The Resilience of Community

“In a dream you saw a way to survive and you were full of joy.”

I first encountered this quote in early 2013 when I was still a student at The Boston Conservatory. It was gifted to us by the vibrant Nicole Smith, then a repetiteur of Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane Company, setting Mr. Jones’ D-Man in the Waters on my junior class. The masterpiece from 1989, is still frequently performed by schools and companies, and was made during the height of the AIDS epidemic. Mr. Jones’ partner Arnie Zane had just passed away from an AIDS-related death the year before, and company dancer Demian Acquavella (whom this work is dedicated to: “D-Man”) passed the year after. Although created as a way for the company to deal with the grief, this piece brings with it triumphant joy; celebrating the perseverance of a community who carry each other through to survival.

The piece itself requires the dancers to exert an unstoppable momentum — to dive, roll, and belly-slide alongside Mendelssohn’s exuberant Octet in E-Flat Major, Op. 20; jumping into one another’s arms, catching one when one falls, carrying each other through to the very end. Clad in combat fatigues, it is a journey which one cannot finish alone, but where one must participate in the group effort to inspire strength within. 

15th of April 2013, two homemade pressure cooker bombs detonated near the finish line of the 117th Boston Marathon. It killed three, injured many, and dismembered the limbs of sixteen. My school was only about half a mile away from the finish line and I evacuated promptly. Entering the street I saw a panicked plethora of students and civilians running to and fro. Crying, calling loved ones, collective sounds of sirens pushing into the city; chaos.

Arriving back to my apartment the frenzy continued as Boston went into a total lockdown. We helplessly froze in grief, gluing our faces to the news as we followed the progression of the city-wide manhunt. Uncertainty rang the air with stagnant fear, classmates traumatized from witnessing the finish line. We called our friends and anyone we could think of in hopes that nobody was a direct victim. As the night went on, all we could do was watch as the news revealed the dead and the injured, one-by-one. I felt myself distant, unable to process how one could commit such a blind, heinous act against humanity.

A noticeable chill cut through the air when we returned to school some days later. Utter feelings of loss haunted the city, and still a disbelief that such terror had been so close to us. We each held our own grief, but also left space to take care of each other. 

Nonetheless we were due to perform D-Man in the Waters that same weekend. And for once in my training it was so clear why I do, what I do. The audiences were solemn, but each night we could feel the potent transference of unity; using a collective effort to lift up one another. As I catapulted off the back of my dear friend Curtis, into the arms of another, Michael, we were journeying through a revival of human spirits; all undeniably there for each other. We were all well aware of the grim circumstances we were performing under; but also of the gift we had to be there — alive, healthy, and with the ability to move our bodies the way that we did. In united endurance through the hardships, we found rejoice and resilience. 

I’m thinking about this piece and this time today, because I recognize a similar panic and grief in our global community amidst our fight against COVID-19. Of course there are many inherent qualities that make this crisis different from any other, disabling us from physically being together let alone make/watch live art. But the answer is still the same — we desperately need each other and we need to strive to find ways of feeling together no matter how isolated we have to be. We mustn’t selfishly make it only about ourselves, or blame a country, or its entire race. We’re in a global pandemic and we’re going through it together. 

We may only be at the tip of our dives into instability and perhaps surviving this epic only by the belly-slide, but there will be triumph found amongst this mess. And part of that triumph is up to us — to stay open, to keep creating, to find unusual solutions to this unusual situation, and to undeniably be there to support anyone and everyone.  (And of course stay at home, and wash your hands).

1998 performance of D-Man in the Waters (Pt. 1) by Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane Co:

2019, my epic.

2019 for me was a big year: it was exuberantly eventful especially in regards to my career as a performer, but it was also the most scary, trying, and uncomfortable year where I really had to face myself. So in light of that I want to shout a loud thank you, to the dozens and dozens of people that stayed by my side and persistently pushed me forwards to face the world with courage; to believe in myself.

At the end of 2018: 30th of October, my grandfather passed away. His name was Louis Cha, otherwise known to the Chinese as Jin Yong: a most prolific author whose legendary stories painted riveting worlds of wuxia (stories of martial artists living in ancient China). I was deeply saddened by the news as I felt I never got the chance to develop a strong relationship with him. On this day I decided to go to a ballet class and devoted the hour and a half to dance for my grandfather. He once told me he used to do ballet too. At the end of class I saw on my phone a missed call from New York City. It was Paladino Casting offering to fly me to the city the following week to audition for a leading (and speaking) role in a new musical, due to run as an opening production for The Shed. Okay, wild. That evening I’m on my bicycle and I get hit by an Uber driver. As I flew off my handles I remember thinking “What, is happening today?!” And so, I felt that 30th of October 2018 was telling me to “Get up, go face the world and remember how short our lives are. So give it a good fight.”

TWO THOUSAND NINETEEN

First, a trip to Beijing for a crash course in martial arts.

So I got the part to play Little Phoenix in Dragon Spring Phoenix Rise : a musical about a family of martial artists living in Flushing Queens, NY. Yes, martial arts. No, I have never in my life trained in it. So they flew the principal cast to Beijing to train with master Zhang Jun, a powerful and very kind man who trained at Shaolin as a kid, now directing epic stunts for the film industry. He and his team gave us a crash course on a couple of weapons, tai chi, and the general look of a warrior. This was very far from easy. Although I had twenty years of dancing behind me, it required me to undo a lot in order to become a fighter. It was like learning a whole new, foreign language. Yet, this was also a wonderful time getting to know each other like a family. Our director Shi-Zheng and his amazing wife Audrey would take us out after rehearsals to eat Beijing together; then day after day we’d start again.

Chinese New Years in Hong Kong.

From Beijing I caught a flight to Hong Kong to see my dad who lives there, as well as my grandma and extended family. It happened to be Chinese New Years, my first in Hong Kong. My dad took me to a temple to see some of the celebrations. One tradition is to get your fortune told using something called kau chim, or “divination sticks.” Basically you shake a container of 100 bamboo sticks while asking a question in your mind until one of the bamboo sticks fall out. Each stick has a number which coordinates to a short allegory or verse. My dad translated my resulting numbers for me and basically told me that my year would be full of success and luck; that what I lose would be found. He also told me I would travel a lot.

Moon Dances in Oxford.

Back in England I resumed working with my dear South African friend Jann Esterhuizen and a trio of us performed her work Moon Dances at the Dancin’ Oxford festival. Jann moved to London the same time I did and there’s been a small group of us that’s tried to tackle the challenges of freelance work and maintenance together. We’re talking about self-guided ballet classes in our friend’s home, playing with choreography in my living room, hiring people to come teach us in whatever makeshift space we manage, and of course many coffees. So this was a huge accomplishment to finally get us on stage together.

Visa problems; proving my worth to stay in the UK.

So my work visa the UK was running out at the same time and I applied for a Tier 1 Exceptional Talent visa. After a hefty application telling the Arts Council why the UK needs me, I then had to exit the country to complete my application. Crossing borders with a sword in my bag, I hid out in Rotterdam and then to Berlin with some good friends while I waited for my results. Whilst in Berlin I went to an old Chinese-German man’s basement to learn some Tai Chi, and also found Wudang Deutschland where I dropped into a few Qi Gong and sword classes. A few weeks later I got the visa approved, giving me five more years to stay in the UK.

New York City: the opening of The Shed.

Soon after, The Shed brought us to New York to participate in a couple of press performances celebrating its grand opening in Hudson Yards. Suddenly this production felt very, very real. We were no longer just practicing martial arts in an intimate, carpeted room in Beijing; we were in the middle of New York, in this gigantic new building with lots of cement, and thousands of people funnelled in with expectations.

Connecting with anyone and everyone to train hard.

I then returned to London for one more month before the production officially began, trying to recruit anyone and everyone I could to further my warrior status. I found the amazing Adam Rae and Sam Mak who both helped me understand sword and wushu at a deeper level. I found a Bagua class meet-up every Saturday in Regent’s Park. I splurged on a fancy gym membership at Third Space; worthy of every penny because the people who work there welcomed me and my sword with open arms, cheering me on every day. My friend Hayley Chilvers just finished her personal trainer training and came to help me get ripped. Another friend Nikki Rummer helped me learn aerials and back handsprings. Daniel Phung and Sam Baxter took me to the park for some tricking basics. And the beautiful Emma Bonnici helped me find my voice in the songs that I’d be singing. It was a whirlwind of information but I practiced and trained wherever; however badly or good I could.

Birth of the Little Phoenix.

Upon the arrival of May came the real fight. From our first table reading with our writers Jonathan Aibel and Glenn Berger, Producer Laura Aswad, and The Shed’s Artistic Director Alex Poots; to seeing the impressive model of the show's scenery originally conceived by Tim Yip, realized by Mikiko Suzuki MacAdams; receiving music tracks from Sia, remixed by Arca and the Haxan Cloak; meeting Lisa Giobbi our aerial flight director; having Ruthy Inchaustegui inspire wherever she could; the brillant Joy Alpuerto assisting Akram Khan; Montana Levi Blanco bringing in racks and racks of clothing to try on; and to Cookie Jordan who asked if I’d bleach my hair for the part (which the fabulous Gio Bargallo fulfilled that and more).

We had six weeks to create the show and it was full of play, experimentation, cuts, bruises, and other weapon-related mishaps. But we all pushed along as a team. I feel so privileged to have been inspired, challenged, and supported by an enormously talented cast of artists. A huge shout to our director Chen Shi-Zheng and fellow principal performers Dickson Mbi, Ji Tuo, Peiju (Ling Ling) Chien-Pott, David Torok and David Patrick Kelly for creating the supportive environment that we had. So many times they picked me back up when I thought I couldn’t do it anymore.

<< During this time I also made emergency Skype calls to some trusted acting teachers I had from my Vancouver upbringing: Andy Toth and Lisa Bunting. They both had my back and I knew they wouldn’t leave me without some great words of wisdom and tactile encouragement. >>

The show opened for five weeks, seven shows a week. My powerhouse roomie Lani Yamanaka (also the show’s fierce Dance Captain) and I would wake up each day, meet eyes in the kitchen, and muster up the energy to rally each other on. What also kept me going were of course the audiences we got to meet, and all my amazing friends that came out to cheer me on each night. From the deep friendships I made in school, to the ones I met from the various summer programs, or those that I had the pleasure to work with or in parallel to when I used to live in NYC. There were also the more far away loved ones who made it in town like my trusted partner Ed, my childhood tap teacher Amy Burns from Vancouver, mentor Kerry Nicholls from London; my mom, my dad, my brother and sister all flew in to see my big moment. This show to me was not only some big cumulation of everything I’ve ever worked for, but also a reunion of people that I deeply love from all fragments of my life.

Every night my stage twin, Ji Tuo, and I would win our big fight together and fly up into the air. It was always at this moment that I thought of my grandfather way up above; feeling that every slash of my sword connected me closer to his being and what he stood for. Never would I have thought that I’d have such an opportunity to learn so much more about him and his world. But this entire journey physically let me live the stories he used to write, and allowed me to understand more about who, and where I came from. Thank you, Gung Gung.

Back in England, starting with the Cohan Collective.

After the Big Apple I get right back to work, taking part in Robert Cohan’s choreographic residency held in Bournemouth. Here I worked with the lovely Malcolm Sutherland and spent beach-town time with some more fellow dancers and friends.

Then, Company Wayne McGregor.

I then received a surprise, last-minute audition for Wayne McGregor who was looking for a couple of dancers to join the company in his making of the opera Orpheus and Eurydice. This was a collaboration with the English National Opera, performing at the gorgeous London Coliseum in Covent Garden. Yet again, another riveting but challenging process. It was great insight to be apart of an environment where the creativity was constant and in which the dynamic community of dancers drove ferociously.

A little trip to Verona.

Ed and I managed to take a weekend trip to Verona - my first time to Italy. After a colossal year for both of us we decided we deserved a little holiday in the city of love, drinking many Aperol spritz and eating all kinds of carbs. Throughout this nonstop year of excitement, near-defeats and victories, Ed never failed to be there to encourage me with his patience and cut my frequent bullshit of self-doubt. I owe so much of my gratitude to this man. All the while he opened a brand new, cutting edge VR arcade in Haggerston called The Otherworld, and was named as 1 of London’s 1000 Most Influential persons in 2019 with his business partner Chris Adams.

And a visit back to the west coast of North America.

By November my 27th birthday arrived and I jet off to see my family in Vancouver, via LA. I get to visit the Cali hometown of Kaelie, my close friend from college, and we even make it to Disneyland! All the thanks to seeing another dear friend Thomas Vu, who played my stage hubby years ago and drove me around LA to show me the life. In Vancouver I reunite with close friends from childhood dance days, my former dance teachers, and even my Grade 12 English teacher who turned out to practice Wing Chun.

A silent meditation retreat to close the decade.

I managed to snag a spot to my first 10-day Vipassana meditation course through dhamma.org. I first learned about this when my friends Lukasz and Danica came to see my show in New York and talked of their experiences. I was immediately drawn to the idea of it and felt that this was the perfect time for me to submit myself to something like it. Ten days of no talking, no phones, no distractions; just sitting to take a pure, intense, and forgiving look at myself. One thing I took most from this was the time to recognize the endless mounds of people and things that I am grateful for in my ever-changing life.

As this next decade faces me like a blank canvas, I am moving forwards feeling fulfilled and refreshed. I know what is important to me and I will persevere.