Wednesday, May 13, 2009/10:21 PM
I guess I never knew how failure felt until now. I’ve seen it, experienced it but never really felt it. I guess when it hits you the hardest; you don’t really see reason anymore.
I loved music. When I listen to music, I see myself doing the thing I absolutely love to do, which is to dance. But now, when I listen to music, I see myself falling. I’d imagine myself slipping or losing balance or forgetting a step. Now, I don’t really love music anymore.
Till now I wonder, how I let such an insignificant person affect me so badly. How I allowed someone I barely knew to twist, turn and knock me in such a way that it leaves me so numb. Why did I let her tell me I wasn’t good enough? Why do I feel so incompetent and worthless thinking how I’ve lost the only thing I’ve been able to do thus far with upmost confidence? Dancing was my passion. Now it was just something I was good at when I was younger.
When we were officially dismissed, I took out my ballet slippers and wondered if I would ever find the courage to put them on again. When I sulked and cried, Danny put his arm around me and told me it was okay, Shaz went to her bag and took out her packet of tissues and gave them to me, Ranice refilled the bottle I was drinking from, Ern told me not to cry and said she’d talk to me later. It made me hurt more knowing the treasured friends I would be leaving if I ever left dance. But I’d still talk to them, we’d still say hello. But would it be the same?
Maybe the dreaded bitch was right. Maybe I don’t have what it takes. All I have now is my stupid physique. How dare she say I wasn’t trying? How dare she tell me that my heart wasn’t in the dance studio? Who was she to tell me that my attitude is terrible? If she’d just stood back and saw how much I was trying, maybe I wouldn’t be so humiliated. I’d never been so humiliated.
You’re supposed to dance like a dancer and not like a soldier.
Thank you to my beloved wonderful dancers and cheerleaders who tried to console me.
I’ll be okay soon. I hope.
I loved music. When I listen to music, I see myself doing the thing I absolutely love to do, which is to dance. But now, when I listen to music, I see myself falling. I’d imagine myself slipping or losing balance or forgetting a step. Now, I don’t really love music anymore.
Till now I wonder, how I let such an insignificant person affect me so badly. How I allowed someone I barely knew to twist, turn and knock me in such a way that it leaves me so numb. Why did I let her tell me I wasn’t good enough? Why do I feel so incompetent and worthless thinking how I’ve lost the only thing I’ve been able to do thus far with upmost confidence? Dancing was my passion. Now it was just something I was good at when I was younger.
When we were officially dismissed, I took out my ballet slippers and wondered if I would ever find the courage to put them on again. When I sulked and cried, Danny put his arm around me and told me it was okay, Shaz went to her bag and took out her packet of tissues and gave them to me, Ranice refilled the bottle I was drinking from, Ern told me not to cry and said she’d talk to me later. It made me hurt more knowing the treasured friends I would be leaving if I ever left dance. But I’d still talk to them, we’d still say hello. But would it be the same?
Maybe the dreaded bitch was right. Maybe I don’t have what it takes. All I have now is my stupid physique. How dare she say I wasn’t trying? How dare she tell me that my heart wasn’t in the dance studio? Who was she to tell me that my attitude is terrible? If she’d just stood back and saw how much I was trying, maybe I wouldn’t be so humiliated. I’d never been so humiliated.
You’re supposed to dance like a dancer and not like a soldier.
Thank you to my beloved wonderful dancers and cheerleaders who tried to console me.
I’ll be okay soon. I hope.
self-proclamation.
My life is not a fascination worth the scrutiny of those who watch over me. Yet, I live amongst thin air and sparkling personalities.
I am an avid fan of the KoreanPop scene. So bring me to the number thirteen.
read my lips.
they're watching.
archive
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
March 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
July 2009
August 2009
September 2009
October 2009
November 2009
December 2009
January 2010
credits