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Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Pull up, turn out, head erect, toes pointed. Counts and corrections have always been significant factors in my life. Never have I questioned or complaint about the time spent in the dance studio where I now call it me second home. Neither have I ever regretted for not having a “normal childhood”. After all, dance is the norm for me. What every dancer must go through cannot be comprehended from textbooks. It’s gained through experiences and struggles, sometimes pain.
By stretching exceed physical limitations, bending yourself like a Barbie, and hanging on always one more minute whenever you feel like collapsing. This taught me, even at the age of six, that in order to become what I strive to be; passion, persivalence and unyielding determination must lead the way. In the dance world, success is never final.
I basically lived in the spacious, mirror-surrounded studio where I grew from a sheepish toddler into a confident dancer.
I didn’t see myself as the best dancer, because I always knew there was room for improvement. That’s one thing about being a dancer, you never cease to pursue the vague image of perfection. Not even after winning National Dance Contests did I abandon the humble sense of inadequate. For eleven years I have been pushing myself to reach my full potential, and I’m not planning on stopping anytime soon. Blood still soaks into my newly wrapped bandages, sweat slowly drips down my cheekbones, and challenges arstill presented to me.
Nevertheless, I charge ahead with the strength of a ram, dashing until my ambition is achieved. However, my certainty towards dancing was once called into question.
Failure is not fatal. I realized it after my summer camp at New York. Adrenaline ran through my veins at the thought of meeting dance enthusiasts from all over the world, until the placement session began. I was fixed with the perfect figures, flawless insteps, other congenital advantages, and above all, their mesmerizing faces. The ones belong to ballerinas. My sense of self-worth was shaken and I felt completely defeated. I was thankful for an opportunity like this but frustrated at the same time. I didn’t feel that I was good enough, or I’ll ever be, to match the fairy persona of a ballerina. Once I returned home, I was ready to give up on dancing all together. Defeated as I was, moving on to something completely different, would have been the hardest decision since dance is all I’ve ever known. It had been two full weeks in which I dragged myself to the studio and sat there, simply stared at the empty room and my reflections in the mirrors, let the numbness spread over my every cell.
What's the point in dancing when all I see was my imperfections? I turned off the light, plugged my phone to the boombox, and let the beats paralyze my emptiness. Feeling a sudden rage, an urge to extract every bit of energy out from my body. As I swang and twirled, I couldn’t fight back a burst of laughter. Like a mad girl, I danced to the music and immersed into my happy land. How silly of me to punish myself for my insecurities, and forbidden myself to do the one on earth which had never failed to light up my day? I’d realized there will always be brick walls along my journey. It’s my tenacity to climb over these brick walls that got me where I am today. Although there was a time when intimidation got the best of me, I recovered in time to see that the bond I share with dance can never be broken. I vow that, perfect extensions, feet, and appearances will no longer cause me to feel less or worthless, but rather challenge me to evolve. Winston Churchill said it perfectly, “Success is not final, failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts.” Soaked with sweat and satisfaction, my pulse synchronized with the beats. Five, six, seven, eight.
Dance As a Big Part Of My Life. (2024, Feb 28). Retrieved from https://studymoose.com/dance-as-a-big-part-of-my-life-essay
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