Dancing Home: Don Quixote for JMW Ballet School’s 65th anniversary

I’m writing this at the departure gate for Paris, at Hong Kong International Airport, after a little under two weeks back home. I flew in to celebrate the 65th anniversary of my ballet school—the Jean M. Wong School of Ballet—a place that shaped not only my ballet technique but much of who I am on and off stage.

Last summer was my first time performing in Hong Kong since I became a professional dancer in 2015. I danced Grand Pas Classique with my partner Hortense at the School’s annual performance, Stars of Tomorrow, on the very same stage. Coming back this year felt like a continuation of that homecoming, but with a special focus: a celebration of my teacher Miss Jean M. Wong’s life story. In her honor, I chose one of her favorites—the Don Quixote pas de deux—danced with my dear partner, now Dr. Melody Fung.

We last performed this very Don Quixote together ten years ago, for the school’s 55th anniversary. Reprising it for the 65th added a layer of meaning I could feel from the first rehearsal. It was also a genuine challenge. I was just returning from an ankle injury and hadn’t danced since the end of June; Melody hadn’t danced at all in four years. Confident as I felt when I asked her to do it, putting together a full pas de deux in three rehearsals, with two bodies not yet at 100%, was… ambitious.

And yet we did it—two performances that felt alive, joyful, and honest. I could measure, almost physically, how much the last season at the Paris Opera Ballet changed me. The soloist opportunities taught me how to prepare smarter, manage nerves, and stay fully present so that I don’t just survive a performance—I enjoy it. Standing in the wings this time, I was calm. Grateful. Ready.

Stars of Tomorrow is also a reunion. Old friends and classmates appeared backstage, and suddenly we were all fifteen again, chatting in the corridor, comparing notes, laughing, stretching, waiting for our turn. Those moments reminded me how deep our bonds run—how the school, with all its shared rehearsals and small rituals, quietly built a community that lasts far beyond any single show.

Being in Hong Kong itself lifted me. The city felt more alive than the last time—shops and restaurants busy, traffic humming, that particular Hong Kong tempo returning. I’ve always loved the mix here: mountains and sea against glass and steel, nature and movement side by side. To conserve energy before the shows I took more Ubers than MTR, which gave me time to look out the window and simply watch Hong Kong pass by. I stayed in Wan Chai in the days leading up to the performances, and the daily ride across the harbor by Star Ferry to the Hong Kong Cultural Centre became a small ritual I looked forward to—five quiet minutes on the water before the theatre lights.

Outside the stage, the schedule was full: interviews, photo and video shoots, a masterclass. Busy, yes—but meaningful. Doing all this for my school, and for Miss Wong, feels like giving back to a place that gave me so much. Many of my happiest dancing memories were born in those studios.

Now I’m heading back to Paris feeling content, grateful, and relieved that everything went well. A new season is waiting with three personal goals, one of which is finally moving into a place of my own. I’m excited for what’s ahead—and I’m carrying Hong Kong with me, the way it always travels with me: in the muscles, in the music, and in the quiet confidence that comes from dancing at home.