This is a reflection of 8 years living and working in Germany. I have the privilege to move to Germany to pursue my dance education. This is about the past, the present and the future. 

They say, “Europe is better”

Things work better there. The grass is always greener on the other side (or we say , the moon is rounder abroad). White European aesthetics are so appealing: the perfect body, the ideal standard. I have to look like them. Can I still be a good dancer if I don’t do ballet?

These were my thoughts and my perceptions of Europe/Germany before I moved here in 2016. But when I arrived, I started to question myself, Is it really better? Something felt off. 

When I was studying at a predominantly white dance university, I began to see the high expectations imposed toward my body. I am expected to not question the institution, to confirm, to be polite, to not fight against the system, to follow instructions… To become a successful dancer, I was expected to fit into Eurocentric standards and aesthetics.

“You do not have the “ballet” body and alignment, so you will get a lower grade.”

A friendly “reminder” from my ballet professor.

“Could you do the movement a little less…  ‘Asian’?”

A feedback I’ve received from my modern dance professor. 

My body was/is filtered through a colonial gaze. In those moments,  I realized that the idea of “Europe is better” that I had was not right. My body became political. My existence as an immigrant, trans, asian, (and more), artist is closely tied to a system that demands these identities be constantly highlighted, packaged, and politicized. The Eurocentric, transmisogynistic, imperialistic, white spaces are the challenges that I — and many marginalized bodies — must face daily.  

What does decolonisation mean to me? Decolonization is a relatively new word to me — a process I’m still learning, embodying, and understanding until today. Although Malaysia has a long colonial history, I had not yet connected that history to my existence. What does this process mean to my body and art? How has colonialism shaped my worldview? What part(s) of me has been erased? 

I started to explore the idea of decolonization and tried to understand what that meant in practice. To do that, I have to critically question my artistic practice. In what ways can dance/performance serve as a tool for decolonial expression? How to dismantle my preconceived ideal of what contemporary dance is — white, eurocentric, western? What role does dance practices play in it? Too often I found myself feeling subconsciously inferior in white spaces — lowering, discrediting, and proving myself because my knowledge and movement language is seen as “uncool,” “non-Western” “traditional” or “too Asian.” 

How can we, as BIPoC dancers, transform systemic violence into resilience? How can we thrive within structures designed to minimize and erase our experiences? For me, it 

meant unlearning imposed standards, relearning about my past, and embracing the knowledge held within my body. It’s about creating and holding spaces for the difficult, uncomfortable conversations that need to be had. It’s about honoring our histories and experiences as sources of power, and reshaping the spaces we inhabit with our unapologetic presence.  It’s not about conforming but about reclaiming.