Catching the Orange Pompom

My name is Ashley Wei, I grew up in Tennessee, studied dance at Fei Tian, and had a lot of trouble with one fluffy blob.

The other day I picked up a book about showbiz, and the first thing I saw was a quote from David Merrick, a prolific Tony Award-winning American theater producer. He said, “It’s not enough that I should succeed—others should fail.”

With this quote echoing in my mind, another story I heard from my past dance teacher surfaced: Back when she was still a student in a Chinese dance academy, she had a very competitive roommate. This roommate was always first in the classroom and last to leave, and refused to let anyone outpractice her. This roommate would keep her dance shoes next to her bed, and if she heard anyone else stirring in sleep, she’d reach for her shoes in case they were trying to get to the classroom ahead of her. 

This kind of cutthroat mentality was very uncomfortable for me to imagine. The world of performing arts and competitive sports is already physically demanding enough, having unhealthy amounts of mental strain can take a huge toll on a person’s well-being. For myself, I am just grateful that my memories from my time at Fei Tian are distinctly different.

I remember one instance early on, when I was still dancing as a practicum student with Shen Yun. One night after our rehearsals, two of my friends came and put their arms around me. “Wanna practice your walkover? We can help.”

I had been given a role in that year’s Yi ethnic dance, and there was a technique at the beginning that, for the life of me, I could not get right. The choreographer talked to me about it, I filmed myself… but I just couldn’t get the right feeling—reaching for a fluffy orange pompom, held by my friend, pretending to lose my balance for a split second, and then transitioning gracefully into a front walkover.

Happy to have some help, I eagerly began our little session. My fear of actually losing my balance kept me from executing it well. I tried doing it over and over with their suggestions in mind, but after a while my friends just told me bluntly: “Ashley, it still looks the same.”

It was late. I was a sleepy, frustrated, and disgruntled lump of negativity, and I mumbled miserably that I wanted to give up, at least for the night.

My friends sighed. I don’t remember exactly what they said, but it was a conversation in which they encouraged me to persevere, not only because it’s an important character trait for me, but also to get the show right for the audience. And they assured me that, with my current technical skill, I would be able to get up even if I did lose my balance.

Fast forward to today, and I feel beyond grateful for the wonderful environment I grew up in. The standards in Fei Tian are just as high, if not higher, than those of other arts academies. And Shen Yun is a world-renowned dance and music company that performs at an elite level. But somehow, I recall zero accounts of backstabbing, taking advantage of someone’s injury to slide into a lead role, or purposely performing better in front of teachers or choreographers to secure a position.

 My classmates could have left me there to figure things out for myself. They certainly would’ve gotten more rest. They could have gone to the manager or choreographer to suggest that they were better dancers and should take this role instead of me. But they stayed back not just then, but multiple nights to help me and give me pep talks. That’s the kind of environment we had.

In the end, I realized it didn’t matter whether or not I thought I could get up, because no matter what, my friends would be there to catch me.

Dedicated to my awesome buddies of 15 years (and counting): Diana and Victoria.