Dance Monologue

The bloody band-aids, rosin stained pointe shoes, sparkling tiaras, worn out nail clippers, pristine tutus, ripped, blood-stained tights, dirty canvas slippers, salty sweat, and tears: these are the coals of my heart and dancing is the flame. Five years ago, this fire had diminished; subsequently, quitting dance at the beginning of seventh grade, only to realize how much influence dancing has on my life. To put it differently, maybe it's an addiction, a necessity even, be that as it may, dancing is my passion.

With this in mind, let's go back to the start when a little girl, with a shy and loud personality - both characteristics at constant war, fighting to be the victor with the prize of being shown to the world - always confused. Never sure of how to behave nor express herself in each and every one of the situations life threw at her. In the light of all of this, my mother had taken notice of this dilemma and how it ran through my head continuously. In the hope that this predicament dwindles, she then decided that dance would serve as a therapeutic session; contemporary flowing with raw emotion, while ballet is elegantly tip-toeing through life's intricacies. Being that, little did she know the immense impact it would have on my life to come.

I became more judgmental towards my body, always comparing it to my sisters', skinny, "perfect body" shape and the ideal ballerina physique. These thoughts echoing inside my mind only worsened, questioning whether I was worthy of this so-called life, declaring that I was not what my parents wanted, not enough for them, joking on how "cute" I was in ever thinking of myself as a good dancer. In effect, isolating myself from everything and anyone I love, including dancing, was the perfect solution. Void of emotion, not wanting to be an obstacle in the way of anyone's success or happiness, I continued with the exile I condemned