Chapter 9: Going to High School and Finding Clothes

I may not have mentioned it, but I was home schooled all my life. Just so you know, not all homeschoolers are those strange hokey people who you make fun of. We make fun of the stereotypical public schooler as well. And now that I am enrolled in a teaching class, I have to go to a high school and observe and take notes on specific things and write out journals on our assigned subject to observe.
This sounded fun and easy at first, but then I realized that my schedule was insane and messy! I was so used to having a neat and orderly schedule, but with the move coming up, I thought I should only take three classes and they could be whenever because I would drop them. WRONG!! We are not moving until May. We found a house in an adorable neighborhood and I am trying not to let the feelings form the last chapter seep into this one. So let’s blow that away.
Alright. So I have one class at 8 o’clock then two hours break before my next class (which is when I write these lovely entries that no one reads). Then after my insane sociology class (yes, you know the one) I have work or nothing till my Acting II class. Tuesdays and Thursdays I work from 11 to 5. I am swamped and scattered! So How was I to find the time to drive to a high school and observe. It may seem obvious to you, but know that the teachers are not available at all times I have breaks. They have planning periods and one of my Music teachers is only available in the afternoons!
But O’Dell gave me patients and the cool head to figure it out and I have! I just hope now that my professor doesn’t get on my case because I’m seeing three teachers at once.

On the next subject, I told my parents about wanting to change out my wardrobe. I have nothing but black t-shirts and Tripp pants in my draws. There is nothing wrong with that, but I want a change now to go with my change in life (my journey to being a lady). So I want a more bohemian and hippie look. Yes, a more gypsy look. More Urban. When I told my mom, “I want to change my wardrobe out,” she said, “Ok, that sounds interesting.”
“Yeah, but I’ll have to make most of the cloths I want.”
She stopped and just stared ahead (we were driving home from Texas). “What do you mean? You know you need to relax with this stuff and try to remember that you need to look classy as well as stylish.”
Here is where I went into a speech about what stylish meant to me and she didn’t understand. She thought that I was going to make all my cloths belly dancing costumes!! She thought I was silly enough to want to do that! Oh, the mind of mothers! I told her I want to look stylish and classy, but not mainstream stylish; not TRENDY. Once I explained to her that I was not going to walk around school with hip scarves and jungle belts on, she relaxed a little more.

Honestly…Belly dancing is my life and the ways of the Rom are important to me, but I cannot spoil the mystique of those cloths by wearing them every day. I have to come up with my own fashion and make it work in the colors and designs I like.
So this step is: trying to get nicer, classier cloths and let go of the teenage punk phase. Not my Gothic subculture and lifestyle, never that! But to present myself to the world as a serious person. I love my gothness and the scene. But I also love my tribal/urban ideas. So that is this step too: Balance the two and make it work!!

Chapter 8: Whirlpool of Insanity

My life is once again spinning out of control. And yet in the midst of it all, I am trying to remain the lady that I want to be; but more and more I see myself slipping and becoming just another hateful older sister/first daughter.
I try to please my parents and keep failing. We went to look at colleges today (since we are spending out Spring Break in Texas) and it was a disaster. The school was closed and somehow that was my fault. My father told me that I should have looked at the website to see if it was open. I had checked previously and it all it had was “hours of operation”. My mother also took the opportunity to tell me that I need a plan for school. So I told her about my plan. The one I had before we were moving Texas. Somewhere during this talk, she let slip that she “always has to be there to help me” and other things were said that implied I was a stupid girl.
On this note, my younger sister treated me like an ill-educated person as well. She thinks she knows everything about bodily functions and health and what is good for you and how much exercise you have. She was complaining of blotation (which she does frequently) and saying how she has not been able to relieve herself in days.
She never eats protein.
I looked it up and saw that you have to balance your protein intake with your fiber intake and liquid or you will get constipated. This is what has happened to her. She never eats much protein because she thinks it will make her fat. I told her (before she told me she had not been able to go in days) that she was not constipated. She always says she is constipated. And that is when she went on and on about how I don’t know what constipation is. Which I do.
I did not want to you this blog as a place to complain, but that is all I have to write about at this time. Against my will we went on this Texas trip. I would have much rather stayed at home and danced (which I have not done in WEEKS) or rented movies or drawn or any other manner of things.
On that note, I have no worked out (the little that I do…) in weeks also. Since before I got streph throat. My work out consists of 30 crunches and 30 to 40 leg lifts to strengthen my lower abs. Then I do (sometimes, if I have time) sideways leg lifts for my hips (got to have strong hips for those movements!) and then stretching and sometimes pelvic thrust while lying on my back. That is my work out. I try and do it every night since it is SO LIGHT. I shall do it once more when we get back to Kansas. And school. Actually, I do not think that I have done my work out since the semester started. That’s bad! Especially for a 5’ 4” girl who weighs 140 pounds! But I cannot lose too much weight or I will lose my belly dancer shape which I treasure. It is the shape of a woman.
I am not going to sugar coat it anymore. I hate the skinny girls. Not because they are skinny and I am not, but because I pity them. They have a distorted point of view. It is unhealthy. They are desecrating the temple that is their body. It’s not good for the soul or spirit or the girl.
Very well, I shall leave off here and be back next time with a more light-hearted time and more about dance and the life of a lady. Or the life of becoming a lady. That’s what this is: My times and Trials on the Quest to Womanhood!

Chapter Seven: Is a New Path Ever Needed?

I have to wonder about my life right now. We’re still in the midst of moving to Texas and I am still going to school. Work is piling up with homework, observations (have to be done for my teaching class), scholarship duties, class, and work. Mostly it’s the observations that are scaring me the most. I can’t get a hold of my teachers to organize meetings so I’m falling behind in handing in homework, which is not ok with me. I need to email my teacher and tell her that. I hate being behind.
Life at home is fine. Mostly because I’m never at home. I’m school from sun up to sun down every day save Saturday and Sunday and those days go by too fast. At least this Friday I’m getting a small break (after all the work is done of course). Elhira and I are going to see the new “Alice” movie by Tim Burton. I know he will do a fabulous job on the movie. Some people say he ruins kids books like that (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory) but really, if people had read those books, they would see that he actually does a very good job. Those books are disturbing…and awesome!!
So trying to maintain my lady-like behavior and my belly dancer grace in the midst of all of this is insane. I did my hair in tons of tiny braids and braided in yarn and various charms here and there to give myself a “tribal” look and feel. And it has done wonders for me. I feel better and prettier and like I have something to show the world. I also bought Almond oil and alovera (spelling!?) for my skin and already my thighs and buttocks feel better. I have the worlds nappiest bumps and what not on my fore arms and other said places and this skin treatment is so good. I recommend it. Just apply the oil and alo to the places you have thirsty skin and within a week or two (always after a shower!) you should see results. I put the oil in my hair sometimes too because I have dry poofy hair.
Alright, enough lady-talk! I just felt the need to update since I have not in the longest time and being a lady is a 24/hour chore. Thanks for reading. I promise to write far more interesting things later!!!

Chapter Six: Allegory

In the last chapter, I discussed how dancing solo is easier and more to my style. Sadly, the romani way is to travel in packs together, but it does not seem as though I will be able to do that. Not because I do not wish too, but because there are no packs to travel with other than my immediate kumpania, who I love. But this does not help me with dance.
Yes, I have had time to think of this over the ridiculous holiday that was yesterday. The Holiday of red and hearts and flowers. A happy time no doubt for someone who has a special person to share it with. I am not begging for a man, however, I simply stating what nearly every person is thinking on this White Day.
When dancing alone (mostly raqs sharqi for me) I find myself free and able to do whatever I want. If I want to dance fast, I do. If I want to move slowly and sensually I do. I so adore ballroom dance, but that requires something I do not have; a partner. Though this is the main point, let me elaborate on another similar subject for a moment.
Dance comes from many traditions and lifestyles. I have spoken in brief about the lifestyles I lead: gothic, romani, and lady-like manners. All of these aid in creating a better me. I know more about ballroom dance than the average person because I studied it for almost 5 years. So hear me when I say what I saw at Louis’ Dance Studio that night was appalling. First, all of the Swingsters are ugly men who, and my best friend agreed with me, are only swing dancing because it’s the only way to touch a pretty girl. Yes, they are very talented but I have to wonder why, in a world of American opportunity they chose to be dancers.
So that’s point one. Secondly, the music they mostly dance to is what they call East Caoast, but really is simply rock music. Excuse my vulgarity here, but they freakin danced to that “boots with fur” song! That is not ball room music. That is my second point; they have lost the true meaning and soul behind that dance. It is a dance of elegance and passion, not sluttyness and lust. But that is all that dance has turned into these days. It is lust. Ballroom used to be a dance of respect between a man and woman. The man would lead and the woman was brave enough to let him lead and he took her on an adventure. It was an allegory for life. It still is, but all modern standards though. It had just evolved into something grotesque. Sex, lust, and dirt passion.
Belly dance has met with these people as well and it will take many of us purist dancers to bring it back to the light. Like ballroom is about a journey between a man and a woman, belly dance can be that as well, or simply a celebration of the voluptuous woman. A praise for the goddess in us all. It is not bawdy and sexual, it is beautiful and sensual. It is pure. It is feminine. We, as female dancers must never dance before an all male audience and we must offer ourselves as something to be bought; no sex for sale. We are strong, beautiful, independent women, who do not yet have a man to take us on our journeys. And that may never be your future. Or maybe you are a belly dancer and you have one man who you love for whom you can dance. Stick to that man and love him with all of your strong feminine passion.
All of my other posts seem ridiculous compared to this one. I am still trying to figure out what this blog is for. So if you are reading, then thank you.
Until the dust settles from your journey, may O’Dell bless you and keep you.

Chapter Five: Dancing Solo

Aysu was standing in the back of the room like she had years ago. The dance studio was a live with music, flashing lights and the beat of the East Coast Swing was familiar and it called to her muscle’s memory. Elhira had asked her to come and dance. It had been years since Aysu stood in the room, the large dance floor lined with mirrors was so familiar. But it wasn’t the same without her brothers there. Once, she and her older brothers had come here every weekend and they were good dancers. She danced for about four years in this style. She had once been good.
But now, here she stood not even remembering the basic step. “Once on the floor, I’ll remember,” she told her best friend Elhira. “Muscles have memory, you know.” She had been so excited about coming and dancing all night and now here she was. No one to dance with. No one good, any way. So she went and began to dance the familiar steps with one of Elhira’s friends. He was just fine. He wasn’t amazingly good, but he knew some stuff.
After almost an hour of beating about the room and bordly dancing with Elhira’s friend,s he stood back and watched, remembering the nights she had stood just like this. Only never for this long. She had three brothers to dance with and now they had all moved on. She was bored, longed to dance like times of old and had no one to do it with.
Finally, she spotted a boy from her acting class who had been something of a stalker a year ago. But she was desperate. She knew he was a great dancer…and so did he. She asked him to dance and they did. It was amazing. He was not attractive at all, but his movements were elaborate and strong; he knew what he was doing and knew that she could follow along. It was like old times as she flew across the dance floor, her arms twisting and her legs stylishly bending and kicking. Her body came a love again.
But it was too short lived. The song ended and she was back to standing and watching. It was like being her old 14 to 18 year old self again’ moody, depressed and hanging back. It was awful. Then Anika, her sister, came up and said, “Let’s go out and belly dance! No one is asking me to dance.”
“Sure,” Aysu thought. “You’ve dance more than me, skinny thing.”
Aysu really did love her sister, but after battling her anorexia for 3 or more years had made Anika something of a given enemy. She was thin and fragile but insisted on dieting all the time and working out. Belly dancing was one way she did this and that angered Aysu.
“Fine,” Aysu said outloud. “But only for a few seconds.” She really didn’t feel like showing her raqs sharqi to hand full of West Coasters on the dance floor. But that didn’t last. Aysu and Anika hit the floor and didn’t stop undulating and swimming through the air until the song ended.
Aysu came off the floor thinking, “This is why I belly dance. I can do it alone.”
Sad, but true. That’s the way it was. Belly dancing was beautiful and feminine and passionate; and you could do it alone. You depended on no one. It was freeing.

Chapter Four: Hypocrite!

There is one thing that ties all of the things Aysu was trying to live together. She was trying to live "in the world and not of it", the good life of the cultures she loved (the philosophies of belly dancers), a follower of O'Dell and the gothic lifestyle. That one thing was this "Do not be a hypocrite."
Aysu had so many brothers and sisters growing up and she still had many that she had to be a good example for. She always tried in her own power to be "good" and to "do the right thing" so that the little ones might learn from her. But as you know, that was already difficult.
So some of the rules of wanting to be a real belly dancer (other than knowing the history, studying the roots and knowing the differences of the dances) is to be a lady. To be polite and to know that you really are beautiful and strong. So be a lady.
One of the gothic philosophies is to be honest and accept as much as you can. Alright, so honest might seem easy and maybe it was. Once Aysu started on that path (not that she was dishonest and a liar before) she found she liked it well. Being honest made you sweeter, nicer and made people more comfortable around you and you more comfortable around other people. The harder part for people was the accepting bit. Aysu tried it and found that not judging people and keeping meaner thoughts in her head and not through her mouth was nice as well. She stopped gossiping and simply accepted people. Now some may think that this clashes with O'Dell's teaching to spread the Word, but it doesn't. Once people see that you are not "out to attack and convert them" they are at ease in your presence and will accept you as well. Then you're life will be the Witness. So accepting people is better then judging them.
Finally, the Teachings of O'Dell tell us over and over again not to be a hypocrite. Some of you are reading this and thinking, "yes, only for O'Dell's followers though." Or you may be thinking that you have never been a hypocrite in you're life...you are completely mistaken if you think that.
Everyone has said something is stupid then gone and done it. Or you have told your friends that that TV show is not worth your time and you don't like it and neither should they. Then you finally get to know the show and there you are every Friday, watching it. The worst case is telling people (even your kids) not to lie or cheat or steal. No doubt a parent has had to "tell tales" in the work place or at school. It is the hardest thing to avoid.
In Aysu's sociology class, the teacher showed what a hypocrite he and other psychologist were. It was actually an interesting class and they were discussing "symbolic interactionism." Aysu read the definitions and the talk began.
"So SI really goes back to critical constructionism," she said to her group partners. "Because critical constructionism is the people with money being the people with power who therefore influence the social interactionsim."
The teacher had to agree but then said, "Of course some critical constructionists will disagree with that because..." The rest of what he said faded out as Aysu's thoughts were activated. The teacher had labeled a group of people. "Critical constructionists". So the whole philosophy of not being in groups and having a socialist network really didn't matter? Weren't Sociologists supposed to be more open minded? No groups? Marxists. They all really had names and profiling was supposed to bad. He said so earlier in the class!
So there it is. Hypocrisy is everywhere you look. The biggest is in the media. But that is another post and will be written another time.

Chapter three: Life in the Malestrom

The days were passing slowly and events seemed to have to some sort of a snail-like crawl. Normally, this drives a person insane, but Aysu knew that it meant she was to observe something. And there was much to observe.

Since the family was moving far away, she had to go with them because her father would not allow her to live on her own.

"I'm old enough!" Aysu used to say in her arguments with her parents. "I have a job, and I'm 20 years old!"

It was no use. Her father would say that he could not leave her in a place unprotected. Aysu stilled argued. Finally, it came down to logic.

"How much money to you make a month?" Father had asked.

"About $400," she said, knowing at once what was coming next.

"It will take you nearly $1500 to live alone," Father coaxed. "Per month. That's car, phone, apartment and food and other essentials."

Of course he was right. But that didn't make it any better or easier. So after many weeks of anger, frustration and home searching, Aysu spent a night in prayer to O'Dell.

She lit her candles and placed them around the oriental rugs on her bedroom floor. Then she put her bible and incense burner in the center turned down the lights then sat in the middle of it all. she closed her eyes and asked for peace of mind and calmness of spirit before she opened the Holy Book to a chapter. The first thing she read was an order from O'Dell to one of his followers to "go south".

That was all it took. It was real. She had asked and in that moment O'Dell answered. There was mo arguing about it. But then, something more extraordinary happened. In the depths of her stomach, something erupted and she felt excited. Something told her that something...or someone...was waiting for her in the southern land. She knew she had to go. She must go, take the journey, and find that something....someone.

And if only it was that easy. She had a plan to fulfil at the academy she attended. She had auditioned for the theatre there and had won enough money to take a few classes. She had been at the academy for years and was ready to graduate. This was the last semester she was to be there. And she would have to leave before that happened. Naturally, this made her angry, but she remembered that O'Dell had a plan. So she just took 3 classes and began to bide her time, still working in the Writing Center of the academy.

But it got worse. She auditioned for one of the plays and got a role in the Japanese play (perfect for a girl wanting to expand beyond the shallow thoughts of American Society). She thought it all would work out, but then the director told her that the play would tour in May...

She was supposed to move to the South before April. And now she didn't know what to do. She had thought of many options:

1) Stay. find a place to live till after May. But then she would be there for the rest of the semester, which she had not planned on. So she did not take the last class she needed to graduate. So now if she stayed, it would be frustrating to know she could have graduated, but didn't.

2) Move to working on costumes or makeup for the first play. Then she could still leave earlier in the year.

3) Just wait it out...

This last option was at first, appealing but the more she thought about it, the more it sounded less like good old Romani honesty. So she went with #2. And now all she could do was hope for the best and pray to O'Dell to be merciful. To let her life be a little easier now. Let the director know that the plays really did mean something and that she truly was sorry for being a burden.

All she could do was hope...