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Welcome! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Welcome to my little Den! Here you'll find all sorts of things- mostly blog challenges, but mixed in, you'll notice:  I'm a bit of a fangirl  My life is very busy I enjoy using emoticons  I don't tend to swear, but stuff happens. |
| "This'd better be good," Mom mutters under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear. I stiffen, but don't say anything. Don't pick a fight. Don't pick a fight, I chant to myself. Instead, I grab her hand like I used to when I was little. "Follow me." I march us to the attic, an improvised rehearsal space Mom set up when I first began lessons, and sit her down. Soon, I'm turning, leaping, and sweeping across the floor, expelling all my negativity about the fight with Mom as I move. At the end, I do a grand jêté across the room and collapse at Mom's feet. "This dance is for you. I know we don't always see eye to eye, and I guess the fight we've been having proves that. But I think it's time to move on past that. I've always tried to be the daughter you want me to be: I work hard in school, I do my chores, and I'm active in the community. Dance is the one thing that makes me, me, though, and since you're the one who pushed me to do it in the first place, I thank you for that. Mom, I love that you're looking out for my best interests by making me do college apps as a safety net because dance isn't a secure career, but at the same time, our deal is still on. I have until the end of my senior year to find a professional dance job. Meanwhile, I'm still applying for colleges. I haven't let dance get in the way of school, and come senior year, it won't be any different, I promise. Please, just let me continue." I beg, hanging my head down and out of breath. |
| I'm so caught up choreographing for Mom, I don't realize she's back, until I hear someone clear their throat. "What's the matter with you? After I lecture you about spending so much time dancing, I come home to find you dancing, again?" I guess her outing hadn't went well. "Don't you know what to do? When you're home before I am, you're supposed to take out the trash and do the laundry. The clothes are still hanging in the laundry room." I take a deep breath. "Mom," I try to keep my voice level and calm, "I just washed those when I got home. If you check the bathroom, the clothes there are all off the floor. I've done my chores, and it's summer vacation now, so I don't have homework. I can dance if I have free time." "If you have free time, you should be working on your college applications, not dancing. Have you even started the Common App yet?" "Actually, yes, I did. And I've already contacted five teachers and my counselor for letters of recommendation. Two have replied so far, not including the counselor, which would make three." I reply smoothly. I had written the emails while on break at work, after considering what Ms. Elena told me. "Well," she sniffs. I'm beginning to think Mom really does want to pick a fight with me. I'm tempted to give her one, but then again, not letting her have her way is quite fun, too. She turns away, making for her bedroom. "I guess you don't need me nagging at you, then." "Wait, Mom." "What? This'd better be good." "I have something to show you." |
| I'm sitting in the darkest corner of my room, and I really don't feel like coming out. Ms. Elena dropped me off earlier, and Mom wasn't home- I'm thankful for that, but at the same time, I know I have to face her eventually to apologize for my behavior. I could see the look she gave me after the last fight: it wasn't even madness anymore; it looked more sad and hurt than anything else. Things between us haven't been the same since, and I guess, as her only child, I owe it to us to at least try and smooth things out. I practice the half-formed apology I've managed to compose so far, but none of it is coming out right. Or even remotely right. Nothing I say seems to have the effect I want. "I'm sorry for hurting you? No, that's so vague. Umm, I'm sorry for... ugh, no, that sounds so forced." I put on some music to help me think. "Pique, step, step, port de bras," I end up saying as Delta Goodrem belts out "Dancing with a broken hea-a-a-art." I end up choreographing something within the next few hours instead, and I title it "Dance for Mom". If I can't find the words, I can find the actions to show her how I feel, and apologize to her through dance instead. It's how I express myself best, and if that can't show her how I feel, I don't know what will. |
| It's not my finest moment, but I end up calling Ms. Elena and asking her to pick me up for work on Friday. On the road, I wind up telling her everything that's happened the past month between me and Mom, and then blurt out, "I wish I could move out." It just came out; I had no idea I even wanted that. She pulls over. "You're not thinking of running away, are you?" "No, but I wish she would be more supportive," I say bitterly. "Have you tried apologizing to your mom? We all need words of comfort and compassion. Maybe once she sees you're mature enough to apologize first, she'll soften up." "But I'm not wrong." "Neither is your mom." I protest, "But-" "See? With that attitude, your mom is going to think you're just a rebellious child. And I know you're much, much better than that. She sees your other commitments as time that could be spent doing something better or more productive, like college apps. And I don't think she's wrong, but if dance is really what you want to do, I think you need to help her see by apologizing." "How is that going to help?" "Well, from what you tell me of your mom, I think she's just worried about you having a solid future. Once you apologize, you're letting her know that you see why she's so concerned. And with school out of the way for summer, I think you can use that time to do college research, essays, and applications." I groan. "But it'll be a waste of time if I can just get a professional dance job." "But it's a strong safety net in the very small off chance you don't get to go pro." "Fine. But I'm doing this for dance, not for Mom." "That's fine. Just make it sincere." |
| These next few weeks, I'm uncharacteristically productive. I start my homework at school, during class, and get at least one class' worth of work done before the final bell rings and I walk to the studio. I've lost access to the car, but my point about skipping school must have struck a nerve or something because she drops me off in the mornings, but I either hitch a ride from Ms. Elena or the bus back home. It's clear the battle lines are drawn at home; even Ms. Elena mentioned the tension, the first time she dropped me back home after the arguments. "It's like you're hitting a wall or something when you go in there," was what she said. I just shook my head, thanking her for the ride. I can't let all this distract me from finals, but it's difficult because I'm expected to go home for the half days, before heading off to teach or take dance. I am the tiger, I tell myself, I won't let distractions get to my head. Instead, on Monday, I pack a lunch anyways like I would for a regular school day, then take up receptionist shifts at the studio's office: it's a win-win since the office is pretty quiet this time of year, which means I can study while overseeing the desk for visitors or callers. I really hope, that by Friday, I'll wake up and find that it's all just been a horrible dream. I need to get tricky for Friday since school ends on Thursday, and I'll have no ride down to the other side of the hill. |
| "Mom, you and I have reason to remember why I took up dancing, don't we?" We're both calmer now, but definitely no less stubborn. "Well, I don't think you need it anymore as an extracurricular," she argues. "The school year is essentially over, and you should be starting college applications by now, anyways, which will make you too busy to dance." "Says who? You? You know I'll make it work. I always do. Even when you give me extra odd jobs, I always get them done before doing my schoolwork in the pale moonlight of whatever is left of the night, Mom." She folds her arms, and I see she's settling in for one of the long mother-daughter arguments. "But that's not healthy. You're going to crash and burn at this rate." "'Healthy' was never part of the deal, Mom. Remember? We, no, you, said that I would go to college if I couldn't find a professional dance job by the end of senior year. And right now is the end of May. Which means I have a full 13 months to audition, rehearse, choreograph, get experience, and find a job." I mirror her stance. "Well, 'healthy' was implied. You can't go jumping and leaping around onstage without any sleep. That's just not going to work. You'll collapse from exhaustion mid-audition, become notorious in the dance community for doing so, and then never get any job." "Gee, thanks for the confidence booster, Mom," I scoff. "I have all summer to rest and catch up on all those missed hours of sleep. So if you think I'm going to collapse, you're wrong. I'm much stronger than you think I am." "This is for your own good, Anna. I'm looking out for your best interests. You know how tough and cutthroat the dance world is. The chances of you making it are slim to none," she discourages, "you might as well give up and focus your efforts on something more substantiative, like college. Stanford has a wonderful STEM program." "Oh, so now you're dictating my future as well," I comment. "You and I both know- actually, maybe you don't because I don't feel like you really know who I am anymore- if I went to college, I'd just study dance. I'm not a computer geek and I hate anything that has to do with new technology. I only have a smartphone because you wanted to track my location." Something dawns on me. "You don't trust me, do you? What, did you think I'm sneaking out to the movies or to a boy's house when I told you I was going to a friend's place, all these years?" "No, sweetie- I just-" "Let me guess: you're just keeping my best interests at heart?" Mom shakes her head. "It's not that I don't trust you, I don't trust the other people. Just like driving. Just because you're a good driver doesn't mean you're not susceptible to getting into a car accident- if someone rear ends you or runs a red light and hits you, neither are your fault, but there's still damage done." "...and what does this have to do with dance?" "I'm just saying, I'm looking out for you. I'm your mother, not your friend. I don't have to be 'nice' just because you're my daughter. But you need to learn some respect and stop talking back to your mother like this." "I'm not trying to talk back- I thought we were just discussing-" "If you weren't talking back, you'd accept my decision and move on, and for the love of Pete, stop arguing with me." "You started it." I mutter under my breath, and I stalk up to my room. This isn't over. It won't be until she changes her mind or I find a job. Either way, I'm going to dance. |
| I'm woken up by a banging on my door. "Ugh, it's 6:00 already?!" I call out. "Look, I'm done with you coming home late, finishing your homework late, and then not being able to get up in the mornings, Anna. So I've made up my mind, this must come to an end. No more dance for you until you can learn to prioritize school first," says her voice through the door. That wakes me up. "How dare you!" I yank the door open. "This is what I've been working for, for a whole year, Mom. I've tutored so many students and stayed up late so many nights to keep up my grades. Which, for the record, haven't slipped. They're still all As. You may not agree with my choice to dance, but it is my choice. I am the one paying. Not you. There's a fire within my soul that makes me dance. I've progressed so far through the classes, too. I'm co-teaching baby ballet, for crying out loud! You can't just say 'no dance'! That's so unreasonable." "You may be the one paying, but I'm the one with the car, Anna. When I say 'no dance,' I mean it. Your health is important too-" "Oh, geez, that's a new one. Now you care about my health? When I'm this close to the end of the school year. It's May already, for Pete's sake. School ends in five weeks. that's twenty-five school days, including finals, which are half-days and shouldn't even count as full days. And even if you don't let me have the car, I can walk to the studio. It's not that far from school." "Then I suppose you're not going to school." "Oh, and I'm just supposed to miss a whole day of classes, this close to the AP tests," I challenge, "Aren't you the one who keeps saying college is the only way? And that dance is only a side thing? If I skip school and fail the AP tests, what sort of prospects of college would I have then? Community college?" I scoff, "We both know my profile would be good enough to get me into Berkeley, or even Duke. Do you really want to throw it all away? Over me wanting to dance?" "You and I know I just want what's best for you, Anna. I'm your mother, not your enemy. I'm trying to help you see reality, here. If skipping school will make you wake up and realize your foolishness, then so be it." "Look, I don't know what's going on right now, but I can take the bus, even if it means picking up an extra shift or hour of tutoring. I'm going to dance, Mom, and nothing you say now is going to stop me. Nothing." |
| "What homework do you have tonight, Anna?" My mom attempts to make conversation over dinner, but these days have been so stressful and busy, I haven't been much of a talker. Plus, our conversations recently haven't had pleasant endings. "I have a five-page essay due tonight for history- we're supposed to choose one amendment from the Constitution and do a write-up on it. I've gotten two-ish pages done. And then there's AP Calc and AP Spanish, which always have homework," I shrug, trying to keep my voice nonchalant, "I'm almost done reading a book for English, and then Monica and I will be Skyping later tonight about physics homework. After my essay is done." "You've got to stop leaving things until the final hour, Anna," Mom shakes her head at me, "If dance is too much for you, you really should drop a class or two," she pushes. "You don't listen to words of warning now, but I'm telling you this: you have so much work and so many obligations right now, that you're going to burn out before the year ends," she predicts ominously. Here we go again. "No, Mom, I'm fine. Really." I push away my dinner plate, "May I be excused, please? I need to finish the history essay." I make to leave, but one look from her stops me. "What?" "You and I both know dance is not going to get you anywhere. A good education will-" "And that's why I'm working so hard, Mom. When the schools hear that I single-handedly paid for my dance lessons, they'll see how hard I worked to get where I am. I know I'm only 17, which means I can't make my own decisions as an adult yet, but I think I'm mature enough to know what I need to do." "No, Anna. That's where you're wrong. What you need to do is get good grades and focus on school. You can't do that if your body isn't at its best. You're sleeping, at most, two hours a night, you're going to crash and burn. Trust me." "Mom. I'll. Be. Fine. I have been fine for the past few months. And I'll continue to be fine until the school year ends, okay?" I flee to my room before the confrontation gets worse, and as my bedroom door closes, I hear, "Don't make me say 'I told you so!'" |
| "Ballet is hard to do, and it's even harder to have facial expressions for the audience to see." Ms. Elena is giving me free reign of the Baby Ballet class today, and I thought I'd get them started on facial expressions. "Your face can't be too happy, or too shocked because then it looks fake. So, sometimes if you're shocked, you just need to make your eyes go bigger. Or if you're happy, you'll just dance lighter," I demonstrate, doing a pas de bourree. "Every feeling you're showing has to go through your dancing more. But! This doesn't mean you can forget about your facial expressions. Does anyone have questions?" "Okay then. I have one for you. Who's heard of improvisation? It's a big word." "Yes, Isabella?" "Is it when you improve something?" "That's a great guess, Isabella, but it's not quite what 'improvisation' means. Any other guesses?" The other nine girls shake their heads. "'Improvisation' means to make up and perform," I explain. "It's like playing pretend. We're going to try doing some of it today. Does it sound fun?" I see ten nodding heads. "Okay, then, let's get warmed up." I lead them through stretches, calling out instructions like, "pretend you're reaching for the cookie jar, but you just can't get it. Stretch those arms lo-ong." "Let's go into a deep second position plie now. Pretend you're a piece of toast in the toaster and you can't touch the metal inside it because it's so hot. That's how straight your back should be," I show them once more, then walk around to correct their posture or alignment. "You don't have to do this really quickly. My advice is to take good care of your posture and do it slowly and correctly, so you don't hurt yourself." "Good job, Kelly! Abby, you're almost there, try again." Ms. Elena calls out from the side. "Moving on," I call out, "kicks! We'll pretend we're about to leap across the room: step forward with your left foot, bend the knee a little bit, and then brush the right foot forward until it leaves the floor, and bring it up as high as you can. When you come down, it should go toe to heel. Afterwards, bend the right knee and brush up the left foot." "Let's do two lines of five. And then after this, we'll do leaps. After leaps will be improvisation." I think the class is going pretty well; the girls are enjoying themselves and listening to me. They're even looking forward to what I've planned, which is more than I had hoped for before the class started. "You're doing well!" Ms. Elena whispers as I stand next to her to observe the girls' technique. That alone is the best praise I've ever received: I love doing this, and considering it's my first time teaching alone, it's a great confidence booster. |
| I wander along behind the curtain, an hour before the show starts, fingering the heavy curtain. With school and all the other commitments, I wasn't sure if I had enough time to participate in the year-end recital, so I bowed out of performing, and opted for stage hand and understudy instead- prop preparations, backstage directing and managing for one of the four shows, and stepping in for Ms. Louisa if something were to happen and she couldn't make it-she's been a bit under the weather recently, so I might actually get to perform. I do regret it, but inside, I know it was the right decision: if my school grades were to drop for any reason, dance would be the first activity on the chopping block, and that would be disastrous if I really plan to make it big in the dance world. I figured, a solo in the recital is a small price to pay in comparison to missing lessons. Plus, this way, I still get to be part of the show, just not performing. I also get to watch my baby ballet class perform the fairy dance Ms. Elena and I choreographed to "Fly to Your Heart". It'll be a good thing to put on my resume, as a co-choreographer, since it shows I understand how to make dances, not just learn dances. "Hey, Anna." Ms. Elena's voice interrupts my trance, "Ms. Louisa can't make it until intermission- she's coming from the south and stuck in traffic. There was an accident or something on the freeway and it's completely backed up. Can you take her spot? Her classes will be fine, except the intro jazz, which I guess we need to pull for this show. How well do you know your solo?" "Ooh, I hope she makes it in time. I mean, I guess I can take over? And you mean, I need to do my ballet solo in the place of the intro jazz class?" "Yeah, she's supposed to dance with the class because they're not completely solid on their choreo yet." Half of me says this is a horrible idea- I'm out of practice, not warmed up, and definitely not in the right mental state to do this, but "Okay, I guess I can," comes out before my brain decides against it. Looks like I will be performing. I guess life can be funny that way. |
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I wish you all the best, my friend. May all your dreams come true. 
