Passion

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For some people who have watched a certain drama, reading this may bring about a sense of deja vu. But! It wasn't intentional! Blame it on the DVDs, they enticed me to watch the drama the night before my mid-years! P.s. If it wasn't clear, "she " was supposed to have died at the end. I suppose it isn't clear at all.O.o

Ai-Ling's Note : If you're in the mood for music, a great accompaniment piece to hear while reading this is [|I Could Have Danced All Night] from the musical My Fair Lady. Jonathan : *tear trickles down my eye Carol : Hey.

=Passion=

She looked down, watching the people below scurry like ants. A distance away, the queer figure of the Esplanade twinkled in a myriad of little lights, cheery and welcoming in the cool of the night. She looked at it, and remembered.

She remembered the very first time she set foot into a dancing studio. “Treat this like your second home from now on,” her mother had told her. She looked around at the great wall-to-wall mirrors in wonder. She was four at the time, and carelessly swept all hopes of a childhood away the moment she laid eyes on the birthday present that came with the studio: a leotard and a demure pair of ballet shoes. Enchanted, she took them, and fell in love.

For years after that, she recalled dancing non-stop for her mother, barely spending time doing anything else. Her mother was strict and stern, as hard and as unyielding as rock .Even when the sky darkened outside, the light remained switched on well into the night while she danced for her mother. Even when they went home, her mother was perpetually frowning and shaking her head at her, always saying that she was not good enough. Once, she twirled fouettes till her toes bled, all the while not daring to stop with her mother seated in front of her, grimacing. It had hurt, and she walked painfully slow for days, but eventually her toes healed and she took to dancing with even more vigour than ever.

Of course, her grades had suffered. In class, she was always ranked the lowest in position after her tests and examinations. She did not care though, and neither did her mother, and when the Principal summoned them both to his office to discuss her failing grades in school, they would sit gazing at him in smooth unruffled calm. The Principal could not understand; his tone had been that of bewilderment.

On the ledge she now stood on, she laughed. No, the Principal had not understood at all!

More years went by. She grew up. Her mother, a cripple from the waist down, still seemed dissatisfied with her performance, pounding out her demands on her daughter with near nonstop brutality. Still, she missed her mother when she passed away unexpectedly. The last recollection she had had of her mother was during the nighttime, in the living room. All alone in her wheelchair, her mother looked up at the photo of her late husband, then lifted her arms in a classic ballet dancer’s pose while soft music tinkled in the background. Suddenly, she jerked, stopping as though just realizing her crippled condition. Her mother whirled round in her wheelchair to stare at her, face taut in rage. Her daughter flitted to her room in terror, emerging the next morning only to find out that her mother had expired in her sleep.

She continued dancing, weaving her way through life calmly and steadily. She found a loving fiancé and many circles of friends eventually, as well as a nomination to be Odette in a Swan Lake world tour. She went and grabbed her dream with her usual pomp, breezing through the many auditions and rehearsals and leaving audiences gasping in her wake. Only… that dream had crumbled around her one day, when a petty rival finally hit on the idea of sabotage. She remembered a fall, then a loud jarring noise, and when she woke up later to the cold grey walls of a hospital ward she noticed the heavy cast around her right leg. It was a hard fall, the doctor said placidly. The bones will heal, but you won’t be dancing again. When the dancing troupe stopped over at Singapore she returned with them. She would not leave with them for New York when they took off again.

The moon rose brighter than ever that night. She could feel it smiling down at her from its serene perch in the shadowy recesses of the night sky, as though waiting for something. A distance away, the round heads of the Esplanade seemed to sit back and watch her curiously. She glanced at them again, at where the new Odette was currently performing, feeling the strange sensation of a new determination settle on her. The night was hers for the taking. With the wind whispering words of reassurance in her ear, she stared twirling, ignoring the pain which shot up her leg in a line of white fire.

She plunged forward into the waiting air, feeling her heart lift, and her passion for dancing taking flight once more.