The story is over. My heart just hasn’t caught up yet.
There are certain moments in life that stay with us long after they are gone. A conversation, a familiar place, a look in someone’s eyes, or simply a feeling we cannot quite explain. We may move on, change, grow, and continue with our lives, but sometimes a part of us remains quietly attached to a moment that no longer exists.
Perhaps that is what makes endings so difficult.
It is not always the loss itself. Sometimes, the hardest part is knowing that something has already ended while your heart is still living in the past.
This feeling comes to mind whenever I listen to Assala Nasri’s “Ghalban.” There is something deeply emotional about the song. Its Arabic melody carries longing, vulnerability, and a quiet kind of heartbreak. It does not feel like a dramatic cry for someone to come back. Instead, it feels more intimate, like a private conversation with a memory that refuses to disappear.
That is why the song feels so natural with Oriental dance.
Oriental dance, often known as belly dance, has a unique way of expressing emotions through movement. It does not always need big gestures or dramatic choreography. Sometimes, the smallest movement can say the most.
A slow movement of the hips can feel like longing. A soft curve through the torso can suggest vulnerability. The movement of the arms can create a sense of openness, while a sudden pause can feel like hesitation, remembrance, or even a moment when the heart simply cannot move forward.
There is something beautiful about watching emotion travel through the body.
We often try to explain our feelings with words. We say that we miss someone, that we are hurt, that we have moved on, or that we are finally letting go. But there are emotions that words cannot quite reach.
The body knows another language.
It remembers the feelings we thought we had forgotten. It holds tension, softness, hesitation, desire, sadness, confidence, and tenderness. When we dance, those feelings can surface without needing to be named.
This is what makes Oriental dance much more than a sequence of movements.
It can be a conversation between music and the body, between memory and the present moment. The rhythm gives the body a direction, while the melody creates an emotional landscape. Together, they allow something hidden inside us to become visible.
With “Ghalban” playing in the background, every movement seems to carry a little more meaning.
A turn can feel like looking back.
A slow step forward can feel like trying to leave something behind.
A pause can feel like the moment when we remember that we are not quite ready to let go.
And then the music continues.
That is perhaps the most important part.
The music does not stop simply because the heart is still holding on. The rhythm keeps moving, and eventually, the body has to move with it.
Maybe life is like that too.
We cannot stay forever in the moment when the story ended. We cannot return to exactly the same place, even if we remember every detail. Time keeps moving, whether we are ready or not.
But moving forward does not mean that we have to erase what happened.
We can remember without returning.
We can miss something without wanting it back.
We can carry a beautiful memory without allowing it to keep us trapped inside the past.
Perhaps healing is not about forgetting. Perhaps it is about changing our relationship with the memory.
What once felt like an open wound can eventually become a quiet part of our story. Something we can look back on with tenderness rather than pain. Something that reminds us that we once loved deeply, felt deeply, and were fully present in a particular chapter of our lives.
And maybe that is one of the quiet gifts of dance.
Dance gives emotions somewhere to go.
Instead of keeping everything inside, we let the body breathe through it. We allow the music to guide us through feelings that may have been difficult to express. We move with the sadness instead of fighting against it.
There is no need to rush.
A beautiful dance is not always about perfection or intensity. Sometimes, it is about the space between movements. The breath before a turn. The stillness after a gesture. The way the body slowly unfolds as the music changes.
Those small moments can say everything.
They remind us that softness can be powerful, that femininity can be expressive, and that vulnerability does not make us weak.
Oriental dance has a language of its own — one built on rhythm, musicality, curves, subtle details, and emotion. It can be sensual without being loud, graceful without being fragile, and powerful without needing to prove anything.
And perhaps that is why it speaks so beautifully to memories of love, longing, and letting go.
Because sometimes, the heart does not need an answer.
It simply needs a place to feel.
A place where the past can exist without controlling the present.
A place where sadness can become movement, and movement can slowly become freedom.
So when I hear “Ghalban” and watch the body move with its haunting melody, I do not think only about heartbreak.
I think about everything we carry with us.
The people we once loved. The moments we cannot repeat. The versions of ourselves that existed in another chapter. The things we wanted to say but never did.
And I think about how beautiful it is that even after a story ends, life continues to create new rhythms.
Maybe the heart takes longer than the mind to understand that something is over.
Maybe that is okay.
Maybe we are not supposed to forget the day that changed us.
Maybe we are simply meant to keep dancing until that memory no longer feels like a place we are trapped in, but a place we once visited.
The story may already be over.
The heart may still be catching up.
But with every breath, every movement, and every beat, we can choose to move again.
Not away from the past.
But forward, carrying everything it taught us.
Because sometimes, dance is not about escaping what we feel.
It is about finally allowing ourselves to feel it — and then letting the music show us the way forward.
Video Information on Social Media
Dancer: Cathy Hsieh
Song: Assala Nasri - Ghalban
#凱西CATHY
There are certain moments in life that stay with us long after they are gone. A conversation, a familiar place, a look in someone’s eyes, or simply a feeling we cannot quite explain. We may move on, change, grow, and continue with our lives, but sometimes a part of us remains quietly attached to a moment that no longer exists.
Perhaps that is what makes endings so difficult.
It is not always the loss itself. Sometimes, the hardest part is knowing that something has already ended while your heart is still living in the past.
This feeling comes to mind whenever I listen to Assala Nasri’s “Ghalban.” There is something deeply emotional about the song. Its Arabic melody carries longing, vulnerability, and a quiet kind of heartbreak. It does not feel like a dramatic cry for someone to come back. Instead, it feels more intimate, like a private conversation with a memory that refuses to disappear.
That is why the song feels so natural with Oriental dance.
Oriental dance, often known as belly dance, has a unique way of expressing emotions through movement. It does not always need big gestures or dramatic choreography. Sometimes, the smallest movement can say the most.
A slow movement of the hips can feel like longing. A soft curve through the torso can suggest vulnerability. The movement of the arms can create a sense of openness, while a sudden pause can feel like hesitation, remembrance, or even a moment when the heart simply cannot move forward.
There is something beautiful about watching emotion travel through the body.
We often try to explain our feelings with words. We say that we miss someone, that we are hurt, that we have moved on, or that we are finally letting go. But there are emotions that words cannot quite reach.
The body knows another language.
It remembers the feelings we thought we had forgotten. It holds tension, softness, hesitation, desire, sadness, confidence, and tenderness. When we dance, those feelings can surface without needing to be named.
This is what makes Oriental dance much more than a sequence of movements.
It can be a conversation between music and the body, between memory and the present moment. The rhythm gives the body a direction, while the melody creates an emotional landscape. Together, they allow something hidden inside us to become visible.
With “Ghalban” playing in the background, every movement seems to carry a little more meaning.
A turn can feel like looking back.
A slow step forward can feel like trying to leave something behind.
A pause can feel like the moment when we remember that we are not quite ready to let go.
And then the music continues.
That is perhaps the most important part.
The music does not stop simply because the heart is still holding on. The rhythm keeps moving, and eventually, the body has to move with it.
Maybe life is like that too.
We cannot stay forever in the moment when the story ended. We cannot return to exactly the same place, even if we remember every detail. Time keeps moving, whether we are ready or not.
But moving forward does not mean that we have to erase what happened.
We can remember without returning.
We can miss something without wanting it back.
We can carry a beautiful memory without allowing it to keep us trapped inside the past.
Perhaps healing is not about forgetting. Perhaps it is about changing our relationship with the memory.
What once felt like an open wound can eventually become a quiet part of our story. Something we can look back on with tenderness rather than pain. Something that reminds us that we once loved deeply, felt deeply, and were fully present in a particular chapter of our lives.
And maybe that is one of the quiet gifts of dance.
Dance gives emotions somewhere to go.
Instead of keeping everything inside, we let the body breathe through it. We allow the music to guide us through feelings that may have been difficult to express. We move with the sadness instead of fighting against it.
There is no need to rush.
A beautiful dance is not always about perfection or intensity. Sometimes, it is about the space between movements. The breath before a turn. The stillness after a gesture. The way the body slowly unfolds as the music changes.
Those small moments can say everything.
They remind us that softness can be powerful, that femininity can be expressive, and that vulnerability does not make us weak.
Oriental dance has a language of its own — one built on rhythm, musicality, curves, subtle details, and emotion. It can be sensual without being loud, graceful without being fragile, and powerful without needing to prove anything.
And perhaps that is why it speaks so beautifully to memories of love, longing, and letting go.
Because sometimes, the heart does not need an answer.
It simply needs a place to feel.
A place where the past can exist without controlling the present.
A place where sadness can become movement, and movement can slowly become freedom.
So when I hear “Ghalban” and watch the body move with its haunting melody, I do not think only about heartbreak.
I think about everything we carry with us.
The people we once loved. The moments we cannot repeat. The versions of ourselves that existed in another chapter. The things we wanted to say but never did.
And I think about how beautiful it is that even after a story ends, life continues to create new rhythms.
Maybe the heart takes longer than the mind to understand that something is over.
Maybe that is okay.
Maybe we are not supposed to forget the day that changed us.
Maybe we are simply meant to keep dancing until that memory no longer feels like a place we are trapped in, but a place we once visited.
The story may already be over.
The heart may still be catching up.
But with every breath, every movement, and every beat, we can choose to move again.
Not away from the past.
But forward, carrying everything it taught us.
Because sometimes, dance is not about escaping what we feel.
It is about finally allowing ourselves to feel it — and then letting the music show us the way forward.
Video Information on Social Media
Dancer: Cathy Hsieh
Song: Assala Nasri - Ghalban
#凱西CATHY
凱西CATHY YouTube：https://www.youtube.com/c/CathyHsieh
凱西CATHY TikTok：https://www.tiktok.com/@cathyhsieh66
凱西CATHY Facebook：https://www.facebook.com/cathybellydance
凱西CATHY Instagram：https://www.instagram.com/cathyhsieh106
凱西CATHY TikTok：https://www.tiktok.com/@cathyhsieh66
凱西CATHY Facebook：https://www.facebook.com/cathybellydance
凱西CATHY Instagram：https://www.instagram.com/cathyhsieh106
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