It all started one boring summer when I was 9. Tired of art workshops and the lack of a decent swimming pool in our city, my Mom decided to enroll me in ballet class. Everyday for 2 months, I would diligently attend a one hour class at a dance studio. When classes started, I started to feel that dancing ballet was a part of me. So I asked my Mom that I continue dancing.
Danced I did. When I was 11, I had my first ballet recital. But it was only when I turned 12 did I take dancing seriously. My ballet teacher informed me I was ready for pointe class. I was so happy! For the past 3 years, I only watched ballerinas on their toes with their pointe shoes pirouetting and perfecting their forme.
Ballet was all that mattered. I watched what I ate, I made sure I did not get too heavy, I grew my hair long so that I could easily pull it up into a bun. I was disciplined. I learned how to concentrate and focus. I would dance after class, when I got home. I would dream of the dance steps. I had so much respect for the art and I loved my pointe shoes. I would plaster my toes before wearing them, my toes would bleed - the bigger my smile would be. I was working hard at it. The audience didn't really matter, I didn't care about the blaring lights on stage-- all I wanted to do was dance.
Before long, I wore out my first pair. And then I got another.
Until I found another love.
I danced for 5 years. It remains close to my heart and will remain to be.