I think it's very hard to imagine my life without the arts, because art was survival for me, even in the midst of war.

You know, art is kind of in my DNA and genes.

♪♪ Hi.

My name is Fadi Khoury, and this is how art changed me.

I'm born in Iraq, Baghdad, in 1986.

Dance is really involved in the culture of the Middle East.

So, you dance in parties.

You dance in weddings.

And there are traditional dances that everyone dances.

So that was kind of my outlet.

And while I was growing up, looking up to the ideal version of the man that I should be and I will be, the gender expression and the pressure of producing that hyper masculine character as a teenager in the Arab world was really a setback of my motivation in the dance.

So by the time we had to flee Iraq, really, in 1998, we moved to Lebanon.

And in my teenage years, while I'm developing basically who I am and who I want and what I want in life, I had to figure out how to distance myself from the expectation of the family and the society.

I knew I was gay, but I -- I wasn't connected with men at all, and I was so afraid of connecting with men because of my upbringing and that constant affirmation of, "You're not man enough if you dance like that.

You're not strong enough.

You're not tough enough.

You're not aggressive enough," which meant that men should be aggressive and tough and angry and play violently.

That pushed me so far away from man that I didn't want to have to do with them.

And I could not really resonate with any connection with men.

And so when I came to New York and to be free, that was never on my agenda.

And it was so hard to -- to accept it.

But naturally, the dance world in its classical form celebrates the woman and celebrates the romance of a man and a woman.

And so from succeeding in ballroom, which is very much a man and a woman, I found a way again to rely on the woman and to find comfort in being with a woman to establish myself and express myself, because on my own as a man, I wasn't really accepted, and I didn't accept myself.

But my trap was my star partner was a woman, a female, and so everything in the end celebrated the man and the woman together.

And she was the love of my life for six years, seven years until she broke up with me, and she let me go, and she told me that, "No, you are not authentic."

I was challenged with the reality of losing everything and realizing that, wow, I actually don't like myself, and I'm actually very afraid of who I am, and I am as homophobic to myself as the rest of the world was to me.

During the pandemic, I was left alone in this studio to figure out this great loss, and it was the time for me to self-reflect.

Who am I?

Am I anybody outside of this heteronormative formula that I created?

And so I decided to create a solo, and that solo is called "Forbidden."

And... that solo included the most really vulnerable moments in my creative journey.

And I saw the inhibition, and I saw the anger, and I saw the frustration, and I saw the fear.

Oh, my God, the fear.

And it's all embedded in the articulation of the body.

And that journey of achieving that choreography, just getting through the song... [Chuckles] ...was a great struggle and a great realization of how much I need to work.

But it was my real, only opportunity where I can stand in front of a group of people and say, "I'm gay."

And I hope you can see that in the journey in this dance.

So it was a gentle way for me to really come out and make peace with myself.

Dance for me has always been the opportunity to be free in expressing myself.

Even when I was in Iraq, it's only when I am dancing that I feel celebrated, loved, and desired and respected.

♪♪ ♪♪