There is a specific kind of magic that happens when you stop "performing" a dance and start "inhabiting" it. For me, that shift happened recently with a classic Egyptian track we all know and love: 3asal Ya Nas.

In the world of Oriental dance, we often talk about Tarab, that ecstatic state of emotional soul-connection. But before we get to the soul, we have to deal with the body—and the endless ways we choose to present it to the world.

The Many Versions of a Song, The Many Versions of Me

We’ve all heard dozens of versions of 3asal Ya Nas. Some are heavy with orchestral grandeur; others are light, poppy, and synthesised. As I stood in my studio, this specific version playing (the one you see in my latest video), I realized that the song’s evolution mirrors our own.

As dancers, we are often told there is a "correct" way to frame a hip drop or a "traditional" way to carry our arms. But the truth is, my dance today is not my dance from three years ago. There are so many ways to express who I am, and this particular movement is just one of them. It’s not the only version of me, but it is the most honest version of me right now.

Finding the "Honey" in the Rhythm

The title 3asal Ya Nas translates roughly to "Honey, oh people." It’s an invitation to sweetness. When I first started learning this dance, I focused on the "honey"—the gooey, slow, taxsim-like movements. I thought being "sweet" meant being soft.

But as I dove deeper into the musicality of this version, I noticed the sharp, crisp accents underneath the melody. It’s like the texture of raw honey—it’s smooth, but it has a crystalline structure. To really enter the rhythm, I had to stop counting "1, 2, 3, 4" and start feeling the "push and pull" of the instrumentation.

In this dance, I don't go for the most complex shimmies or the highest kicks. Instead, I’m looking for the space between the notes. It’s in those tiny micro-seconds of silence where the real personality of a dancer lives. Are you rushing to the next beat, or are you savoring the one you’re in?

Beyond the "Instructor Voice"

One of the reasons I wanted to share this piece is to step away from the "teacher" persona. The dance world is flooded with tutorials and "how-to" guides. Those are valuable, but sometimes they strip away the joy.

I’m not here to tell you to "tuck your pelvis" or "engage your core." I’m here as a fellow dancer who struggled to find her own voice in a sea of traditions. When I’m in this costume—the one that makes me feel like a queen—I’m not thinking about my technique. I’m thinking about how the fabric feels against my skin as I turn. I’m thinking about the way the light catches the beads. I’m thinking about how this version of the song makes me want to be bold, rather than just pretty.

Why Musicality is Personal

For my fellow dancers who care deeply about musicality: you know that feeling when you hear a transition in the music and your body reacts before your brain does? That’s what I’m chasing.

In 3asal Ya Nas, the melody is repetitive in a hypnotic way. The challenge isn't to do a different move every time the phrase repeats. The challenge is to find a different version of yourself within that same phrase. Maybe the first time it’s a flirtatious glance; the second time, it’s a grounded, earthy hip accent.

This is what I mean by "so many ways to express who I am." My dance is a living, breathing dialogue with the music. It’s not a monologue I’ve memorized. It is the art of being present.

Final Thoughts: Embrace Your Multiplicity

If there is one thing I’ve learned from this practice, it’s that we don’t have to be just one thing. You can be the elegant Oriental dancer one day and the gritty, street-style Shaabi dancer the next. You can be a queen in your studio and a student of the rhythm forever.

Thank you for witnessing this moment of my journey. I hope it inspires you to look at your favorite classic track—whatever it may be—and find a new way to express your own sweetness.

Which version of yourself are you bringing to the dance floor today?


#凱西CATHY

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The month of February has a certain magic in the air. As the winter chill begins to fade, replaced by the soft warmth of early spring, our hearts naturally lean towards stories of romance and youthful crush. This year, I found the perfect rhythm to match this fluttering feeling: TWS’s ‘Overdrive.’ .

If you’ve been following the K-pop scene lately, you know that TWS (Twenty Forty Seven) has redefined the concept of "Boyhood Pop." Their music isn't just about catchy beats; it’s about that raw, sparkling energy of being young and in love. As Valentine’s Day approaches, I couldn't think of a better way to celebrate the season of love than by sharing my dance cover of the now-viral "Aegyo Dance" (撒嬌舞) from their hit track, Overdrive.

The Sound of a Racing Heart: Why 'Overdrive' is a Valentine’s Essential

There’s something undeniably nostalgic yet fresh about Overdrive. From the moment the funky guitar riff kicks in, you’re transported to a scene from a coming-of-age movie. It captures that exact moment when a crush goes into "overdrive" - when your heart beats too fast, and your emotions are running at full speed.

In the world of K-pop choreography, we often see powerful, high-energy movements. But what makes the Overdrive choreography so special—and why it’s the ultimate Valentine’s vibe - is its playfulness. The "Aegyo" (cute) elements of the dance are subtle, charming, and incredibly sincere. It’s not just about showing off skills; it’s about expressing the awkward, sweet, and bashful side of falling for someone.

Creating the Aesthetic: A Story Within a Dance

When I decided to film this cover a week before Valentine’s Day, I wanted it to be more than just a dance video. I wanted it to feel like a "Pre-Valentine" gift to my followers. To achieve that minimalist and aesthetic vibe, I focused on light, airy tones and a soft-focus lens to mimic the feeling of a daydream.

Dancing to TWS requires a specific kind of "lightness." You have to balance the precision of Urban Dance with the breezy attitude of Boyhood Pop. Every time I hit the chorus - the part everyone calls the "Aegyo Dance" - I couldn't help but smile. That’s the power of TWS’s music; it forces you to feel the joy it radiates.

Breaking Down the 'Aegyo' Dance Style

For those of you looking to try this challenge, the key is in the details. The "撒嬌舞" (Aegyo Dance) isn't just about the hand gestures; it's about the eye contact and the timing. Here are a few tips to master the TWS style for your Valentine's Reels:
1.The "Boyhood" Bounce: Keep your knees light. The bounce should feel natural, like you’re walking on air.
2.Facial Expressions: This is 80% of the dance. Imagine you’re looking at your crush. A little bit of shyness goes a long way!
3.Clean Transitions: Even though it’s a "cute" dance, TWS’s choreography is remarkably clean. Keep your lines sharp but your energy soft.

A Special Early Valentine’s Treat for You

I’ve shared this dance on my Instagram Reels, YouTube Shorts, and Facebook, but I wanted to write this blog post to go deeper into why this song resonates with me so much.

"Early Valentine’s special left here, just in case 💝" - that was the caption I chose for my video. It’s a reminder that love doesn't always have to be a grand, dramatic gesture. Sometimes, it’s just a song, a simple dance, and a wish for someone to smile.

Whether you are celebrating Valentine’s Day with a partner, with friends, or practicing some much-needed self-love this year, I hope the energy of Overdrive brings a little extra spark to your week. TWS reminds us that life is better when we let our hearts run a little wild.

Join the Conversation

Are you as obsessed with TWS as I am? What’s your favorite part of the Overdrive choreography? If you haven't seen my cover yet, head over to my social media channels to catch the full "Aegyo Dance" vibe! Let’s count down to February 14th together with music that makes our hearts race.


#凱西CATHY

凱西CATHY YouTube：https://www.youtube.com/c/CathyHsieh
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There’s something about “Howeh El Hob” by Adham Nabulsi that makes me pause. Not pause in the sense of stopping to think, but a pause that pulls you in, that makes the outside world melt away. The rhythm starts quietly, almost teasingly, and before I know it, I’m already swaying, letting my body find its own answers.

It’s Arabic pop, but it’s not just pop - it has these little flickers, these sparks of melody that curl around your chest and shoulders, coaxing subtle movements you didn’t plan. At first, I just listened, letting the micro beats sink in, feeling the pauses between the instruments, the breaths in the vocals. Those tiny spaces - the rests, the flickers of silence - are where the dance really begins for me.

When I start moving, I'm not thinking about technique or form. I'm thinking about touch, about timing, about how each flicker of the drum or shimmer of the melody lands in my body. My hips answer the pulse, but my chest and shoulders are the ones really having the conversation. Sometimes a note bends and my hands follow, not because I planned it, but because they want to.

I first discovered "Howeh El Hob" by Adham Nabulsi one quiet evening, headphones on, and immediately the song whispered possibilities. The music has a conversation with itself: a drum hits, a melody rises, and suddenly there's a pause. That pause - it's the part that makes me stop, breathe, and let the next movement arrive naturally. It's not about showing off what I can do; it's about letting the music tell me what it wants me to do. There's a freedom in that surrender, a space where the dance and the song feel inseparable.

Musicality isn't always obvious in Arabic pop to the casual listener. The accents can be subtle, the beat may shift unexpectedly, and the vocal runs float above the rhythm. That's what I love. I have to really listen, really feel, to know where I am. Sometimes I step softly into a pause, sometimes I exaggerate a flick or roll just to honor a note that touched me. There's no right or wrong; there's just the moment and what the music inspires in me.

I often get asked how I "practice musicality," and my answer would be: I don't practice it in the traditional sense. I immerse myself. I loop "Howeh El Hob" over and over, not to memorize moves, but to memorize the feeling. I notice the accents I missed the first time, the way my chest wants to rise and fall, the flicker of the wrist that naturally follows a vocal run. Musicality is listening, yes, but it's also surrendering. It's letting the song teach me, letting my body speak its language.

Sometimes I close my eyes mid-song and realize that my movements are not even mine anymore. They belong to the rhythm, the melody, the whisper of a note between beats. That's the magic: the music becomes a partner, not a backdrop. My body answers, and the answer surprises me in ways I didn't expect. There's nothing rehearsed here, nothing forced, just a constant dialogue between sound and flesh.

I want dancers who read this to feel that too: that musicality isn't only about hitting the accent or finishing a combination. It's about listening deeply, moving honestly, and letting the song find you. It's messy sometimes. It's personal. It's fleeting. But it's real.

When "Howeh El Hob" ends, I'm left in silence, my chest still vibrating with the last note. And I find myself wanting to play it again, not to perfect a movement, but to dive back in, to discover the next flicker, the next pause, the next whisper the song has for me.

Musicality is a dialogue, not a performance. And for me, this song - this fleeting, pulsing, teasing track by Adham Nabulsi - is the kind of conversation I never want to end.


#凱西CATHY

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There is an exhilarating kind of pressure when the music begins with a countdown. 1, 2, 3, 4. It’s not just a lead-in; it’s a heartbeat. When I first heard Artem Uzunov’s 1 2 3 4 Dum Tek Tek Dum Tek, I felt a surge of energy that demanded something different from me. Unlike the flowing, honey-like melodies of a classic song, this track is all about the "bone" of the music—the rhythm itself.

For a belly dancer, a drum solo is often seen as a test of technique. But as I’ve grown in my practice, I’ve realized that the drum is actually a conversation. It’s an invitation to show not just what my muscles can do, but how my spirit responds to the rawest form of sound.

The Geometry of Sound

Artem Uzunov’s compositions are masterclasses in modern percussion. They are crisp, intentional, and geometrically perfect. When I listen to the Dum Tek Tek, I don’t just hear sounds; I see shapes. The Dum is a deep, grounding circle in the hips; the Tek is a sharp, crystalline point in the chest or fingertips.

In this dance, I found myself playing with the architecture of these sounds. There is a specific thrill in hitting a sharp accent at the exact millisecond the drum speaks. But the real challenge—and the real beauty—lies in the silence between those beats. It’s about how you transition from one "Tek" to the next. Am I holding my breath, or am I letting the rhythm breathe through me?

Precision Without Perfectionism

For a long time, I thought dancing to a drum solo meant being a machine. I thought every pop and lock had to be mathematically perfect. But "perfect" can often be cold. In this performance, I wanted to move away from being a metronome and toward being a storyteller.

Yes, the muscles must be disciplined. The isolations must be clear. But if you watch closely, you’ll see that my focus isn't on the "right" move. It’s on the response. When the drum accelerates, it’s not just my hips moving faster; it’s my energy expanding. I’m not teaching a class on how to hit a hip drop; I’m sharing how it feels to be possessed by a rhythm that won't let you stand still.

The Playfulness of the "1 2 3 4"

There is a playful, almost cheeky quality to this track. The countdown creates a sense of anticipation—a "watch this" moment. It allows me to express a side of myself that is bold, percussive, and unapologetic.

In Oriental dance, we often emphasize the "feminine" as soft and ethereal. But there is an incredible feminine power in being sharp, loud, and rhythmic. It’s a different version of the "queen" I felt in other dances. This is the queen on the battlefield, the queen of the celebration, the queen who isn't afraid to take up space and command attention with every Dum.

Musicality as a Living Language

To my fellow dancers who obsess over musicality as much as I do: Artem’s work is a playground. Because the structure is so clear, it actually gives us more freedom to improvise with our emotions.

When the rhythm goes Dum Tek Tek Dum Tek, you have a choice. Do you follow the Dum (the downbeat) or do you dance around the Tek (the upbeat)? I’ve learned that the most interesting dancers are those who flirt with the rhythm. They don't just follow it; they tease it. They stay a fraction of a second behind or push a hair forward, creating a tension that keeps the audience leaning in.

Why I Dance to the Drum

I chose to share this dance because it represents the "internal engine" of my movement. Often, we get lost in the beautiful costumes and the sweeping veils, but at the core of belly dance is the ancient connection between the human heart and the drum.

This track reminds me that I am capable of immense precision, but also immense joy. It’s a reminder that there are many ways to express who I am—and sometimes, that expression is best done without words, without a melody, and with nothing but the raw, percussive truth of the beat.

Final Reflections: Find Your Own Pulse

If you are a dancer struggling to find your voice in a drum solo, my advice is to stop listening with your ears and start listening with your skin. Feel where the Dum hits you. Is it in your feet? Your belly? Your shoulders?

Don't worry about the "1 2 3 4" as a set of instructions. View it as a countdown to your own liberation. When the music stops and the last Dum echoes in the room, the only thing that should be left is the resonance of your own energy.

How does the drum make you feel? Are you ready to find your own rhythm?


#凱西CATHY

凱西CATHY YouTube：https://www.youtube.com/c/CathyHsieh
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Belly dance is an expressive art form that connects body movement, emotion, and music. While it is traditionally performed to Middle Eastern music, many dancers today explore new possibilities by combining belly dance with music from different cultures. This approach, often called fusion belly dance, allows dancers to discover fresh inspiration and develop a more personal style.

In this post, I would like to share a belly dance choreography inspired by the Chinese song “San Sheng San Xing” (三生三幸) by Hai Lai A Mu. This dance is a personal exploration of emotion, musical interpretation, and cultural fusion.

About the Song: “San Sheng San Xing” by Hai Lai A Mu

“San Sheng San Xing” is a Chinese song performed by the singer Hai Lai A Mu, who is known for his emotional voice and storytelling style. The title of the song can be loosely understood as “Three Lifetimes, Three Blessings”, expressing gratitude, destiny, and deep emotional connection.

The melody of this song is gentle and flowing, with a calm rhythm that invites thoughtful movement. Although it is not traditional belly dance music, its emotional quality makes it suitable for lyrical and fusion belly dance choreography. The music encourages dancers to focus on feeling rather than speed, allowing each movement to grow naturally from the melody.

For belly dancers who enjoy exploring music beyond the Middle Eastern tradition, Chinese music like this offers a refreshing and meaningful alternative.

Why Dance Belly Dance to Chinese Music?

Belly dance is a global art form, and its language is movement and emotion. Dancing belly dance to Chinese music creates a dialogue between cultures and opens new creative possibilities.

Chinese music often emphasizes:
-Emotional storytelling
-Smooth melodic lines
-A reflective atmosphere

These qualities work beautifully with belly dance techniques such as body isolation, controlled hip movement, and expressive arm patterns. Instead of focusing on strong drum accents, the dancer can explore subtle transitions and emotional expression.

This type of fusion belly dance allows dancers to slow down, listen deeply, and move with intention.

Choreography Concept and Movement Style

This choreography focuses on softness, flow, and emotional connection to the music. Rather than presenting complex combinations, the movement is simple and intentional.

The dance includes:
-Gentle hip movements
-Torso isolation and control
-Fluid arm lines
-Expressive posture and timing

By keeping the choreography open and adaptable, the dancer can respond naturally to the music. This approach is especially suitable for lyrical belly dance and personal interpretation, where the goal is not technical display but emotional communication.

Belly Dance as Emotional Expression

Belly dance is more than a physical practice; it is also a form of emotional expression. Music like “San Sheng San Xing” invites the dancer to reflect on themes such as gratitude, destiny, and connection.

Through controlled movement and mindful breathing, the dancer can translate these emotions into physical form. This makes the dance feel personal and meaningful, both for the performer and the audience.

Fusion belly dance offers space for this kind of exploration, allowing each dancer to bring their own story into the movement.

Fusion Belly Dance and Cultural Inspiration

Fusion belly dance is not about replacing tradition, but about expanding creative boundaries with respect and curiosity. By combining belly dance techniques with Chinese music, dancers can explore a new aesthetic while maintaining the essence of the dance.

This cultural blending encourages:
-Artistic openness
-Cross-cultural appreciation
-Creative growth

Many belly dancers around the world are now experimenting with non-traditional music, and Chinese songs like “San Sheng San Xing” provide a rich emotional landscape for this exploration.

Why I Enjoy Exploring Music Beyond Tradition

Exploring different music styles helps dancers grow artistically. It challenges familiar habits and encourages deeper listening. Dancing to Chinese music has helped me slow down, focus on quality of movement, and connect more deeply with emotion.

This process is not about perfection, but about curiosity and learning. Each experiment becomes a step toward discovering a more personal dance voice.

Final Thoughts

This belly dance choreography inspired by “San Sheng San Xing” is a reflection of my interest in fusion belly dance and cultural expression. By blending belly dance with Chinese music, I hope to share a different perspective on how this art form can continue to evolve.

If you are a belly dancer who enjoys emotional music and cultural fusion, I encourage you to explore music from different traditions and see how it influences your movement. Belly dance is a journey, and every new song can open a new path.


#凱西CATHY

凱西CATHY YouTube：https://www.youtube.com/c/CathyHsieh
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