Today is the day when dreaming ends. Ok, I said just in the post below that I would have avoided personal problems, but I
really need to write something, because in "real life" I never say anything, I always keep everything for myself... so I have to free a little part of what I'm feeling (and I've been feeling for a long time) now, since dancing is my life.
This will be in Italian, 'cause I think I won't even be able to express myself in my language, and I guess no one is reading Unless one or two people, I know this isn't a big deal.
Who has spoken to me at least a few times knows that I dance. Do you know why I consider dance an essential part of my life, and something that has always been a part, so I do not remember it was almost live without it, and do not even remember how it felt to not have a clue what this world was.
If I had ever known, I believe that the returnees would have forever, but even having met him, I can not help but suffer in having given up, and I do not mean that "you find something to keep Only when you lose, because there I have always had, I thought about every day of my life ... not to mention the times when I got to make it an obsession ....
These moments of obsession had always happened when something bad or pleasant part of the dance, and now, unfortunately, I am referring to the first case.
In my last weeks as a dancer, I see myself as I walked down the street, my first approach to dance: anyone remember the '90s TV show "The Quizzettone? Well, a 'Arianna of running five years rose from the sofa and began to dance on the ending theme of this TV-happy, and Mom said it was moving well, and it was Arianna happy and wanted to learn to dance properly.
I remembered a few days ago on the bed, when a 'Arianna had begun seven years of primary school, and had met Amelia, who was dancing. Amelia was glad that Arianna appreciate dance, and therefore asked her to join the new school he attended, for the parents, however, Arianna was still too small, and this, to hear the answer, very disappointed, rose by table and went into the living room TV screen here saw dusty, passed on a finger and wrote something like "Daddy, why do not you make me go to dance? I want so much, You promised me. "
In this journey of memories, I could not, of course, forget my first day of dance: I was about seven or eight years, had to be a Monday or a Tuesday, and since I had not yet the right clothes, I Wearing a white body with flowers of blue, and a pair of socks for the lesson of classical, and I was happy.
I remember my mother pestered all night in the kitchen while preparing dinner, and I remember now that I had met the teacher of classical, I was afraid to know that modern. ("And if it is bad?") The teacher of modern
had not proved bad at all, had indeed become my favorite, along with his discipline was more fun to dance with her, even more than with the teacher of classical, for she was tall and had beautiful legs, open ... and I also remember fondly the classes, which were also a game, during which we should work to open the legs, making her back down and try to separate them, or putting himself against the mirror, trying to touch it with the pelvis ... At that point, the teacher went around the room "torturing" them all: more separation of the legs in the second or draw closer to the mirror, and we had fun when she came to us, it was almost a game and then wait become red in pain and laugh at the same time. ("No, no, do not come to me!")
Over time, the dance had got part of my everyday life: the other girls they left, I remained, succession of the essays, and I grew up, and spent the most advanced group.
not even remember how, I do not know why, the teacher that I had loved so much seemed to look like before and do not consider myself ... was also true that I was taller, my legs were no more special than the others, and therefore, perhaps, she began to look them.
I was just normal, and I probably would be well also be that, until then I began to not just be nothing, to be last in everything, in symbiosis with the back of the stage. Crescendo
you builds character, and that his refusal to me I think he has brought a "block" in the dance: when I danced I could not give my best and to express emotions, and this sort of shame and wants to hide his eyes I think I have given up even now, despite having worked hard on myself.
I began to seek refuge in the ballet (which I had been less affected by small) for both its majesty and otherness, is not because it was taught by her.
I was ill when she was enthusiastic about the other, when my friend points out, when all had a special part, and I, in a bit ', not even a place in training, when you talked and smiled as confidants, and I addressed only his lie ... even worse when I turned sharply (reaching the "Shut up") when he could not keep his mask on, when asked the other to send messages to warn me that the lesson was moved, when they greeted me at the moment I walked into that room, when I criticized the other, when she had gathered to talk and when it was the my turn, look the other way, when prevented me from dancing the pain, his choreography, which I loved since I was nine, and of which the other did not know anything ... to the nastiness of having done the same as my last day of the test with that school leaving examination, although I had prior notice of the dates.
After so much suffering I've come to think of dance only for me, to try to break down the barriers that I had created, to think to redeem at least the stage where I could not see, I tax not you ever cry in front of her, to improve more and more, and also to resign before his position.
... But it would be so difficult to treat me like any other?
yet, although I came to hate her as much as I did suffer, I would have melted and I would run from her for a smile, for its approval that would make me fly and increase my self-esteem-whether in person, either dancer-I know, because when those rare shouting "Yes, Arianna!" when you did the lesson, I felt special and happiest in the world, after all, I never seemed to ask much.
E 'ironic that, last night, as we prepared for the show, made me a compliment after centuries .... make-up.
It 's true, are not the most good, I stretch my left leg, his back twisted, my knees are protruding and always seems to have bent legs, are expressionless, as he likes to always say that what these words can not express my state 'mind ... I never had to dance? My body itself testifies, I even hips creaking with every step I make, and ankles that give way.
I felt the same, I came into this world and I are immersed to the core, and I felt more than any other dancer, to have continued despite the pain, dissatisfaction, suffering, disappointment, do anything dance, do anything to please groped until the last ... unnecessarily, saw that my last
show I danced in the background, covered, ignored: I could not even catch that last memory to carry it in my heart, but just look around, and stealing the smells and colors that I surrounded in silence, the feeling of warm up and wear the costumes, makeup, combing hair as a sacred ritual. And now
not dance anymore. And put away the bits of plaster that I bought new-thinking of the wise-use them, legwarmers, the breeches, tops, jazz pants, the skirt, the tights-and-cut, hairpins, bodysuits, the mezzepunte . The wounds on the feet and bruises on his knees heal ... Arianna return the voleva ballare ma che non ballava, ma, questa volta, avendo conosciuto la danza, e portando il rimpianto di non averla vissuta come dovrebbe essere vissuta.
