This essay was published on Substack in June 2026. Subscribe to the Shy & Curious Substack for first access to the latest personal essays, free articles and AMA sessions!
“Do you want to know how I got so good at Tango?”, she whispered to me.
Even in the dimness of the dance studio, I could see May beaming brightly at me as I leaned in towards her while the melodies of Di Sarli washed over us. It was almost midnight as we sat at the back of the studio she owned, gazing upon the couples lost in embrace on the dance floor. To be more precise, it was me hiding in the back feeling petrified and sorry for myself when May, with her warm and welcoming demeanour, came over and sat herself down.
Seven hours before this encounter, I found myself in a bus to Kuala Lumpur with Ivan, my dance instructor, heading towards my first Tango weekend. He was invited by May to teach at her studio over the long weekend and he’d asked me along as he thought it’ll be a great opportunity for me to start practicing what I’d been learning in class. In other words, it was time for me to actually dance with other people and not just hang out in my comfort zone of walking drills and practising pivots.
The Malaysian Tango community were known to be a friendly bunch who were inclusive to beginners. Well that, and the fact that Ivan knew I’d quit my job and was in my f(un)employment era. He wasn’t just my instructor, we were friends and workshop collaborators by then. But how did I end up joining the cult of Argentine Tango in the first place? My flirtation with Tango started innocently enough with a cliché origin story. I fell in love with Tango on the big screen.
It could just be the millennial in me but there’s something magical about the cinematic classics of the 90’s. Maybe it’s the sense of wonder when watching it as an impressionable kid and thinking this is what adulthood looks like. Perhaps it’s the soft focus lighting and impeccable outfits of witty astute characters making their way in the big city. Whatever it was, it made one look forward to growing up, leaving town and conquering New York (or any generic metropolitan landscape of skyscrapers and high heels pounding the pavements).
Then there are the film scenes that really stick with you, like Pretty Woman’s “Big Mistake!” or Big’s tap dance to Heart & Soul on the giant piano keys. So when it came to love at first sight, my cinematic infatuation was obviously the pivotal tango scene in Scent of A Woman. In a scene I skip forward to in every rewatch, I swoon as the blind suave Al Pacino, decked in a 3 piece suit, leads a nervous ingenue Gabrielle Anwar in a little black dress onto the restaurant’s dance floor to the strains of Por Una Cabeza.
Strangely enough, I can’t actually remember when or where I’d watched that Tango scene for the first time. However I can tell you how I felt when the violins begin softly and lead up to the crescendo when the couple finally connects. It’s the intoxicating concoction of the music, dance moves and quite honestly, just how cool Pacino and Anwar looked as they laughed and spun around the floor with everyone cheering them on that got me captivated. This, I told myself, I want exactly all of this one day.
So that’s how learning to Tango ended up on my bucket list. But my infatuation on tango was still just a crush and I wasn’t moved enough to seek out an actual lesson. Silly Lil Rin assumed Tango was a dance for lovers and should only be reserved for when you have one. Cue to November 2024, almost twenty years later.
I was shopping at one of my favourite boutiques and made small talk with the staff about weekend plans. She mentioned she was heading to Tango later and I’d remarked, “Cool, I’ve always wanted to learn Tango!” She was thrilled at the admission and asked if I’ll be keen to join a class in the future. “Sure, why not?” I agreed on autocue. It was one of those things you’ll say absent-mindedly as polite conversation like “Beautiful weather we’re having”, “Let’s stay in touch” or “No, you didn’t gain weight at all”. So when I got a text from her the following month to confirm my interest as her instructor had agreed to run a series of beginner classes at the boutique itself, my heart went ‘Uh-oh’. But my brain decided to put my money where my mouth was. The worse that can happen is that I try it out for a month and realize I suck. The best is that I love it and have a new hobby. Either way, I wasn’t getting any younger to find that lover to help me cross Tango off my bucket list.
Fuck it, why not? Sign me up for Tango.
The first time I joined Ivan’s class, it was uneventful save for the fact that I stepped in, scanned the room and thought “I’m not going to have a meet cute with the Love Of My Life at Tango class.” It also hit me that it was my first time in a partnered dance class. I was more used to joining Go-Girl-Power classes instead like Pole Dancing or Belly Dance where while one may assume are meant for the male gaze but it feels so liberating and empowering to have total control over your own moves and not depend on a man. I was definitely not used to standing in close quarters with a stranger before me, let alone holding his hand and trusting him enough to follow his lead. But it was fun enough to carry on with the next class.
It was the second class that got me – hook, line and sinker. As we took turns practicing the box step, Ivan took my hand and as we glided in unison, he gently said to me, “Noorindah, no matter who you dance with, whatever their style is, don’t change yourself to match them. Remember to maintain your own integrity”
I was stunned for a few seconds. Was he talking about tango or did he also happen to be a psychic who peeked into my dismal love life and was giving his two cents?
I felt like the Main Character with a flashback montage to every doomed relationship playing in my mind and it hit me like a ton of bricks.
“Shit, I do. I do change myself each time to make my partner happy,” that inner voice whispered. Was this tango or was it therapy?
So fast forward to six months later when I said Fuckit, yes let’s go on another mini adventure. While I was addicted to classes by then, it didn’t necessarily translate to being actually good on the dance floor. However the KL trip fell on the day after my short warehouse packer stint which I took as a sign from the universe. I needed a morale boost (and cheap massage) before the trip to Germany for Mabel’s wedding the week after. I figured KL still made sense given the favourable exchange rate between the Singapore Dollar and Malaysian Ringgit. I was also waiting to hear back about a freelance project I’d pitched for so I was still quite optimistic about my work prospects.
“How many hours of Shopee packing did that Ice Blended Mocha cost you?”, Ivan narrowed his eyes at me as we boarded the bus to KL. He was one of the few friends who I’d confided in about my fall from grace.
“Shut up, I deserve it,” I rolled my eyes back in jest and sipped my drink.
While we didn’t agree on my choice in overpriced drinks, he was at least right about the Malaysian Tango community. From the minute we got off the bus and met May and her husband Alex, the familiar Malaysian hospitality and warmth I’d known from my days of living in KL made me feel right at home. They were our hosts for the weekend at their beautiful home and within a couple of hours, we were already whisked away to the studio for the Welcome milonga.
Now for someone who’s secretly an introvert with mild social anxiety, I often wonder if I would have still signed up for Tango if I knew what I was getting myself into. I’d assumed you’ll take a couple of classes, then find someone to dance with for the rest of your life and voila, that’s all there is to it. No one warned me about the actual “social” element in the term “social dancing”.
A milonga is pretty much a dance party where strangers embrace and dance to Tango music, food and drinks for a couple of hours. Sure, I’m familiar with the slight awkwardness of a house party where you know just the odd person or two. But when you add the art of the Cabeceo to the milonga mix, it becomes an introvert’s nightmare. The Cabeceo refers to the act of asking someone for a dance (a.k.a a tanda which consists of 3 to 4 songs) without actually asking for a dance. What it means is that between the tandas, both leaders and followers will start scanning the room to lock eyes with someone they wanna dance with. If your eyes meet and they smile and nod, success! You have a dance partner and the leader will come over and escort you to the dance floor. If your eyes meet and they look away, down or straight ahead (basically anywhere but you), that’s a “No thank you.”
In theory, it’s kinder to the leaders in comparison to the alternative scenario. Imagine the humiliation they risk if they walked over directly to a follower and get shot down with a ‘No’ in full view of the entire room. A Cabeceo is meant to be subtle, flirty and almost like a game. In practice though, let’s just say I will develop a sudden fascination with my very pretty shoes during the Cabeceo. Aha, you can’t reject me if I reject myself first!
If you’re wondering why we still subject ourselves to this strange game of peekaboo, it’s because the payoff is ridiculously high and worse still, addictive. The true seduction power of Argentine Tango isn’t the fancy moves nor the heady music that transports you to a different era altogether. It’s the intense connection that borders on telepathy when you’re dancing with a partner you’re in sync with. From the moment one says yes to a cabaceo, the tanda becomes a microcosm of falling in love. The first song reflects the courting phase as the leader and follower get to know each other’s touch and style. Is he a gentle lead or is he aggressive and overpowering? Is she calm and self-assured or does each step feel timid and anxious? Then a pause and the second song begins. This is when the conversation deepens and you’ll start to feel each other’s presence in your own bodies. It magically becomes a wordless dialogue as you’re now aware of each other’s capacities when it comes to footwork and rhythm. Finally, by the last song you’re a single unit moving in unison while still expressing yourselves individually as leader and follower. Everything else fades to black as nothing exists save for you two and the music. Then the trance ends with a thank you, a hug, and the follower is escorted back to her seat. The beauty of intimacy and connection in a span of 3 songs.
So I was surprised to be invited for a couple of tandas that evening in KL. Each time I was met by a smiling face, I defaulted to mouthing “Who, me?” as I pointed to myself in disbelief. It was an interesting cocktail of exhilaration and sheer panic with every step I made on the dance floor yet ultimately it left an aftertaste of pride and relief for surviving the tanda. Yet despite the dancing and friendly chatter with new friends, my early bravado and confidence shrunk as the night went on and my mind started its descent to Not-Good-Enough Land.
“Oh her footwork is so nice! She looks so elegant.”
“They look so happy and relaxed dancing, why do I still feel so anxious when I dance?”
“Wow, that move was so cool. How long will it take for me to ever get that good?”
“What am I even doing here? It’s only been 6 months of lessons, you’re not ready…”
“Oh Rin, why are you wasting your time and money on a hobby you’re not even good at?”
“Who do you think you are?”
Strangely enough, it was at that moment that May stepped in to break my intrusive thoughts with her question. Perhaps the psychic ability for appearing with sage life advice at eerie timings is a trait that all good Tango teachers have.
“No May, please tell me! How did you get good at Tango?” I pleaded while I kept admiring the assured and graceful footwork of the women twirling before me.
May leaned in closer almost conspiratorially, “The secret is I learn to let go.”
“Huh? What do you mean?” I was half expecting a memorandum on feet placement, bio-mechanics, or musicality as the answer to my Tango progress.
“I gave up trying to guess what the next step will be and just trust myself that I can handle it. So I just let it flow and that’s how I got better at Tango!”
It was my turn to start laughing, “May, are you talking about Tango or life?”
“Both!” she beamed back. We sat in silence as the last dance ended and the dancers hugged each other and strolled off the dance floor.
I let her words sink in.
Let it go.
Mmm… I thought I was pretty good at it with my Fuckit approach when it came to life choices. If anything, it was starting to get questionable with quitting my job without a plan and wasting money on random trips and Tango.
Stop trying to guess what the next step will be.
Growing up in the 90’s, I’d always envisioned myself as The Main Character in those soft-lit cinematic classics. The quintessential Small Town Girl who made it in the Big City. The overlooked nerdy Ugly Duckling who turned into the sought after Swan. Success would look like autumn in New York in a power suit, perfectly coiffed hair, coffee in one hand and a dashing devoted husband holding the other. And I was so close to that fantasy once upon a time that I could taste it. Then I let it slipped away by returning to Singapore where I started from scratch again in a place where I was relegated to Quirky Sidekick Character written in for comedic relief.
Ambition is a good driver but Revenge is the louder co-pilot. For all the cliche tropes I’d put on my vision board and every Fuckit let’s do it I’d uttered under my breath, the common denominator behind each decision was almost embarrassing. I may often joke about my daddy issues of abandonment and mother wounds of never being good enough, but I rarely touch upon the growing pains of being mixed. I was too Chinese for the Malays and too Malay for the Chinese so I lived in the lonely space of Myself for a long time. Until one day I decided that if I’m neither here nor there, doesn’t it mean that I can do whatever I want or more importantly go wherever I please? Hence the Fuckit approach was born. Yet deep within I knew it was the disguise for the real search for a space where I didn’t have to feel so lonely. I just wanted someone to say “I see you. I see how much of yourself you put out there. So I choose you.”
Trust that you can handle whatever is thrown at you.
As the rest of the night wore on, little did I know how significant that milonga and May’s words would carry on for the rest of the year. The rest of summer flew brilliantly. I had fun in Germany at Mabel’s wedding and reconnected with Kaunda in Switzerland. With the candour only an old best friend can have, Kaunda chided me with brutal honesty, “You’ve forgotten who you are. Where is the fearless Rin I know from New York? I’ve only been hearing about how small you’ve made yourself.” I thanked him for the reminder and spent the rest of my days writing under the blue skies on his farm. With the surreal view of the Swiss Alps and the French border across the horizon, it felt like I was living the Pinterest dream and life was good.
Then I came back to Singapore and reality gave me the check.
The freelance project I’d pitched for? I got it but they ghosted me on my payment. Time spent shooting with a film crew that I’d hoped would translate to exposure? It went dark. A marketing consultant gig for a fashion boutique? The hours spent on the project didn’t align with the scope. A part-time sales role at a bookstore? The store ceased operations two months later. While I still believed I made the right choice to leave my job, with each setback I was starting to wonder who am I without a label to sum myself up at introductions. Calling myself a ‘writer’ felt fake if I’d published once every blue moon. I was running workshops and brand placements with Shy & Curious but it wasn’t enough to be monetarily sustainable (yet). To say I’m a marketing consultant no longer rolled off my tongue naturally despite the twenty years of experience. My love life? As the walls closed up around my heart each time things didn’t pan out, I felt like a hypocrite for still putting myself out there as a ‘love and sexpert’.
The real kick in my proverbial balls though was when my former company decided to cut off my affiliate relationship and barr me from working with brands they’d distribute. It wasn’t just the loss of an income stream, it felt like a slap to my face for all the work and relationships built across a span of three years in the industry. That was the day I understood the meaning of may the bridges you burn light your way forward. But that was the day I also finally broke down after everything that was thrown at me in a span of 6 months. When do I finally catch my Big Break?
Let it flow
The text from my ex-boss about cutting me off came in as I was working at a retail booth at a pop-up event in town. I’d finally found a part-time sales gig with a promising fun brand that was helmed by a smart and kind team. But as I read through the wall of text, rage coursed through my veins followed by a very tiny whisper in my ear, “Shit, what do I do next?”
I shrugged it off and switched back to my work mode. After all, I was still on a job and I’d to keep it professional despite wanting to go into a corner and cry. I kept on smiling and handing out samples to passing visitors until one of them picked up a sample, furrowed her brows at me and said “I know you.”
“Mmmm excuse me?” It was my turn to furrow my brows as my brain tried to scan through my mental Rolodex to remember her face.
“You’re Rin aren’t you? You’re the person behind Shy & Curious?”
Oh wow, a reader in the wild! I felt a strange mix of pride and bashfulness, “Yes, that’s me.”
“Nice to meet you! Did you start a new business?” She gestured to the booth behind me.
I hesitated as I knew how it looked. I was the oldest retail staff at the booth while the rest were pretty much still in school. “Ah no, I’m working part-time with them. Gotta pay the bills you know and I love their stuff anyway!”
She noticed the exaggerated chirpiness in my tone and my attempt at holding back the tears in my eyes. Then she did the kindest thing.
“I understand, I’ve learned so much about sex and really enjoy reading your articles! No one talks about all this taboo stuff especially in our community. Your work is important so please do what you have to do to keep going.”
I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. “You’ve no idea how much I needed to hear that today. Can I give you a hug?”
I ended up taking the rest of the afternoon off to indeed go home and cry.
So while things haven’t exactly gone to plan last year, I did end up finding that less lonely space in the form of new friends and old. Whether through reliving past versions of my former life across the cities I’ve lived in, or simply showing up and seeing where it flows. I still believe in my Main Character fantasy though that the Universe will always reward you with the happy ending you deserve. Perhaps nowadays success looks less like Cosmopolitan High Flyer and more of the quietness of experiencing life as My Favourite Version of Me. Whatever it is, I’ll stay true to the form of Tango that I trust myself enough to handle where life leads me to while maintaining my integrity.
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