I used to be a Polynesian dancer, on an island so beautiful that it’s residents call it the “pearl of the Pacific.” I used to wear flowers in my long, dark hair, and sway my hips to the sounds of drumbeats. I wish I had words to describe the scent of the flowers in the air, the feel of the lavalava rustling around my knees. I wish I could paint a picture of the beautiful girls, bodies moving in perfect synchronization. I wish I could help you experience the mana, the connection to the land, to the people.

Imagine the ocean, the salty breeze. The beat of the music pulsing through you, telling of ancient warriors, island beauty, and love. Imagine the dancers, their graceful hands telling you of all this wonder.

Yeah, I used to be an island girl. I used to say, “Talofa,” when you walk past me, I used to whisper, “Alofa ia te oe.” I used to walk barefoot to school, dressed all in blue, to a classroom that was all but outdoors.

I used to be a Polynesian dancer. And now they want me to be content with ballet.