Autobiography
I still recall that day. The day when I decided I wanted to become a dancer. It was an ordinary one like no other , the trees sang and the birds whistled leaving a soft melody. Being born in an urban setting, but, growing up in the country allowed the outside to serve as my “secret dance bubble”. As a child, I grew up in a household where dance was all I knew therefore I was expecting to be unquestionably great. Walking into my first dance class seemed as if was my home away from home and some days it appeared hazy as if it was my imagination. Its slow structured yet fragmentary, perfectly designed to bring me to center, where I can dance freely without the barre, each motion a broken-down version of what everyday will be like. I start with plies, increasingly deeper bends of the knee which warm up my legs while still allowing them the support that they need.
I still reminisce the essence of crisp, broken pointe shoes and the leather of the ballet shoes spiraling across the spring…
Starting at two years old allowed me to bloom , strengthen and obtain my characteristics. Waking up at 7 am every morning to beach train and weight lift brought me through the obstacles that brung me down from reaching my dream. Though dance was the only thing helped me keep sain from being ” broken apart” it also tore my heart not being able to express myself through movement. I am not good with words. I dont know how to paint, but movement is primary. I can become someone or something else. Communicate feelings and ideas. It is the window to your soul. When I was teaching full time and we did jumps it was the closest things to me practically sprouting wings. I have never been more beautful than when I am dancing. I have never felt more alive or free. Dance was the only thing that kept me alive in my darkest and brightest times of my life. I am 99% dance and 1%…