“It’s the girl that works when no one is looking that makes the best dancer.” Mother told me when I was six years old. A decade has passed in a flash. Today, I am sixteen and just about to go on stage to perform in front of the biggest audience I have ever seen. I hear them cheering, while I feel beads of sweat run down the back of my neck and onto my back. Feeling the rush of excitement, I pull at the dark red velvet curtain slightly and peek outside to get a view of the audience. I wish Mother was here to see how far this simple virtue has brought me. This virtue is discipline.
It was my first day at
“There you are. Room 24.” I mumbled to myself upon finding my room.
The door was ajar, I pushed it open. I was surprised to see a girl already in the room. She had honey brown hair, her locks were smooth and perfectly in place. Shifting her gaze towards me, the sides of her mouth curved beautifully into a smile.
“Hi, I’m Daphne, your roommate. I’m thirteen this year. You?” the girl held out her hand for me to shake.
“I shook her hand, “I’m Emma. Thirteen.” I felt ugly just standing in the same room as her. My hair was in a complete mess, and I must have looked exhausted from carrying my baggage all the way from the train station. Additionally, I felt sorry for her that she had to shake my sweaty hand.
“Class starts in an hour. Get ready.” Daphne said.
Class on the first day was anything but good. In fact, calling it a disaster would be an understatement. All the other girls were far better than me in their technique. I bumped into a fellow dancer twice, and the teacher commented that my feet were sickle. Walking out, I was explaining to my classmates that I was simply tired from travelling.
“Don’t worry, the first day doesn’t count.” Daphne comforted.
“Everything counts here,” commented another girl.
A month passed, but I was not getting any better in class. I could not understand why. Every now and then, the teacher had to stop the class to correct me. I felt so lousy and embarrassed each time something like that happened. The biggest problem of all was my sickle feet. The girls in class were my friends, but I knew that they all looked down on me. Class was never like that before I enrolled in this school. Ballet used to make me happy, but now it has become a burden.
A week later, I was called into the Principal’s office.
“You’re not doing well in class, and your feet are a problem…” he said to me. He went on and on about my poor performance. He mentioned that I was not under performing, and that it was just my standard.
“So, what? Are you kicking me out?” I asked, my heart pounding like thunder.
“No. But I want you to really think if this is the right place for you.” He replied.
The conversation ended there. A cliffhanger. I had no idea what he wanted from me. That night, I thought and cried. I felt so alone in school. I felt like I just wanted to go home and stop dancing. I got down from my bed and pull out a box from under it. From the box, I took out a photo of Mother. I missed her so much. Weeping, I put the photo to my chest.
“Mama, what should I do?” I whispered.
As though she was really there, the sentence she said to me before her death echoed in my mind.
“It’s the girl who works when no one is looking that makes the best dancer.”
Memories of my mother made me sob even louder, but I stopped when I heard Daphne stir in her sleep. I went back to bed and pulled the blanket up to my nose. I fell asleep that night knowing in my heart that from the next day onwards, I was going to work hard, even when no one was looking. I was going to be disciplined, more disciplined than anyone in school.
For the next few months, I stayed back after class to improve on my steps. During class, I forced myself to stay focused. While stretching, I pushed myself to my maximum, telling myself that if there is no pain, there is no gain. When the selection for our school’s annual concert was drawing near, I even danced through the night. Never in my life have I felt such determination. I was certain that I have finally overcome my limits.
To my delight, my teacher commented that I have improved tremendously since I first came. To add on to my joy, I was selected to perform in our school’s annual concert. It was as though my body produced an excessive amount of adrenaline at that moment. I could not help my throw my arms around my teacher to thank her.
“Don’t thank me,” she smiled. “It was your discipline and hard work.”
There years have passed since then. Today, I am one of the best dancers in class. I smile as these memories come back to me. My story of discipline cannot be summed up into a few sentences, and be told in full detail at the same time. It is simply impossible for words to fully express how I feel about the journey I have walked. A dancer once said that dance is the language used to fill the spaces that words cannot. Hence, I am about to perform to show everybody what I have been through in the last few years.
“What are you doing?” My teacher snapped, bringing me back to reality. “The audience can see you!”
I let go of the curtain and take a step back. It is time to take the stage.
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