 I've never really understood the whole animal rights thing. Don't get me wrong, I love pets and I love my dog like crazy. But I've never been one to cry over the animal rescue commercials and I've always thought that it's a little silly to go through huge adoption processes for animals. But while in Uganda, I came to discover my heart for animals was a little bigger than I realized. We did not see lions. I honestly don't think I ever will see a lion in Africa either. But, we did see monkeys, pigs, cows, goats, chickens, cranes and (on one special occasion) a camel. Needless to say, the wildlife was overflowing. At first, I would go visit the pigs. Then Auntie Rachael told me how pigs are greedy and will break through their enclosure to eat babies when their hungry. After that, I stopped visiting the pigs. I decided to move on to chickens. The family would laugh at me as they watched me stare after the chickens and would tell Gilbert to get a chick for me. He’d go up to a bunch of baby chicks and pick one up for me. Then, the momma hen would stick her neck out, flap her wings and chase him like any protective mom would. So, he would throw the chick back at her and grab a huge banana branch and try again. When the mom came after him a second time, he'd hit her with the branch! I loved holding the tiny chick in my hands, but I couldn't help but feel bad for the momma and her crying baby. So, after a while I'd return the baby to the mom and avoid getting into the same predicament for short while. Another time, we went to visit a Muslim family. All the kids were with us (and a good ten extra we had picked up along the way) and they all already knew how much I loved animals. So, while Pastor Alex was talking to the Muslim family, Joseph went over, picked up a baby goat and placed it in Sebastian's arms. Then he went back and got one for me. That was fun. Of course, I'm no fool. We definitely ate one of the roosters I had bonded with, thus reminding me why it is such a bad idea to get attached to your soon to be dinner. But it was still worth it. I had fun watching the animals and I know for a fact the Ugandans had fun watching me be entertained by the animals. However, I'm not actually writing this post to talk about all my silly animal stories. There was actually a very significant lesson to be learned through my attachment to them. So, here's one last story before I share the lesson. Joseph had a dog named Ami. He was Joseph's loyal companion and would follow him to Momi and Dad's house where we were staying. Near the end of our trip, he'd hang out with us every day and just lay down in the shade. He looked a lot like my dog. He had the same features as a German shepherd only he looked as though he had been shrunk down ten sizes. Both the resemblance to my dog and my natural love for dogs made me fond of Ami really fast. Every day, I'd step outside and the family would start laughing at me right away. They already knew where I was going. They would watch as I walked over to Ami and started petting him. They don't eat dogs, but to them, animals need to have some kind of purpose other than companionship. I'm sure in their heads they were wondering why I was spending so much time petting the security system. But who's to blame them? Who would want to pet an animal covered with fleas and ticks? Yes, every day, I'd find three new ticks buried deep in Ami's neck. And every day I'd say, "Joseph!" and point to the ticks so he'd remove them. One day while petting Ami and sitting with Momi, Dad, Auntie Rachael, Joseph and Sandra, I told them how if my dog ever had fleas and ticks my mom would panic and get a bunch of medication for the dog. A concerned look came on Auntie Rachael's face. She bent down and started looking at Ami and saying something to Joseph in Luganda. I suddenly realized how ignorant my statement was. The thought of medical care for an animal was probably unheard of. And then it hit me. Why would people be concerned about the medical care of an animal when they are already being eaten alive by their own human ticks? See while in Uganda, I had learned about jiggers. They're little parasites that burrow into your feet. I asked Pastor Fred if they were common in Luwero and he said that my little friends probably got them at home all the time. The flooring of their house is just dirt and there is no cement. But even still, while in Uganda I had learned of so many different ways that humans can be slowly eaten alive! A little girl I met at a school had bites up and down her arms. The best possible scenario would have been that she had bug infested sheets. But the other feasible option was that she went to the bathroom in her sleep, slept in her own feces all night and the worms that came out of her unhealthy system would bite at her. Whether by disease or parasites or worms, there were a million and one different things feasting on my friends. So why would they be concerned with the health of a dog? I get tears in my eyes when I think about that one moment. For us "wealthy" people in America, we take care of our pets as if they were family. But how much more should we be taking care of our friends in Africa who are suffering ten times worse than our pets? It's almost a terrifying thought to think that humans are living in worse circumstances than dogs. Maybe there are people living in worse circumstances than any of us can dream. If we can do something about it we should. But as much as I want to see a world with no pain and no suffering for all people, I have faith that this world is just one step before the pain free world. And I have faith that each and every person that has endured any kind of trial will come to find vindication and liberation in God. I trust that God will take care of my friends in Africa. I've seen him take care of my friends in the Philippines, in Central Asia, in Rwanda and in China. I've seen him take care of my family and of myself time and time again. So I trust that He'll take care of us all. We might get some bumps and bruises as we go, but at the end of the day if our hearts are in His hands, then we're only just beginning to see and understand a beautiful life beyond pain.  Dad, one of our wonderful hosts.
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 There's been a change in the weather. Usually, November is a very rainy season for Luwero. However, something has happened in the recent years. The rain has stopped. And in it's place, there is a beating hot sun. Anyone who drives two hours to Kampala will find themselves in a rainstorm. But for whatever reason, the rain in Luwero has been withheld. This is a big problem because without rain, crops don't grow. When crops don't grow, people don't eat. That night, we sat outside with the kids. Mr. Segun was outside working on the generator. His phone was playing music. Excitedly, Joseph ran over to him, took his phone, and brought it back to me so I could hear the music. I asked him to show me some of his dance moves so he did. Soon he was teaching me as the other kids watched and laugh. At the end of each dance, they said thank you. Before we knew, Sebastian and all the kids were up dancing with us. The sky turned black and lighting started brightening up the whole sky in a glorious display. We ran to the back of the house and danced like there was no tomorrow under a lighting sky as rain finally began to fall. It was probably my favorite moment out of the whole trip. If you read through my entire Uganda series, thank you. I had to edit and cut out a lot of past material as it was written three years ago when I was still very religious and very married. Feels like a lifetime ago and definitely seems like a different person wrote it. That said, I'm releasing a new series about my divorce and how it took me to Greece. I learned so much about myself during that time and what it meant to be a strong confident person. Previous to my journey, I struggled with a lot of abuse. I allowed myself to be mistreated and torn down, mostly by the men in my life. But I also had women convincing me that being a noble wife or daughter meant that I had to endure this kind of treatment. Luckily, though, I had other people in my life teaching me to stand up for myself and love myself. This made a world of a difference and helped me change my life. I decided to write this next blog series to explain what it took for me to stop being a victim and start building the life I wanted for myself and becoming the woman I was always destined to be. The beautiful country of Greece also played a huge role in helping me get there. Spending days at a pool side in Santorini and training in pole with world champions helped to escape life for a moment so I could become silent and hear myself think, made a world of a difference. I was able to finalize and recreate myself so that when I returned to LA, I was solidified in myself. I hope this series can be a place of encouragement for anyone struggling to redefine themselves and build themselves into the person they always wanted to be.
  As I mentioned in the previous blog, we had four little friends that quickly became our companions. Sandra (13), Wycliff (15), and Gilbert (23) also joined our little company and often served as our guides when we went on walks. The first time I explored the city, all seven of these kids went with me. We traveled through the village and played with some neighbor kids. On the way back, they took me through an Africa jungle filled with trees, birds, absolutely no houses, and a tiny dirt path. I definitely felt like an explorer. At first I greatly enjoyed our evening strolls through the villages. But as our walks got earlier and earlier during the day, I began to dread them. Nothing compares to the hot African sun beating down on you, especially when you're white. But it was usually worth it. Wycliff, Sandra, Eric, Ivan and Gloria are all brothers and sisters. They lived down the street with their father who was good to them. But they hadn't seen their mother in over a year. After the parents divorced, the mother moved to the city and rarely ever saw the kids. The first time I walked with the kids, Gloria walked by my side the entire time. Near the end of the walk, she took my hand and held it the rest of the way. It was near dark by the time we got back. We went around the back of the house and sat down on the stools. Since we had a shortage of stools, little Gloria sat with me. In Luganda (the local language in Luwero), she told Moma and Auntie Rachael that I was like mom. And from that day on, that was who I was. Later that week, the worship leader of the church walked into our house and started talking to me in Luganda. Sebastian and I nodded along, not understand, but one thing he said was abundantly clear. More than once he called me "Mama Alisa". I figured he got this name because during church services, the children would sit on a tarp on the floor at the front of the church and entertain themselves as the pastor spoke. Our chairs were right next to the tarp. At first, the kids would be shy and look away if we caught them staring at us. Some of them would even stare us down with a pretty mean face. But, if you figured out the right facial expression to make at them, the mean face would melt away and quickly be replaced by a huge smile. By the end of the service, both Sebastian and I would have the kids surrounding us yelling excitedly, laughing, touching our hands and trying to catch our eye. One service, the pastor and elders actually moved from the pulpit to the middle of the room, cutting us out of the equation, so they could finish everything up. If we weren't a distraction before, we certainly became one later on. I share this because this is what our mission became about. Whenever we tell someone that we were on a mission trip in Africa they always expect to hear about how we built something. When we reply that we did children's ministry, they're always surprised. Their expression gives away the thought, "Why would you go to another country to waste your time with children instead of building something useful that will last?" The answer to that is easy. A child needs love and needs at least one chance in their lives to feel special. In a country where just about every child is an orphan and probably only has one parent, leaving a little love can make a huge difference. Of course the mission doesn't end there. Often times you do have to meet the physical so that you can reach the spiritual and emotional. That's why we intend to return to build a school so we can finish what we started. I want to encourage you too. Continue investing in the lives of the children God has placed you in. Even in America children undergo abuse and homelessness. Sometimes it's obvious and other times it's not. If you have a voice in the life of a child, be sure to use it. Kids need love everywhere, not just in Africa.
The next day I regained some strength. The number one thing I wanted to do was move around. As you know, bodies tend to get sore from lying in bed sick all day. I noticed one of the boys wandering around outside and decided to go join him. He looked at me a little surprised and curious as I walked outside and sat with him. I probably looked and sounded like a fool as I tried to communicate with him. But he smiled and seemed to enjoy the company. After a couple minutes of talking pretty much to myself, I decided there was only one thing left to do. I rushed back inside, changed out of my dress, put my pajamas back on and ran out back outside where he was waiting. Now he was extra curious. I did a handstand and he got excited. I did a back bend and he got even more excited. Before I knew it, I was doing every trick I could think of and watched as he tried to mimic as many of them as he could. After each trick, he jumped up and down and laughed with glee. Soon a band of kids had come up to join us and Sebastian came out too. Before we knew it, we were having a party of flips, games and English lessons. Joseph is the tumbler that did all the flips with me. He's 13 and a natural born performer. One night he spent thirty minutes rapping to me in Uganda. He did break eye contact once and his facial expressions and movements would make you think he was born to be on stage. He had three outfits (two of which were ripped and dirty). You could find him either in school or at the house with us cleaning the floor and helping to prepare our meals. Eric, Ivan and Gloria were the ones who came to join us a little later. The three of them are siblings. Both Eric (12) and Ivan (9) were very quiet and shy at first. I think both Seb and I often confused the two of them during our first few days. We'd play games with them outside until it got hot and then Seb would teach them English and encourage them to go to school. Between all the kids, I honestly didn't connect with them at first. It wasn't until one night when we were all squished together on the couch that I finally got to them. How? The best method for connecting with any kid, a tickle fight. Ivan would squeal in delight and bounce off the couch every time I tried to tickle him. He would even grab my hands to hold me back. But then Eric would come at me from the other side. When I turned to tickle him, he would curl up and laugh quietly as he endured the tickling. After that night, a bond had formed. I knew because a little later that night, the kids had gone outside to eat. I didn't see the point of sitting in the living room on a comfy couch eating if the party was outside so I went out to join them. The second I stepped out, both Ivan and Eric jumped off the chair they were sharing, got on their knees and told me to sit in their chair. I wish I could write more eloquently to describe that moment in better detail. I remember looking down on their little faces and nearly breaking into tears. I don't think any amount of words could summarize the love I felt in that moment. Last but not least, we had our little one, Gloria. Early on, both Seb and I fell in love with this little eight-year-old. At first we thought she was shy, but soon we realized that wasn't the case at all. Gloria is feisty, excited, and full of spirit and laugh. At times she's even a little bossy. But it was impossible to not fall in love with this girl. She would say a word in Uganda and then silently mouth the word and watch my mouth as I tried to repeat it exactly the same say. If I got it wrong, she would laugh hysterically. But when I got it right, she was the proudest teacher in the world. At first, both Seb and I day-dreamed about adopting her and taking her home with us. But soon we discovered Mr. Segun was her father (another person who often came by to help prepare for us). Once we realized how good of a father she had, we were happy. Nevertheless, we still agreed that she was our precious little one and had a special spot in our hearts. Since the new president has come into power, Uganda has been war free. Plenty of money has been fueled into the security of the country keeping everyone safe. However, that hasn't ended Uganda's problems. Poverty has snuck up and filled to gap where war once stood. The first night we arrived in Luwero, the church was waiting to greet us. We spoke a little and it was nice. But the best part was at the end. All the kids came up to us, curious as can be, and started petting our skin and touching our hands. Since we were the first muzungos (white people), we were quiet a sight to them. But among the curious faces and wondering eyes, two children stood out the most. The first was Moses and the second was Vanessa. Both were about thirteen and asked to talk to us. They wanted us to know that they didn't have school fees to go to school. Now Seb and I aren't rich so trying to fund a bunch of children to go to school really isn't possible for us. But, we both agreed that the little we could do was to go visit their families and hear their stories. So we hopped in the car and traveled over to Moses's house first. I think Moses's predicament was the most shocking to me. After our bumpy car drive, we walked down a little slope to a clearing. There was a huge tree planted at the end of the road and two tiny mud houses. The first house was just a room, but the second really caught my attention. There was one tiny room and then a second room next to it. The second room had two walls blown out. Upon further inspection, I came to discover that they used this as a kitchen (which are typically outside), but it still made me wonder if the walls were purposely constructed that poorly or if they had disintegrated from the weather. Either case didn't seem pleasant. I also noticed how the whole family sat outside. Grandfather had a cane and grandmother was sleeping on a tarp on the ground outside and was feeling sick. There were probably two older girls and three babies. We never met the dad. After that, we headed to a second house which happened to be Moses's mother's family's home (honestly, I never knew where we were going until we got there). This house was swarming with children. Plenty of babies wandered around naked with their bloated stomachs sticking out while young moms breastfed them openly and the grandmother oversaw them all. It was quiet the party and full of much more life than Moses's father's side of the family. After some more brief conversations, we hoped in the car a third time and traveled to Vanessa's house. Here, we finally met both Moses's and Vanessa's mom and had the chance to hear more background. Vanessa's mother is a lovely lady. I believe she has around six children. She has a naturally calming spirit. The more I talked to her, the more I could see that she had been destined to be a teacher, but had the chance ripped away when she had to stop schooling for lack of school fees. Now her children are facing the same fate. Nevertheless, my heart still prays that she will one day, somehow, have the chance to fulfill that calling and that her kids will also be supplied for. Moses's mother walked in just as we were wrapping up our conversation with Vanessa's mom. She had been working the in fields all day with a baby on her back. We were lucky to catch her. She told us how she used to be Muslim. Moses's father and his whole family were Muslim (the family with the blown out kitchen walls). One day, she said to her kids, "Why are we praying to a god who doesn't even speak our language? Let's convert to Christianity so our God can actually understand us." However, the story doesn't end there. I greatly admired Moses's mom for her courage to convert, especially once I found out the cost that came with the decision. Because of his faith, Moses has to undergo persecution from his father's family who is still Muslim. Unfortunately, we're not in a place to help either Vanessa or Moses, but that hasn't stopped me from sharing their story. School fees are $150 for one term (four months). It's a little ridiculous because the people have to pay to get out of poverty. But how do you do that if you make about $2 a day and have five children and twenty grandchildren to feed? Since we can't help them, I hoping somebody out there can. If you think that's you please contact me and our faithful friends in Luwero will help us set up a system so you can put them in school.   Day 2 of our journey, we woke up in a cute little bed in a nice room in the capital of Uganda, Kampala. But by the middle of the day, we had driven all the way out to the Luwero District. Unknown to us at the time, this slightly desolate town was soon to become a second home. A family of eight greeted us and welcomed us into their little home. I came to discover that only two (Momi Joaneata and Dad) were actually the only ones that lived there, but at the time, all I knew was that there were a bunch of smiling faces looking at me and my husband and saying welcome. We had no clue how much these people would come to meant to us. The Luwero District is really fascinating. I think I'm one of those few people that truly believes that the less we own, the better life is. So I thoroughly enjoyed my time there. Every family owns land, plants their crops, has their animals and builds their houses. No electricity, no running water, and no toilet. The land is covered in green foliage and the roads are pretty nonexistent. Monkeys jump from tree to tree and goats and pigs can be found eating next to the "street" every couple of blocks. But the first thing that really caught my eye was an abandoned, old house. The roof had collapsed and one of the walls had been blown out. You could see how the structure was built because the windows were deteriorating. Yesterday I mentioned how there were three recent wars. Two happened in the North, but the third happened right in Luwero. I got a couple of history lessons, but I had no clue just how recent things were until later that day. We went to visit a school and one of the children we met told us his jia ja (grandamother) pays for his school fees. Pastor Alex was really touched by this. So we all piled into Pastor Timothy's beat up car and bounced our way along the African road to this little boy's house. I could not have been less prepared. When arrived at a little three room house. One of the girls was trying to take a nap in the intense Uganda heat on a tarp on the floor. I imagined the whole family sleeping around her and realized that was what every night was for them. The grandmother came into the tiny living room and sat on a mat on the ground (that had plenty of jumping spiders on it). Pastor Alex translated as we had a conversation. She shared her life with us and told us how her husband had died in the war. They had been opened fired on in their own house a number of times. She had survived and spent the rest of her life taking care of the remaining children and grandchildren. This is one of many stories. We met an elderly couple who had lost four of their nine children in the war and now take care of and provided for their many many grandchildren. But they survived. Gilbert's grandfather, a wonderful and very strong man, had lost his eye. He was one of the eight people that had welcome us into Momi and Dad's home. We had noticed the missing eye and were somewhat unsure of him. But the more we talked to him, the more we came to deeply love and respect this man. During the war, he had been held at gun point. Right when the gun was shot, he slammed the gun away from his forehead and it got his eye instead. But he survived. Pastor Fred. Our own guide had been a victim of this war. He told us how his family had been given the chance to run or die. They ran. It took them about a week to run through 100 kilometers of swamp. They had to eat grass and dried animal skin just to survive. On their way to safety, they would encounter dead bodies still covered in warm blood having been recently killed. But he survived. Thirty-five years of no war. Have you counted your blessings today?  November 7th, 2016, my husband and I flew to Uganda in hopes of deepening the validation of Nankunda, my second up and coming novel. After two and a half weeks of living in the countryside of a slightly desolate district called Luwero, we returned with heavy hearts and more stories than we could bear. How do you come back to a perfect American home after holding the hands of women who had endured the loss of four children or looking into the eyes of men who had been held at gunpoint? How do you leave the smiling faces of children who have lost one or more parent? Who call you mom because they haven't seen their mother in over a year?
These are questions Sebastian and I have yet to face. In the meantime, I believe the number one job I have is to share with my friends and family about the atrocities and hardships of this country plagued by wars. I pray that as you read this blog, your heart will be moved into to action to help us as we intend to continue helping those who stole our hearts and are in great need. Hopefully you take the time to follow this series as I talk about the great tragedies and wondrous beauties of Uganda. My prayer is that you fall in love with these beautiful people as I share videos, pictures and stories of them. They are ready to be heard. Will you take the time to listen? ..... Day 1 It was already dark by the time Sebastian and I got off the plane. We searched through the short line of escorts. It didn't take long to find our own. Pastor Alex, short, sharp and ready to change the world, held a sign with our names scribbled on it and raced up to meet us. Having had so much correspondence on Facebook, it felt as though we were meeting an old friend. Tagging along for the journey were two other pastors, Pastor Emmanuel, our humble driver who opened his home to us a couple of times and became a great inspiration and friend, and Pastor Fred, a tall and (at first) quiet man who quickly became a confidant, a partner in the Lord's work, a mentor, and a very dear friend. And thus our journey began. We drove from the Entebbe airport to the capital of the country, Kampala, where we would stay for one night before our two hour journey to Luwero District where we stayed for the majority of our trip. From the get go, Alex began to share with me loads of facts about the wars. Here are the basics. In the recent years, there have been three wars: The Northern War, The Kony War, and the War that brought the current president into power. Both the Northern War and the Kony War happened in the same area around the same time. As you hopefully know, the second book I am working on (Nankunda) is about the Kony War. Alex, who knew this full well, had no hesitations about providing me with as much information as possible. But how much can you really learn during one car drive while you're jet lagged? A couple days later, we sat in the the living room of our hosts' house in Luwero as both Alex and Fred shared more information with us about the Kony War. The strong African sun was shinning through the windows as we ate our meals. Without hesitation, the men told us how Kony had cut someone's mouth off. At one point, Pastor Fred read a piece of my story. After reading the prologue (which you can find on this blog) he put it down and said, "This is very good. The writing is very complex and I can't understand all of it which means it is strong English, but there is one problem. Kony didn't just kill people, it was much worse than that." He proceeded to list out a number of things Kony did, feel free to skip the list:
I don't even think that's the full list. I'll never forget the moment when they shared some extra information about the truth of the war and then started laughing as they said I could never put that information in my book or share it because people would die if the information was ever talked about. As I think back to this moment, I still get the same feelings as I did then. I want to cry and laugh at the same time, because...well, what else can I do? I don't have to create a fictional story, these people already live in a story that is full of danger and suspense. All I have to do is recount the details of their lives. At first I thought that I should be careful. I didn't want to overstep any boundaries and I was touching a lot of recent scars that people were still dealing with. However, the more I talked to people, the more I discovered that they wanted to share. Moreover, they wanted us to share! For years they have been suffering from wars, poverty and disease. Sebastian and I were the first Muzungos (White People) in their land and that meant hope. Well, actually that meant money. But it meant money for school fees to make it to secondary school or money for medicine for a dying child suffering from malaria. It meant that maybe someone living on the other side of the world who could enjoy sleeping in a bed instead of on a tarp on the hard floor with seven brothers and sisters in the only room which is a about the size of a large bathroom in a house made of mud which is just waiting to collapse on top of them any day, might be able to help them. Originally, the plan was for us to spend about two days in each city and then move. By the end of our trek, we were to end up in the place where the Kony War had taken place. As it was, unforeseeable events prevented us from making our full journey. Instead, we stayed in the Luwero District. At first it was a disappointment, but in time, all four of us (Sebastian, Pastor Fred, Pastor Alex, and myself) came to see and understand that it was all apart of God's divine plan...  Right before my last year of college, I found myself sobbing on a random friend's couch a couple days before I was going to head to Kazakhstan. I felt that all the clothes had been stripped off of me and I had been left with nothing but my own sad soul. For the first time in my life, I had finally come to the realization that I was alone. Society enables us to cover ourselves with material things, people and statuses to make us feel as though we are more than we are. But at the end of the day, each and every one of us is still just a bag of bones and a sac of flesh. At the age of 20, I had to accept this. For years, I tried to fight the idea of being alone. I fought my hardest to try to integrate myself into families or even start families of my own. I knew how to love so I figured I could find someone to love me just as easily as I gave my love away. But, eventually, I found that most love was short term and only lasted a moment. This kind of love was beautiful in it's own temporary way. I also found another kind of love. This love promised to last forever. It agreed to be family with no end in sight. So I gravitated towards. I fought for it. I craved it.
Today, I find myself sobbing for my current self. For the first time in my life, I have experienced true and deep unconditional love through the hearts of a couple of very good friends. When I had finally came to accept that I was alone, I found that I wasn't. However, if I had never accepted that I was alone, I more likely would have never realized that I wasn't. Learning to love myself as if no one else ever would unlocked the most real and true side of me. I suddenly found myself empowered and unstoppable. Dreams and goals I had for years were suddenly coming to fruition left and right. I started meeting the people I had only previously dreamed of meeting and had the opportunities coming into my life that I thought were impossible. Life was suddenly unlocked and I was finally unhindered. It was in this moment, that I had people fight for me. Not because I was suddenly more valuable for my talents or because of who I knew. But because they had seen the most broken and worst side of me. They hadn't seen what I had been through, but they saw glimpses of the effects. Most people would give up on me as soon as signs of my traumatic past began to show. But for the first time in my life, I finally found family that chose to accept me and all my brokenness and flaws. To those who have been broken, self love first and the rest will follow.  One of the most important things about being an artist, or a professional anything, is to find your own authentic self. For a long time, I struggled with dancing. I loved it, but didn't seem to flourish with it. It wasn't until one night at 2AM when I was asking my hip hop crew director how I could improve that he told me the most revolutionizing advice. He said I was too in my head. When I danced, he could see me thinking. Granted, the choreography was literally fourteen moves in one eight count. (For those of you who don't know dance, that basically means, incredibly fast). Trying to shut my brain off and just allow the music to move me seemed impossible. It wasn't until three years later when I began burlesque dancing that I finally understood. I was new to the scene and had only begun burlesque dancing. Up until this point, I had never worn pasties. For awhile, I never planned to. But one day I came across an audition for The Damn Devillez, a rock horror burlesque company. I had a feeling that I could join the crew and be successful at it. However, they were notorious for being ranchey and I still hadn't even worn pasties. But, I decided to go to the audition anyway and see if dance-wise I was at least cut out for it. Sure enough, I made it in. However, the director instantly warned me that I had to be ok with wearing pasties, otherwise, the company was not for me.
Seconds before hitting the stage with the band, I sank deep into the back of my mind. For the first time in my life, I triggered my alter ego, Alicia Cirque. As a kid I was always shy, nervous and painfully modest. But I was always aware that I had a dark side creeping around somewhere in the back of my mind, I just never knew how to access it. It was that moment before hitting the stage that I found it. I was suddenly some one else and I took over the stage with a level of confidence that I never knew I had. Most people from my hometown see me burlesque dancing now and take it as a sign of promiscuity or loss of identity. I had to deal with a lot of criticism for it. It bothered me at first, but as time went on, the comments ceased to bother me at all. What they saw as promiscuity, I knew was confidence. I felt more enabled and empowered to be myself and embrace who I was fully. Moreover, my artistry flourished and from that day on, people began recognizing me as a dancer. Not just because I was a burlesque dancer that wore pasties, but because I had the confidence to develop my own sense of unique movement that set me apart from the rest of the industry and allowed me to get booked on a numerous more jobs than most dancers. Of course, you don't have to wear pasties to be successful. You just have to be ready and willing to accept and understand who you are and allow and your most authentic self to shine through. |
