By Sydney Sainté
I grew up dancing.
Every day, carpooling after-school with my best friend Kaela, the both of us rolling around like beans in a maraca in the back of her dad’s mini-van. We’d hastily change from jeans into leotards and tights in the car, shovel a light snack (probably Pizza Bagels) into our mouths, and make it to class, usually with negative time to spare. We would trot into ballet or jazz or modern, our teachers throwing us brief shade for being late to every lesson, and then we’d proceed to dancing well into the evening. We started at our studio when we were about three years old, tots in tutus with no sense of balance or what was to come. It brought us joy, taught us discipline and gifted us friends we still have today, almost twenty-five years later.
By the time we reached sixth or seventh grade, a rift began to form in our group. The difference between girls who danced for the fun of it and the prima ballerinas who would dance professionally, was becoming more and more apparent; the cream was slowly rising to the top. Their feet were like rubber, ours stiffer and fondly nicknamed “biscuits”. The lines of their bodies were long and lean, Kae and I were both all of 5’2” with curves. They nailed the combinations faster and retained them longer, and they made it look so effortless. Some of that is habitual, formed over years of hard work and rehearsal and tutelage. But a lot of it, was raw talent and chops. Some bodies are meant to move, to communicate in that way. Mine was not one of those bodies.
Being raised in the 90s in a well-educated West Indian family was rad (and a massive privilege, thanks Mom and Dad) because it was post-cultural revolution. We were all special children who could be whatever we wanted to be if we put our minds to it. We weren’t bound by as many social constructs, plus going into adolescence we had the Internet aka the whole world at our mousepads. Nice thought, right? Our baby boomer parents were trying to give us a wide enough berth to dream and design lives based on bliss, not duty. Sure, making money was (is, will always be) important. But for the most part we are free to be – you get the idea. I remember trying karate, tennis, archery, gymnastics, volleyball and rock-climbing, not exactly excelling at any of them. Then I took a theater class and got my absolute BEST. LIFE.
“ My mother used to say, “don’t waste your gifts” but I’d like to amend that statement and say don’t HIDE them. “
There is nothing like that feeling when you find purpose. It’s a discovery that taps into the very core of who you are, the very origin of your individual life-force and puts a proverbial prism there so that you can beam your unique light out into the world. Uh-oh, this is getting trés kooky – but stay with me!
My mother used to say, “don’t waste your gifts” but I’d like to amend that statement and say don’t HIDE them. I happen to be able to sing, but I’ve spent most of my life keeping that blessing under wraps. I only ever do it for myself, Karaoke is a personal hell, and don’t you dare ask me to perform in front of live humans. I used to downplay it, never wanting to be seen as a show-off, saying “c’mon if you can talk, you can sing”. Sometimes I think this is a special skill that is wasted on the likes of me. But in 2011, when my beloved Nana suddenly passed on, my father asked me to sing “Amazing Grace” at her funeral. I reluctantly agreed filled with cold dread. The day came and I opened my mouth. I immediately locked gazes with Papa, his eyes brimming with fat tears as he let out a soft, relieved smile: I had taken his heavy grief and warped it, making it almost bearable for those three minutes. I understood then what my mother meant.
We are here for a reason, and maybe it’s to sing or to build a time machine or to raise children or climb Kilimanjaro or to make people laugh. Become acquainted with your talents and strengths, as well as your weaknesses. They are not just meant for you; there are others in need of your power, of your essence. It is one of the brilliant parts of humanity; in the short time we are here, we all have something to give, an offering of soul, if you will. Find what you have to give and share the shit out of it. Be sparing and humble, avoid dimming your own glow. You never know who might need the warmth.
And listen, you are special. Nobody can do what you do, like you do. Now own it.
Sydney is a Caribbean-American, LA-based performer, writer and filmmaker, who can't stop eating and genuinely believes art can save the world.