I remember 10 years ago, i started dancing in our unfinished basement with the first steps — it felt like marching, except half as fun and twice as hard. Amma would hit a wooden block to the rhythm, first painfully slowly and then so quickly that we resembled dancing frogs. Growing up, dance was where i could be someone else — more expressive, a better person, a god, a boy, a tree, anything. After three years marching though boarding school with little ties to culture or dance, the “third speed” of my dance carrier is finally here as we raced through eight items in two months. i’ve missed dance dearly, so i present to you today, not just two months of preparation, but the product of ten years of identity, love, and truth.