When I was 2 years old, my mom got a coupon in the mail for ballet class at the local dance studio. Little did she know, that coupon was the catalyst to my life-long relationship with dance. I slowly enrolled in other styles at the studio and eventually ended up joining the competitive dance team at the age of 11. Simultaneously, in 2007, I began taking classes in Bharatanatyam – Indian Classical dance. The closest studio was an hour away, but we made the drive every weekend. After 10 years of commuting back and forth, I completed my Bharatanatyam Arangetram in 2017. Finally, in 2019, I joined my university’s Bhangra team. I cannot remember my life without dance, but I do not want to imagine a life without it.

I’ve spent a lot of time in my life shaping my views of myself around what other people thought of me. To the point where I have no true knowledge of what it means to be “me”. In dealing with my own anxiety it feels like a part of myself was erased. Music is the last true glimpse I feel like I have of myself because I’ve allowed myself to create songs on mental autopilot.

“Chz Bozekh Kaath?” Every night before bed, my father would ask my brother and I if we wanted to hear a story about his life in Kashmir. We would rest our heads against his belly as he told us tales of working on the farm, walking miles to school, and playing by the river. As we grew older, his stories matured, too. We were slowly introduced to the horrors he faced as an adolescent- radical insurgency, terrorism, and death. Kashmir continues to be a disputed territory bubbling with turmoil and has been a site of religious intolerance and persecution.

When I think back to my teenage years I see a slurry of long nights, feelings of inadequacy seeping into the days, and stretches of unhealthy coping mechanisms to try to stay afloat. To my South Asian immigrant parents, I was being difficult. To my teachers and peers at school, I was being too set on the impending future. To my friends, I was being me, a neurotic type A.

Do you remember the times when you used to pretend your stomach was hurting so your parents would let you stay at home? I always thought that being sick meant that you were visibly suffering.