As a former dancer and a lifetime performer, I am keenly empathetic anytime someone steps on stage and places themselves under the scrutiny of an often apathetic audience.
Several months ago, my gaze fell upon a clearly self-taught yet earnest young dancer who burned himself into my memory solely because he was the only dancer in his troupe that had a smile on his face. As he went through the same half-baked Cambodian interpretations of “American” glamor as his expressionless, mechanical stage mates, I felt an immediate kinship. And what a smile indeed it has turned out to be.
Since that night, he has met my kid and even taken a nap or two at my house, and I have learned enough pieces of his heartbreaking personal story that I want to take him under my wing.
I wish not to betray any confidences, yet I will admit to becoming venturesomely fond of him to the point of likely letting him much closer into my life.
We will see how it goes.
Having my heart broken again by a perfidiously handsome & desperately poor Cambodian man is a risk of which I still have not learned to be weary