Hula Dancing Essay Example
The first thing that comes to mind when asked about hula, is hula really a sport? Before I started to dance hula, I used to think it was girls who wear bright green ti leaf skirts that swayed gracefully from side to side and wore bright colorful flowers that stood out in the dancer’s hair but there’s a deeper meaning to just being a known for looking pretty, wearing green leaf skirts. I remember every inch of the first day or beginnings or shall I say a new chapter of my life not knowing this was gonna be stuck with me.
I remember what my mom told me right before I entered the class filled with designed skirts. “You are so confident and outgoing, I already know you’ll catch on quick!” I felt reassured by those words so I walked up with confidence even though on the inside I felt like a bunny being circled by a hawk. All eyes were on me and I felt so small, but as soon as I got to introduce myself, I felt welcomed. As we began it wasn’t easy, it was actually very hard. Hearing the ipu tap on the ground and by the hands, my uncontrollable hips started to move along with my feet following every beat. All of my weight is shifted and pushed into the ground and I was starting to get the rhythm even though I might have looked like a crab dancing, I was able to manage my timing correctly. As this continues every Saturday, I caught on really quickly and was doing extremely well in class. By this time listening to my Kumu scolding, yelling, throwing slippers at me was a natural thing to do, but it built me to becoming a better version of myself.
I started to gradually improve and made it to the competition group. I felt a rush of adrenaline when I got to see girls my age and at my level. I wanted to be like them I thought. Seeing each girl with their hair gelled back and a flower in their hair with the same green skirt on made me feel left out, but I knew that I needed to diligently train harder. The song started and I was convinced that I knew every footwork and move, but my confidence was all torn away as I got corrected by my Kumu. She called on my name and I tilted my head curiously on what she is about to say as I pinch my skin feeling an overwhelming wave of nervousness. “Chablis, your footwork is inconsistent and sloppy, fix it right now and show some emotion,” my Kumu said in a demanding voice. My confidence slowly started to break apart as shyness overtook every movement I made. I felt like I wanted to burst into tears for being put in the spotlight. I second-guessed every step I took felt as I doubted myself and I bet that my Kumu was already disenchanted to even look at my trembling face and to see any more of me. “Nope that’s not correct, it’s like this,” she said while standing up to show me the right placement of my foot. “In order to be in this class, you need to consistently practice at home and make me believe that you want it.” in a scolding tone. Before that day came to an end, I remember rethinking that moment and wanting to give up. I couldn’t physically show how I truly felt, so I kept going along with what my Kumu advised me to do which I still continuously do to this day.