phong, Andrea, Alice, and Daniel flew down the center stairs in front of me. As he passed me, Daniel uttered a quick “good luck” before disappearing into the stage’s darkness with the others. I exhaled shakily, too scared to answer. Instead, I turned back to the stage, heard the last few beats of the song finish, and I stood. Slowly, I started up the staircase.
My face hit the spotlight, and all at once, calm rushed over me.
The music shifted. The lights bathed me in red. I took my final step off the stairs and onto the stage. The gleam of the katana reached the crowd’s eyes, and all at once, the world erupted.
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Of all the things I’ve done in my first year of college, (and trust me, there’s soooo much to unpack there) I can honestly say that performing on stage, alone, with my katana, was one of the best experiences I’ve had since coming to Iowa. There’s even a part of me that wants to say it was one of the best nights of my life. But before I tell you about the biggest multicultural organization here on campus, there are a few things you need to know about me beforehand.
First, I am a 5th-degree black belt in taekwondo. So, no, I did not just pick up a katana and hope for the best when I decided to perform with it.
Since I was five years old, I’ve been trained in hand-to-hand combat and a variety of weapons including bo staffs, knives, sai, and yes, swords. And I will admit, swords were never my strong suit. I still don’t think they are. Back in high school, I was more likely to fight with my fists and feet, and if I had to choose a weapon, I would probably have snatched a bo staff long before I even thought of picking up a sword. Or, in this case, a katana. However, after choreographing three different sequences with a bo staff, sword, and a poomsae (a series of blocks, punches, and kicks meant to resemble a fight scene), my group leaders, Kathy and Daniel, decided that the sword would be the coolest for our act.
So, despite my nervousness, I bought a katana and got to work perfecting my movements.
As you can imagine, practicing with a katana wasn’t easy. There weren’t many places to practice where I could evade attention (carrying a katana down T. Anne Cleary Walkway tends to draw a lot of stares) and even taking the Cambus (the public bus system in Iowa City) to the Fieldhouse (the University of Iowa’s west side recreational center) grew awkward when students stopped in their tracks upon seeing the katana tucked at my side.
The katana itself also proved difficult. It was heavier than any sword I’d ever wielded, and it took weeks of practice to adjust to its weight. I remember very early on, I was so nauseous after using it during one practice, that I had to lay down for fifteen minutes and sip water until the sickness subsided. Not fun.
And besides my own katana swinging practices, I was still meeting weekly with my team for the big Walk It Out show coming up in April.
For those of you who don’t know, Walk It Out is a multi-cultural fashion show here at the University of Iowa. Since I’m half Chinese, I fell into the East Asian group among other groups like Latin America, Africa, Southeast Asia, LGBTQ, and Hip Hop. But saying that Walk It Out is “just a fashion show” is a complete understatement. Not only are cultural clothes represented, but a variety of dances are performed, songs are sung, and cultural acts are displayed on the catwalk. Everything is welcome; there’s nothing too big for Walk It Out!
But for me, my personal goal for Walk It Out was to push myself out of my comfort zone, starting with the katana solo. With Kathy and Becky, I mastered a fast-paced dance to Toxic by Britney Spears which required twerking, hip-shaking, and a whole lot of confidence. With Ashlynn, Daniel, and Angela, I helped choreograph a dance to September by Earth, Wind, and Fire which substituted as our fresh and fun act during the East Asian portion of the show. And lastly, I took part in our group’s finale to Kill This Love by BlackPink where my group and I completed the iconic dance that took the world by storm only a couple years ago.
Overall, in the few weeks leading up to the actual performance, we were practicing for about 6-7 hours a week! That may not seem like a lot, but when you’re a full-time college student, an employee, and a friend with a social life, these practices took their toll.
On the day of the performance, we filed into the Iowa Memorial Union aka the IMU (home to Iowa’s 500+ student organizations!) where we got to see the stage for the very first time. We admired it from behind, peered through the multiple doorways, and said over and over again, “it’s a lot higher than I thought.” If the nerves weren’t present beforehand, they definitely were now.
The rest of the morning went by in a blur; we practiced together, perfected our catwalks, and got the chance to complete a full-dress rehearsal on the actual stage. Of all the things we did to prep for the show, I think using the actual stage was the best way to prepare myself for what was to come.
And I say this because of how horrible I did during the dress rehearsal.
During the rehearsal, I fumbled with my katana, my kicks were sloppy, and I nearly lost my balance on a move I’d done a thousand times before. I was shaking during Toxic, stumbled on my catwalk, nearly slipped during September, and by the time we got to the finale, I was sick from how disappointed I was in myself. However, in hindsight, doing poorly on this test-run is what launched me into the best performance I’d ever given. I knew what it was like to fail (and that failure wasn’t as bad as it could have been), and now, I wanted to know what it was like to succeed.
But obviously, I didn’t know this at the time, so I spent the next few hours leading up to showtime completely beating myself up over it.
I scurried back to my dorm room where I could sit alone, silently fuming. I remember it took everything in me to shake the frustration and nerves out while I was sitting there. I kept asking myself, “what if that happens again?” or “what if I screw up even worse when I’m actually in front of an audience?” I had asked my friends to take videos of me and the last thing I wanted was to look back on those, watch myself screw up, and cringe over them for an eternity.
Still worried, I applied my makeup with shaky hands and forced myself to eat a quick dinner despite anxiety already filling my stomach to the brim. When it was time to head back to the IMU, I walked quickly, praying the next time I entered my dorm room, I wouldn’t be slumped with disappointment.
But weirdly enough, when I returned to my group, those nerves began to subside. Everyone looked stunning in their makeup and clothes. There were smiles, jokes, and I remember laughing as Laura applied a line of glitter along my cheekbones and as I helped Ashlynn with her eyeshadow. Once we were ready, we ventured outside and onto the patio; basking in the sunset as we posed for an abundance of pictures. Really, everyone looked fantastic, and I still can’t get over how happy everyone looks in these pictures. Those performance jitters were gone, so when the doors opened for the audience to start taking their seats, we were ready for the crowd.
Within the first 10 minutes of the doors being open, about 1/3 of the ballroom was filled, and by the time the show actually started, only a few rows in the back remained empty. Sitting in the last row, I watched as Latin America started and finished their performance, and it when then that I could feel the anxiety creeping back in. Nervous, I stole away from my group, back into our dressing room, and practiced my performances in the dark for the very last time. Little by little, my group mates filed in after me; just as jittery and nervous after watching Africa complete their act. From outside, we could hear the explosion of the applause they received.
Only Southeast Asia, intermission, and then it was us. With every second, the tension in the room grew.
I don’t remember why and who it was, but at some point during those tense moments, someone played Gangnam Style on their phone. The song filled the room; permeating the tension. We all paused, smirking at the irony, and then, before I knew it, we were dancing to the chorus; laughing, smiling, and completely at ease.
Dancing together was familiar. It was fun and we loved it. It was something we could always rely on.
No matter what happened on stage, we were a team, and that was final.
So, fast-forward again to that moment when I stepped up on stage with my katana in hand. I moved to the center of the stage, dipping into a bow. Around me, the crowd went wild. Through the spotlights, I could see a few figures jumping to their feet to get a better look. The screams, applause, and shouts echoed off the ballroom walls. I could barely hear my thoughts. I could barely hear anything.
Then, fear shot down my throat and landed in my stomach.
I can’t hear the music.
The thought was fleeting, and I strained even more to hear. I managed to pick up the familiar beats, but the words were lost to me. The rapper’s voice was forgotten in the crowd. His voice was one of many amid the yelling. I would have to go without it.
I bent into my stance, holding the sword out in front of me. I called on my muscles, my limbs, and my body; the body that have gone over this form a hundred times before this moment. So many times, it did not need music to know when to step, swing, and strike. The movements fell out of me like I was stepping into an invisible song. One after another, I hit each move. My feet flew under me. The katana whipped over my head.
And then, at the very end, I thrust my katana towards the crowd, and I kiyapped (a traditional scream used to release energy during a poomsae). I swear it rattled my bones. I could hear my voice echoing around me, rising over the din of the crowd. It was the loudest scream I’d ever let out and the crowd roared with me. No matter what, this moment will be engrained in my memory forever; me, a katana, the stage, and the crowd below, screaming with me.
Finished, I swung my katana to the side, stood with my chin held high, and basked in their cheers. And then, as quickly as I arrived, I disappeared back down the steps and into the darkness.
The rest of the performance went by in a flash with only a few significant details still vivid in my mind. I remember crouching below the stage with Kathy and whispering to her with a wide grin, “this is so fun!” before we leapt on stage to perform Toxic. I remember clapping behind the curtains when Angela revealed herself to the crowd; decked in an Empress costume as she glided across the stage. I remember how hard I smiled when I danced to September; proud of my choreography. And then, later, when the show was over, and I walked back on stage, I remember my friends who had come to watch as they rushed to the very front, waving for my attention, and flooding me with their excitement. It was unreal and I couldn’t believe how much fun all of it was.
More importantly, I couldn’t believe how bad I wanted to do it all over again!
I found a community in Walk It Out; the East Asian and Southeast Asian friends I never knew how badly I wanted and needed. Even though the show has been over for only a week, I miss all of them already and I can’t wait for next semester when I get to dance with them again.
Who knows? Maybe I’ll be the one choreographing those dances…
I guess time will tell!
