I was on the second floor, my chin resting on my arm. At the first floor studio, advanced dancers were practicing sets with their pointe shoes on. This shoe type enables ballet dancers to rise up and maintain balance on their toes to appear taller, nimbler and weightless. The girls must have been in their early teens to mid-teens, and I knew they must have started primary ballet in their childhood years.
Ballerinas reach this stage after years, for some even a decade or more. It depends on one’s strength and dedication and last but not least, to pain tolerance.
I am enrolled in an adult ballet class for beginners. Stress on the phrase ‘for beginners’. My dream to move and dance like a ballerina is but a seed kept in a recycled shoe box. I take it out thrice a week and polish it until it catches the noon light. I know I will spend hours, days, weeks, months and years nurturing this seed.
Just yesterday, I learned how to do a spin (yes, I forgot the French term for this). My brain is jogged every ballet session recalling warm-up exercises. I have a bad memory, but just look at me absorb choreography-it’s like teaching driving skills to a lamp post.
There are routines I begin to dislike after a period. But there are routines that I cherish. Like cleaning the bathroom every so often. Or taking out the trash. I am praying my ballet routine becomes part of me as if it were my new skin. Regardless of pain. Regardless of memory lapses. Regardless of the commute. Regardless of the racket my muscles make the morning after a session. Regardless of the questioning look I get from others when they learn I am taking up ballet.
Maybe when I reach that point when I appear weightless, I may feel the birth of flight in me.
Listening now to: Feist’s I Feel It All