My Path

I grew up in a body that gave me no chance to be weak. Asthma is a ruthless teacher. It teaches you early what fear is, what helplessness feels like, and the real price of every breath. As a child I learned lessons most people only face as adults: how to stand when you can’t breathe. How to move when the body says “stop.” How to live when circumstances insist that your path has already been decided for you. I never trusted predictions. And I never believed in limits. I learned to verify everything myself. That is how I entered martial arts. Not for self-expression. Not to look strong. I went there to stop being a hostage to my own body. And I succeeded. On the mat I understood something for the first time: strength is not muscle. Strength is THE AXIS. THE CENTER. If you have a strong axis, you stand. If you don’t, it's all worthless. Martial arts didn’t teach me how to win. They taught me how to control chaos. The chaos of the body. The chaos of fear. The chaos of raw energy. They taught me that a strike is geometry. Breath is strategy. And movement is the result of an internal decision made long before the body actually makes the move.
Engineering came later, and quickly became my second nature. Systems. Laws. Structures. A world that doesn’t tolerate “approximately” and has no respect for “almost.” I recognized the same truth there that I had once discovered in my own body: nothing is random, nothing is chaotic, nothing breaks without a cause. A human being is also a system. Logical. Precise. Real. Understand the principle, and everything can change. Find the Center, and you can change yourself.
When dance entered my life, I already knew this: beauty without structure is emptiness. Emotion without axis is weakness. Freedom without Center is an illusion. That’s why tango was never “a dance” for me. It is an agreement between two forces. A collision of energies that must find a single trajectory for movement to exist at all. Argentine tango is a system. A temporary ceasefire between two centers. And if one of them loses its axis, everything collapses. Giros, ochos, boleos, sacadas are not decorations. They are tests. Tests of stability. Of honesty in movement. Of the ability to hold direction without dissolving into someone else’s impulse. Many dancers become soft. Too emotional. Too airy. I am not one of them.