Found this picture which reminds me of how I was when I was young (but obviously this kid is so much cuter, thinner, and prettier than I was), in leotards + black tights and pink ballet shoes, (ribbons/bows in my hair because mummy loves them on my hair), stretching in chinese dance class.
I miss being 4 years old, stumbling my way through basics, with all the other kids. I miss the days my mom/dad used to take me to classes on Sundays and seeing their faces the moment I emerge from the cherrywood classroom, tired and sometimes upset at not being as good as the best, attributed to being less flexible. My parents would say it’s okay, try harder, practice more.
I miss the insomniac days when I would stay up till 3+ in the morning because I was too nervous about performing to the crowd, and my mum would sit me down, ask if I even want to perform (I remember her scoldings, that I shouldn’t even want to perform if I get so high-strung).
I miss my dance performances in Victoria and Kallang theatre, (once, we danced to super high pitched music, and we all played the role of ducklings that turned to swans in the pond…oldest and best dance memory). Mummy did my makeup, hair and everything, saying I had to look perfect for the stage. I’d tear and squirm away as she tried to draw my eyeliner. (Then I reflect on how she always says I have too much makeup on these days…who made me this way??)
Most of all, I miss being a kid and being extremely excited about sharing my dancing experience with my parents. They don’t seem to understand; they tried their best to make it to shows in the past, but I know that they would rather I stayed in chinese dance or something more traditional and down to earth, less in-your-face.
I really appreciate my parents for everything, even if I don’t say it.
Sometimes I wish that the best and lingering image they have of me isn’t the horrid teenager I was or the daughter who treats her home like just another hotel room, but the pure and innocent 4 year old struggling through dance class.