Into Tango Adulthood (Istanbul)
The months since I last wrote an entry have been filled with activity, and most of it has been connected to tango. Tango Frostbite, a festival in Helsinki that I had already contributed to in 2011, suddenly became my main focus after the previous project manager emigrated from Finland. Obviously, being the ambitious and slightly fanatic person I am, I wanted to do a good job at it. Thus, the months leading up to the festival were filled with tasks big and small, and I really enjoyed the excitement building up with every passing week. There were lots of people involved in making Tango Frostbite happen, and together, we strived at creating a unique event as well as building up the team spirit necessary for such voluntary work.
Things were running smoothly, with most preparations finalised and the festival week just beginning, when the catastrophe hit us: Kaija, one of the members of the managing board and a key person of the Finnish Tango Community, died in an accident just a couple of days before the opening night. The news left us all gasping for air, and my task suddenly became a lot more demanding. Now, in addition to coordinating things related to the festival, I also had to find a way of grieving for her communally without letting it affect the mood too much. After all, many of the festival guests had never even met her, and we could not reasonably expect them to turn the event into a funeral.
The Frostbite week was surely the most demanding one of my life so far. There was just so much to do, so many things to consider, and the added strain of keeping my mind in check to remain functional came at a price. I did not sleep for more than a couple of hours on any night, and hardly ate or drank anything. Probably, my system had gone into a state of emergency where survival was the only thing that mattered, while emotions and bodily sensations lost their importance. Fortunately, it was also an immensely rewarding period, as the incredible warmth and generosity of people from near and afar, coupled with a deep sense of being in this together, made us achieve the impossible. We sailed through the weekend without any real problems, and judging by the wave of positive feedback both during and after the festival, most guests were very happy with the event. To top it all up, I had what can rightly be called some of the most unforgettable dances of my life during Frostbite. I had very little time to dance, but whenever I did, I had the incredible luck to be able to share a moment with my favourite dancers from all around Europe. Under such extreme circumstances, the ability to lose myself in the music and the movement together with my partner was probably what kept me sane, despite all those pressures.
However, the moment the festival ended and I could relax a but, I came down with a violent fever that took away what little still was left of my energy reserves. It was hardly surprising, and I did not even attempt to resist it but instead, willingly let myself be drawn into a state of haze. When the fever subsided after 5 days, it still took me another week to regain my strength, or so I thought. This week away from tango was the longest I had been without dancing since I started tango, but curiously, I felt no pull towards the dance floor.
Although still far from my usual self, 10 days after Frostbite I was already headed for TanGO TO Istanbul, a festival I had booked and paid before the dramatic events of February. I knew it was too early, and had there been a way to get a refund, I probably would have decided to cancel. This in itself was a first, as so far, no matter how stressed or anguished I have been about life, tango has always been the thing I run to, not away from.
I have now spent 4 days in Istanbul, and have to admit my hunch was right. Apart from the considerable physical exhaustion, not helped by the crazy sleeping hours (typically, one gets back from a milonga at 5 or 6 in the morning, sleeps a few hours before going for breakfast at 9.30, then rushes for another milonga) what has been most marked is the sense of emptiness that marks my days. Nothing seems to affect me much, no music, dance, person or sight seems to reach me or generate anything except mild irritation in my mind. Needless to say, my dancing is appalling: with no connection with myself, establishing a way of communicatioin with my partner is an impossibility. I feel as if observing the act of my dancing from the outside, my movements are those of somebody else, and it all has a slightly surreal feel to it. Indeed, such has been my sense of detachment that this morning, I found myself seriously contemplatning leaving tango once and for all!
What is perhaps most telling, however, is that I am still mostly unable to grieve Kaija. We were never close friends, but had certainly shared good moments, often when travelling to tango events. Her death left me curiosly unaffected, or so it seemed, and only this morning have I felt the first moments of pure sorrow. Even now, I am mostly sad about other people's reactions, while my own are still locked away somewhere deep within.
I cannot escape the sense of having matured from a tango adolescent to a tango adult in the matter of a few days. As a result to what happened, my attitude and relationship to tango seem to have changed: whereas before, the sensations experienced on the dance floor came first and were always given the first priority in my mind, now, there are a lot of other factors that my mind and soul are preoccupied with. The sad thing is, of course, that some of the spontaneity has been lost along with the earlier quest for pleasure.
I am hoping that this is just a stage that will pass, and that I'll be able to regain my sense of here and now. Perhaps it was inevitable that such a setback would occur, although surely it did not have to be anything so sad that caused it? My path with and into tango had been dramatic even without such extreme events. Coming face to face with the brevity of life just adds a new angle to it.
Things were running smoothly, with most preparations finalised and the festival week just beginning, when the catastrophe hit us: Kaija, one of the members of the managing board and a key person of the Finnish Tango Community, died in an accident just a couple of days before the opening night. The news left us all gasping for air, and my task suddenly became a lot more demanding. Now, in addition to coordinating things related to the festival, I also had to find a way of grieving for her communally without letting it affect the mood too much. After all, many of the festival guests had never even met her, and we could not reasonably expect them to turn the event into a funeral.
The Frostbite week was surely the most demanding one of my life so far. There was just so much to do, so many things to consider, and the added strain of keeping my mind in check to remain functional came at a price. I did not sleep for more than a couple of hours on any night, and hardly ate or drank anything. Probably, my system had gone into a state of emergency where survival was the only thing that mattered, while emotions and bodily sensations lost their importance. Fortunately, it was also an immensely rewarding period, as the incredible warmth and generosity of people from near and afar, coupled with a deep sense of being in this together, made us achieve the impossible. We sailed through the weekend without any real problems, and judging by the wave of positive feedback both during and after the festival, most guests were very happy with the event. To top it all up, I had what can rightly be called some of the most unforgettable dances of my life during Frostbite. I had very little time to dance, but whenever I did, I had the incredible luck to be able to share a moment with my favourite dancers from all around Europe. Under such extreme circumstances, the ability to lose myself in the music and the movement together with my partner was probably what kept me sane, despite all those pressures.
However, the moment the festival ended and I could relax a but, I came down with a violent fever that took away what little still was left of my energy reserves. It was hardly surprising, and I did not even attempt to resist it but instead, willingly let myself be drawn into a state of haze. When the fever subsided after 5 days, it still took me another week to regain my strength, or so I thought. This week away from tango was the longest I had been without dancing since I started tango, but curiously, I felt no pull towards the dance floor.
Although still far from my usual self, 10 days after Frostbite I was already headed for TanGO TO Istanbul, a festival I had booked and paid before the dramatic events of February. I knew it was too early, and had there been a way to get a refund, I probably would have decided to cancel. This in itself was a first, as so far, no matter how stressed or anguished I have been about life, tango has always been the thing I run to, not away from.
I have now spent 4 days in Istanbul, and have to admit my hunch was right. Apart from the considerable physical exhaustion, not helped by the crazy sleeping hours (typically, one gets back from a milonga at 5 or 6 in the morning, sleeps a few hours before going for breakfast at 9.30, then rushes for another milonga) what has been most marked is the sense of emptiness that marks my days. Nothing seems to affect me much, no music, dance, person or sight seems to reach me or generate anything except mild irritation in my mind. Needless to say, my dancing is appalling: with no connection with myself, establishing a way of communicatioin with my partner is an impossibility. I feel as if observing the act of my dancing from the outside, my movements are those of somebody else, and it all has a slightly surreal feel to it. Indeed, such has been my sense of detachment that this morning, I found myself seriously contemplatning leaving tango once and for all!
What is perhaps most telling, however, is that I am still mostly unable to grieve Kaija. We were never close friends, but had certainly shared good moments, often when travelling to tango events. Her death left me curiosly unaffected, or so it seemed, and only this morning have I felt the first moments of pure sorrow. Even now, I am mostly sad about other people's reactions, while my own are still locked away somewhere deep within.
I cannot escape the sense of having matured from a tango adolescent to a tango adult in the matter of a few days. As a result to what happened, my attitude and relationship to tango seem to have changed: whereas before, the sensations experienced on the dance floor came first and were always given the first priority in my mind, now, there are a lot of other factors that my mind and soul are preoccupied with. The sad thing is, of course, that some of the spontaneity has been lost along with the earlier quest for pleasure.
I am hoping that this is just a stage that will pass, and that I'll be able to regain my sense of here and now. Perhaps it was inevitable that such a setback would occur, although surely it did not have to be anything so sad that caused it? My path with and into tango had been dramatic even without such extreme events. Coming face to face with the brevity of life just adds a new angle to it.
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