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Ochazuke | |
 Gwen Muranaka |
Everybody has phobias. Mine has always been a fear of dancing. Even as a small kid going to the Gardena Obon in the summer, I’d watch everybody else line up for “Tanko Bushi,” but I was scared to make a fool of myself. They’d all be smiling and I’d be staring down glumly at my snow cone. For many summers at Rafu, I’ve watched countless dance practices and performances and yet could never gather up the courage to join. |
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L.A. Beat performed at Nisei Week and then three days later boarded a plane bound for Nagoya to join in the Domannaka Festival, a large three-day festival and dance competition featuring more than 200 dance groups from all over Japan. It was the first time a group from the U.S. has joined the 9-year-old festival, organized initially by college students. We have been practicing since April and it has been a struggle for me to learn the left-right, inside-outside moves in time for the big events. My dancing is notably lacking in style, grace and rhythm, but I do try. And thankfully, that is what matters the most. What encouraged me to finally face my dance phobia is the joy you see when watching festival dancers. While Yosakoi is a kind of hybrid of traditional Japanese matsuri and modern dancing, it shares in its spirit the old traditions that have continued in Japan and here in Japanese American communities throughout the United States. We dance in the heat of summer to forget the bad times and honor our departed ancestors; in April, we dance at Manzanar to remember past sorrows and celebrate a community’s spirited resilience. During my time living in Japan, festivals seemed to mean all of this and also are a time for a generally uptight, controlled people to simply let go. Many trade in their dark business suits for fundoshi and forget their troubles in a blur of sweat and beer-fueled craziness. The Domannaka or Domatsuri Festival is more controlled than those chaotic Japanese festivals. The groups are very professional and wear elaborate costumes as they perform precisely choreographed routines. In Nagoya, where the humidity was high and the temperature hovered in the upper 90s, I did my best to try and follow the matsuri spirit: forget your troubles, let go, have fun. What we may have lacked in the professionalism of the other groups, I hope we made up for in sheer energy and enthusiasm. Unlike those days when I was a kid, today I don’t mind taking the risk of looking like a fool. I even got a chance to stumble through “Tanko Bushi” for the first time ever at an onsen after our Nagoya performances were finished. Do I still have a fear of dancing? A little. Will I be out there again? You bet. ________________ |
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