From Scrolls to Steps
How we go on about our lives is fabricated with our decisions; it’s our obligation as an existing life form. And as human beings, we make the wrong decisions.
Derived from a sole choice, it escalates into another branch of decisions and possibilities, and we just happen to choose one that leads us to a dead end—this constitutes and will constitute the majority of my life. Likewise, I have my regrets: stealing my sister’s clothes, neglecting my parents during my puberty-stricken years, and staying up until early in the morning binge-watching my favorite Netflix shows. But one particularly poignant decision trails behind me to this very day, and I envision a path, sprinkled with the remnants of its aftermath, that awaits me.
Hints of a warm evening light narrowly sliced through slanted blinds, and beyond them stood a strangely still world with tiny people hidden behind masks. Through countless hours of scrolling on YouTube, I found myself spiraling into an endless loop of distraction—until one video changed everything. It featured someone I deeply admired: a Korean pop idol. What started as a harmless search for K-pop entertainment quickly evolved into an obsession. Video after video, I was captivated, diving into vines, “try not to laugh” compilations, and eventually professional dance videos and tutorials. At first, it was just entertainment. But somewhere along the way, it became something more—a spark of inspiration that I never anticipated.
My addiction to YouTube wasn’t just a mindless escape; it was a door to discovering something transformative. Dance, an art form I’d never considered before, suddenly felt magnetic. The more I watched, the more I imagined myself performing—expressing stories through movement, connecting with an art form that was deeply rooted in culture and creativity.
This newfound love, however, wasn’t without its challenges. As I began to immerse myself in dance, doubts lingered—some whispered by those around me, others echoing from within the unknown depths of my own mind. It was some sort of forbidden fruit. The expectations of pursuing STEM or varsity sports loomed large, and I felt torn between fulfilling societal norms and chasing a passion I’d stumbled upon by accident. But amid the background noise, I bit the bullet, and it was this very unexpected discovery that made dance feel so vital, so personal.
My sixth-grade self, who once felt unathletic and untalented, would be surprised by my deep commitment to dance, now unwilling to let a day pass without it. Two years into dancing, I sometimes doubt my passion, influenced by discouraging and unwelcome opinions of others. “Dance won’t give you a future.” “Dance is only temporary.” Despite these challenges, I persist, driven by a belief not just in dance itself, but in a broader sense of optimism. I find solace in the idea that things will improve, affirming that there is indeed light at the end of the tunnel.
But what I had not realized was that this particular design of events would bring about so much pain, doubt, and uncertainty. Upon dipping my toes into this foreign endeavor, I was doubted, in not my pursuits but who I was as a person. And I gave into that influence by consuming the discouraging and unwelcome opinions of others. “Dance won’t give you a future.” “Dance is only temporary.” Everywhere I went, I couldn’t find a way out of the countless dead ends. I was lost. I had no value.
I could only think about how easy my life would have been if I were to have decided to click a video from The Organic Chemistry Tutor. What if I wasn’t on YouTube then? What if I hadn’t clicked that one dance video?
Four years later, you’d imagine I gave up on my pea-sized dream of pursuing dance as an extracurricular—I did, too. But I was wrong.
Dance has always been more than just a movement of the body, or a tool for decorating music; it’s a celebrated art form, a language, and for me, a pathway to self-discovery. For me, dance constitutes a great part of my identity, and a bridge connecting me to a world of culture—whether that is my inherited ethnicity, Korean heritage, or others that I aspire to explore—and creativity. This journey has not always yielded the good, and definitely has not always been linear or easy. But that’s what makes dance so incredibly special to me—something that I genuinely love, from the bottom of my heart.
Dance has shaped me in ways I couldn’t have ever imagined. It’s not just about posting my progress on social media, perfecting movements, or performing on stage; it’s about connecting with a part of myself that feels alive with expression and storytelling—especially if that is connecting with my Korean heritage. The cultural nuances I’ve touched upon along the way, whether that was the countless hours I’ve invested on YouTube exploring K-pop’s dynamic styles or other dance traditions, have enriched my perspective on identity, guiding me, who felt so disoriented, back on-track. I’ve detached myself from the stigmatization of Asian culture because not every kid is conventionally, insanely smart.
Chaos and dismay, such striking vocabulary, fail to describe 2024. But with the turmoil and agony came an opportunity for me to reflect.
What we often overlook is the value of a single day. While it seems insignificant as we look into the distance of many more to come, which some even feel as though a burden, we only have so many until we begin to recognize that one wrinkle on our finger had deepened from the last time we saw it. And only then can we turn around how we’ve whizzed sea after sea, mountain after mountain, cloud after cloud.
And this is what causes the excruciatingly painful throb in my chest—in all of us. It’s not something that can disappear by ripping my heart out. We are powerless in the face of what was created before us. We cannot pull out our intercontinental ballistic missiles, nor hold our typical fervent protests against this abstract phenomenon. I don’t even have the capacity to understand why or how? We simply live by it, without question, because we are powerless and vulnerable in the face of time.
Here we are. We run forward, every day, looking in the opposite direction. You can’t run backwards. It’s beyond human capability. So take it in. Look forward, and keep running. And in a couple of years, you’ll look back and see how far you’ve come. You aren’t neglecting all that has gone by in a whirlwind, nor are you leaving your 20-year-old self in the past. The reason is because it is impossible: you are the past. The past is what constitutes you.
What brought me to this particular standstill wasn’t the COVID-19 outbreak, or the endless replaying of dance videos. Nor was it a quest to uncover my role in dance. It was my fixation on the past—the regrets, the missteps, the moments I couldn’t undo. But life isn’t about fighting what’s already been revealed; it’s about fighting for what we can shape, here and now, and in the future.
By: Jeneve Lee
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