Upbeat music was spilling out from the kitchen as I walked into Billy Wu ’26’s apartment. Mid-breakfast, he turned around, spatula in hand, dancing to the beat like it was the most natural thing in the world. With a soft bounce and the gentle sway of someone fully in tune with himself, he greets the morning. For Billy, dance isn’t something he switches on; it’s woven into the way he moves through his day: a thread connecting the joy, the solitude, and the community of the world around him.
His journey with movement began simply: dancing in the shower and feeling the delight of letting music guide his body. It wasn’t until the summer before arriving at Swarthmore that he began dancing more seriously — going to studios, trying new dance styles, and expanding his dance vocabulary. But coming to Swarthmore, he discovered something new.
“In China, I learned a lot about foundation,” he said. “But coming here, I got to know the importance of culture, energy, and being present in the room. There’s a very supportive community for one another.”
That sense of community soon became the emotional backbone of Billy’s dance journey. When I asked him about his most memorable performance, he smiled immediately, as if the memory found him before the words did.
“It definitely is the [Rhythm n Motion] performance,” he said. “RnM is focused on the African diaspora, a lot of hip-hop, street styles, even ballroom … The culture really focuses on building community.” The spirit that RnM brought to Swarthmore is unmistakable. “That’s why you see people cheering each other on in the theater,” he added. “We actually encourage people to be loud, and when you see something you like, shout it out.”
This atmosphere of unconditional support mattered, especially for someone who “grew up really shy in front of strangers.” For Billy, performing for unfamiliar audiences was a very different challenge: “Dancing in front of a group of strangers was definitely a different experience,” he admitted. But when those strangers came up to him afterward to say they loved his energy or that he did well, those small gestures stayed with him.
This is why, when Billy choreographs, he builds from the same love and support that once held him.
“I aim to create a safe space,” he said. “I’ve always seen dance as something that brings joy and brings community. So I always feel like, for my choreography, I want to portray a sense that it’s for everyone, regardless of the level or the background you have in dance.” For him, movement is a universal language: “You can move your body and enjoy the movements, enjoy the music, because I feel like it is within human nature, almost, to respond to music and to show your emotions.”
Stemming from that same ethos, Billy’s creative process is deeply intuitive. Billy freestyles in his apartment, the same space where he made breakfast the morning I interviewed him, playing a song on repeat until something in his body responds. Movement comes first. Sometimes he records himself to see how ideas shift and how movements reshape with each repetition. In this private space, he experiments freely, building the emotional and physical foundation that later evolves into a communal performance.
“Dance for me is something very personal, but at the same time it is also very open and welcoming to all.”
Having seen Billy perform multiple times in person and on video, I’ve come to understand the threads of inspiration behind his choreography. Still, I was surprised when he told me he had been dancing with a knee injury all along. It is an old nerve issue from childhood that once caused severe foot drop and left his left foot immobile after surgery. This past summer, the issue resurfaced when doctors warned that his knee joint wasn’t smooth and certain movements could cause long-term wear. “They told me I could still dance, but some moves I couldn’t really do,” he said. “I remember the doctor telling me, ‘Your knee is just not built for dancing.’”
Hearing that from a medical professional hit harder than expected. For the first time since he began dancing, he stopped completely for a month. “I was a little depressed,” he admitted.
But that pause soon became a turning point. Instead of quitting or pushing through pain, he redefined his relationship with dance. He no longer chases the intense training schedule of earlier years, such as taking three classes a day in New York. Now, it’s longevity that matters.
“I want to keep dancing for as long as my life allows,” he said. He listens to his body, adapts movements, and protects his knee. Dance is no longer something he must master at any cost. The injury didn’t weaken his commitment; it grounded it in care.
“Art has been a way not just to gather with friends, but to make sense of my own emotions,” Billy reflected, whether those emotions are the joyful ones, the painful ones, or whatever’s at the top of his head. Dance slows down Billy’s world. It invites him to move with a kind of intimacy that allows a tree, a sidewalk, or a quiet corner to become something to engage with rather than simply pass by. Through dance, he begins a conversation with his surroundings, noticing details he might otherwise overlook: “There’s a connection that gets built.”
This practice of noticing becomes its own grounding ritual. “[These creative habits are] a way for me to explore the world and understand it better,” he told me. Whether moving or holding still, Billy is continually cultivating a deeper relationship with the spaces around him, and more importantly, discovering a sense of belonging that brings him joy.
As the interview wrapped up, Billy walked me out into the cool air. I asked him what he planned for the rest of the evening. He paused, then gave a quiet, familiar smile. “I’m going to dance,” he said. Already on his way to creating something new, he carried forward the same sense of wonder that shapes every movement he makes.
