Why I Love Dance Essay

When I was little, I loved dancing. I loved it like I didn’t love anything else. And I didn’t move my body at random, no, I followed precise movements, probably stolen by my young mind from some movie I’d seen. I was practically a wannabe ballerina that danced with neon blue running shoes and a tinkling bracelet on her left ankle. I loved that bracelet. I loved how it would jingle every time I moved. I think lost it. I loved dancing: I always did it. Whenever I felt bored, I would walk right into the middle of the room and, without needing any music, I’d start twirling on one foot, the other leg bent, trying to stay on my toes as much as my inexperienced body would allow me, with my arms raised above my head. I’d jump and land on my toes. I don’t know how many times I risked a sprained ankle

I felt weightless, graceful, wearing that body and the tights and with my hair tied back. I felt good. I didn’t have many self-esteem problems at the time, but I felt pretty in a way I usually didn’t. I entered the dance room on my own, my mom had already left, and greeted the teacher like any other 8-year-old would have: smiling timidly and waving my hand. The teacher looked me over a few times before finally stopping and looking at me in the eyes.

-You really think you could ever dance like this?- she said, mocking. I was puzzled. What was wrong with me? She promptly answered the unasked question. -You’ll grow too tall to ever be a professional ballerina, you have pointy knees,- who had ever noticed it? -and you look way too clumsy. You really thought someone like you could dance?- In spite of the teacher’s meanness and how confused I felt, too confused to even feel offended, I smiled at her, just slightly. At the time I didn’t know how to act if not gently, and gently I answered. -Yes, I thought I could.- The teacher scoffed but let me in the room. -Well then, line up with the