I have been in Montreal, Canada for 3 days and missing my New York families already. The family I lived with and the family I danced with – the 5 Rhythms crew.

My last class on Sunday was equally intense and memorable as the first one I attended upon my arrival in the City. It felt like I had swallowed fireworks because of the lack of sleep and because I was dancing the farewell to my city. I just wanted to leave as much of my soul & DNA as possible in the atmosphere of the Big Apple. So I sweated my prayers furiously. It felt like my last dance – although I know it hasn’t even begun.

We “chaossed” for a good half an hour and I think I lost consciousness, I tranced so hard. I just remember that people around me were slowing down one by one and I was all wearing them out. The music just kept going, going, going on the same chaos beat and the more everyone was giving up, the more I was jumping high and bouncing. I was still full of the morning sun and my restless feet were covered with Coney Island beach sand. What a wonder! I was afraid the teacher would come and tell me that drugs are not tolerated and I’d reply: “No, it’s my most natural state!”

In 6 weeks of dance, I have seen the same faces again and again, I’ve become a strong part of the community although I learnt very few names. It is not always necessary to speak with people afterwards, and I don’t share my name unless someone asks for it. The depth of the dance floor encounters remains more vivid if you only retain the non verbal message you received while sharing the dance. I often don’t see the point of knowing people’s life, the sound of their voice. I fall in love every week on the dance floor and I’d rather walk out of the studio with this beautiful feeling than trying to pursue it. I loved coming in and seeing the faces that became familiar along the weeks. They became like dance relatives, I was noticing people’s absence or presence. We were acknowledging each other implicitly, getting accustomed to our mutual energy.

I loved the very pretty girl my height who seems to have Indian dance background and has equally thick and long hair as mine, but dark. I loved the other pretty girl dancing in a bra and fringed legging and bouncing restlessly. I loved the woman who looks like she has nervous system issues but dances anyway like a valid person. I loved the older man who dresses like a Buddhist monk and seems to send very quiet prayers to the rest of the world when everybody is in chaos. I loved the person whom I could never tell if it was a he or a she or something else but who had a beautiful body and danced her/his/their heart out, and I like that I gave up wondering after a while, because who cares after all. I loved the hunchback guy with a wig from the 80s. I loved the strange woman who always danced with a purse that she was continuously moving in circles, and this ritual stung my curiosity. What was inside the purse? A pendulum? Some beloved person’s ashes? I loved the bunch of tall handsome guys. I loved the bunch of shorter older guys. I loved the bunch of fatter guys.

I loved everyone really. I thank them all for the bliss dance floor times. It’s been a privilege. I will be back for sure.