Editor’s Note: The following essay is the winning submission selected for the 2025 Showstopper Day Essay Contest Crystal Essay Award. The Crystal Essay Award highlights the essay submission that best captures the spirit of Showstopper Day. Elina Tsai used the prompt “Who do you most cherish in your dance community? Why?” to thoughtfully describe the people on the other side of the stage, the audience, and the role they play in competitive dance. Her tender consideration of what each member of the audience did embraces the community impact of dance on every dancer who takes the stage.
My dance community includes those in closest proximity at the studio: my teachers and all of my teammates— from the littlest girls on Team D to the working adults whose passion never faded. It extends to my mom, whose warm hugs bring me comfort offstage, and to my younger sister, whose teasing remarks in class never cost her the role of my built-in best friend. It includes my teammates’ parents, my teachers’ children, and everyone in between.
As such, it is impossible to choose a most cherished person. My movements, my skills, my expressions, my thoughts and ideas are a sweet mixture of every one I have ever met in this vast dance world.
And so, I say, cherish the audience.
Cherish the judges, your fellow competitors, your stage crew, and anyone who takes the time to like, comment, and share your performance videos online. I cherish Michelle, our social media specialist, who has the gift of turning the simplest clips into a cinematic masterpiece.
Cherish the curious, rosy-cheeked children who watch in awe and point their small fingers, held back from running onstage by equally supportive parents. I appreciate the grandmas and grandpas who find a shaded seat an hour before our performances begin, who deeply respect our art and resonate with our storytelling. At every show, there are familiar supporters who keep up with our schedule, as well as new faces: regular shoppers, museum-goers, or college students who hear our traditional music and happen to wander by at the right time. Anyone who is willing to pause their footsteps, even for just a moment, I cherish.
Cherish the teachers, who pay the closest attention. They do not watch simply to enjoy; they search for weaknesses. They love and protect us like their own. They are proud of every student, yet will always find ways to push us further. Within their journals are hundreds of formations, accounting for different versions of each dance depending on who can make it to which event. Every week, they scribble down new tricks and training exercises for us to growstronger. I can only imagine the electricity they feel when they see the dancers they trained, the choreography they meticulously polished all come alive onstage.
I cherish the photographers, especially Mr. Liu, the father of one of my teammates, who is there grinning wide with his camera at every performance. He captures us in our most candid moments, whether that be in the middle of a floor jeté or us nervously stretching backstage. We’re always amazed at how fast he uploads his photos too; they are a treat to scroll through in bed after a long day. Though photography is just a hobby of his, Mr. Liu’s dedication to his and his daughter’s respective passions inspires me to make time for the things and people I cherish.
I deeply cherish my mother and all the other dance moms who are, without question, our biggest fans. They are our backbone, and without their unconditional love, our studios would not run the same. We would not breeze through our quick changes or finish sewing our costumes
on time. Without them, we would not be able to chase our dreams so freely. Whenever I spot my mother’s beaming face in the crowd, I jump higher, stomp louder, dance harder.
Of course, I cherish my friends, who, when they are not in the upcoming number, wait backstage to blast their undying support. Kylie’s claps always resound like a megaphone, and I have long become unfazed by Fei’s ear-splitting screams. The younger members are also quick learners; last competition, their synchronized shrieks greatly surpassed our expectations. Some teammates I have known since fourth grade, when I first joined the company; others I met last August after tryouts. Despite our different timelines, I am just glad our paths happen to coincide. In class, we learn from each other, sweat together, sometimes cry together. Onstage, we become one. I love my girls forever.
Thinking about these people, I have realized a simple truth:
The audience has never been faceless to me.
When I was little, I heard countless tips for overcoming stage fright— imagine the audience without clothes, or pretend they are not there at all. But after years of performing, I have found the complete opposite to be true. Up there, I can see them exactly as they are. Even if I can only focus on a few happy faces at a time in the dark, even if the disorienting stage lights blur my vision, even if I stand in the very back row, I can see them, hear them, feel them. Every time I dance, the audience’s collective energy floods through me like an elixir. It makes my pulse race faster and faster, and simultaneously, it somehow steadies my steps.In this love letter to dance, I thank everyone who has helped me dance my heart out on the big stage. Thank you, audience (and reader) for your invigorating presence.
