hips definitely lie

let's be honest: i am not the poster-child for latina. sure, i am half mexican, speak spanish, and appreciate latin culture, but during conception, that one particular gene so lively and characteristic of passionate latinos was somehow forgotten. that gene being dance.


g and i visited the skirball cultural center for the summer's final outdoor concert. it was an enchanting evening, the courtyard sparkling under the stars, guests comfortably anticipating a festive performance. the show started with a burst of energy, sans formal introduction. i had never heard of jose villareal (aka "mr. vallenato") but according to g and the accompanying cheers, he didn't need an introduction. within the first few minutes, i understood why. "mr. vallenato" and his band performed traditional colombian folk music, or rather, cumbia. i studied the origins of cumbia in college and was fascinated with its social implications, but to hear it. see it. clap to it. LIVE. now that was incredible.

of course, you bring cumbia into the mix, and you better expect dancing. this was clearly a no sit-and-enjoy-the-music type of concert, which would have been fine with me. it was an instantaneous reaction: accordion playing, dancing commences. i knew i was in trouble when g looked at met with his peruvian eyes - eyes gleaming with dance. and passion. much to my passive resistance, we joined the crowd.

in no time, i was beginning to doubt my genetic make-up. perhaps an accidental switch at birth? my dancing (if that's what you'd call it) was ridiculous, bordering disappointing. there was g with all his lovely latin finesse, moving rhythmically to the music, very much synchronized with everyone around us. and then there's me. confused. lost. feeling the music, but unable to translate it to physical movement. stiff torso, awkward arms, inflexible legs, and hips that jerked back and forth. i stood out among the diverse crowd, a crowd filled with people who "got it."

irrespective of my shameful attempt at latin dancing, i had a blast. i made a fool of myself, but g reassured me people were too busy dancing to notice. i doubt that, but hey, at the end of the night, two things were confirmed: 1.) i am less latina then i think or will ever be and 2.) g must really love me. he didn't run for the hills.

note: listen here to get a glimpse of what my body was up against.