The sun struck my eyes as I rubbed the sleep off them. I stretched and yawned and felt the air. The little hairs on the back of my neck stood up straight. I couldn't help but smile because deep inside ... [+]
My mom is not the best at cooking. Since I have memory, she always does the same breakfast and dinner. Lunch is when she gets creative: chicken with bacon, zucchini with some sort of sauce and ham, even lasagna sometimes. Don't get me wrong, I am not complaining. I actually enjoy eating the same things; it builds a routine, and you feel in control. Also, you can get creative with it; finish all the food in record time, or add some hot sauce or mayo on top if you are feeling bold that day.
My favorite meal of the day is not lunch, though. As you can see, I like being in control, I like schedules, and keeping records of everything. But I do like flavor rotation... is that a thing? Of course, it is. My mom gets a different cereal flavor every 2 weeks, which is when she goes grocery shopping while I am at school. She always gets cereal for breakfast, sometimes fruity, sometimes with cinnamon flavor or chocolate, or when she gets crazy, she gets the healthy oatmeal one. Not my favorite, honestly. What makes this meal so special is what my mom says every time while handing me the cereal bowl: "Eat it all, even if it gets mushy, that is when the real flavor kicks in!" It could be the encouraging tone in her voice or the look she gives me, as if she knows something I don't. It could be the faith that she has in me. I don't understand what she sees in me that makes her believe I will succeed in the real world.
She keeps talking about how I am going to do great things when I am older. Older? Does this life thing just keep and keep going? I follow my routine meticulously. I wake up, get ready in precisely one hour and forty minutes. I go to school from eight to three, rest for thirty minutes, do homework, and then attend dance class from six in the evening until ten. I know, it's a big commitment, but one thing I'm certain of is that I want to keep dancing for my whole life. It makes me feel alive, relieved, and for the best four hours, makes me feel out of control in a good and calming way. Should I study dance in college? Do I want to do this professionally? Those two questions are always in my head on my way back home.
Is it brave or crazy? Is it brave to follow your passion even though it makes the future uncertain? Or is it just crazy to risk it all and follow your gut, which is screaming, "This is what you were meant to be"? Going back to my dear repetitive meals, that may be why I like dinner the least. This is when the conversation gets serious, and the future is always the topic at the table: What colleges are you considering? What major is the most interesting to you? My brain burns a little every time I hear those questions. My mom knows my love for dance is stronger than anything in my life, but my dad does not. I keep going back and forth about following what my dad thinks I should do and what my mom knows I will be. Like I said, every morning I get the feeling that she knows something that I don't
One day, my parents decided to fly to Iowa for my mom's college reunion. I was in charge of my sister and making sure she was well and stayed alive the whole time. My sister has an eating disorder; her relationship with food is like burned popcorn: sometimes it's good, sometimes it's just salty, and most of the time it's just burned and bitter. My job was to ensure she ate breakfast, because it is the hardest meal for her. I chose to go with cereal, fruity flavor, and a lactose-free meal to be exact. Great combination, perfect for a chill day. As I gave her the bowl, she kept looking at me, waiting for me to quote my mom and say, "Eat it all, even if it gets mushy, that is when the real flavor kicks in". Am I allowed to say that? It feels like a high-pressure moment, not only because of her struggles but because that is my mom's power. She has the power to make the mushy cereal taste amazing. I ended up quoting my mom while holding my breath and letting that power get into my heart, body, and mind. Of course, as any artist, that moment was ten times more dramatic and artistic in my head. I had to perform; I got to be my mom for exactly two seconds. Wouldn't do it again, so much responsibility in that phrase.
Later that day, after following the schedule step by step and calling my mom every time I had to reheat dinner for my sister. I kept thinking, Why does that phrase hold so much power over me? Why do my sister and I need to hear that every morning, and why does my mom never fail to say it?
I asked my mom the next day. With my brain filled with curiosity and confusion, I wondered why she said that phrase every morning, especially at breakfast. She answered me with another question, which was rude of her. She said, "Well, why are you scared of choosing dance as your major?" I know. How does that relate to what I asked? I knew that she knew something I didn't. She knew that dance was what I wanted to do. Going back to that mind-explosive moment, I opened my mouth in shock, and not a word came out. She just looked at me as she does in the morning and said, "Think about it, once you know, I will tell you why."
I went back to my room, and my head started spiraling. For the next few weeks, I couldn't figure it out; is it because there are so many major options? Are there many other things that interest me? Because I am scared? Scared of what?
After my Thursday night dance class, I decided to walk home. I needed to keep thinking. On my way back, I fell on the street because I tripped over a stone. I twisted my ankle and had to stop dancing for 3 weeks. The doctor told me, with an annoying tone, to focus on another hobby while I waited to return to dance classes. Consider writing a story or reading a book. What kind of person does that? I am joking. The hope that these weeks might pass quickly kept me sane and alive. I went back to bed on the night of the third week, and that day I stayed up thinking about what my life would be like without dancing. I can't be miserable like this, waiting to dance again someday. The next day, I got up, went to the kitchen, and told my mom that I chose to study dance in college. I was already expecting a worried and angry face from my dad, but surprisingly, he gave me a smile and said, "I knew it." The calming tone in his voice did not calm me at all. He actually saw how miserable I was these past weeks?" That was the actual surprise.
My mom handed me the cereal bowl, chocolate flavor, without saying a word, and I was surprised by the many treats in one morning. I looked at my mom with my eyes fully open, begging her with my facial expression to say the words so I could properly start my day. She didn't. My dad looked at her, and they both smiled. My mom looked at me and added, "I don't need to say it anymore, you understood". You need the mushy part of the cereal to appreciate the crunchy part. You needed to live a moment without dance to see how much you can't live without it. Yes, if you choose dance as a major, you will have many other mushy parts to get through in life, in fact, as with any other major. However, they will serve as a reminder to keep going and to give it all...
My favorite meal of the day is not lunch, though. As you can see, I like being in control, I like schedules, and keeping records of everything. But I do like flavor rotation... is that a thing? Of course, it is. My mom gets a different cereal flavor every 2 weeks, which is when she goes grocery shopping while I am at school. She always gets cereal for breakfast, sometimes fruity, sometimes with cinnamon flavor or chocolate, or when she gets crazy, she gets the healthy oatmeal one. Not my favorite, honestly. What makes this meal so special is what my mom says every time while handing me the cereal bowl: "Eat it all, even if it gets mushy, that is when the real flavor kicks in!" It could be the encouraging tone in her voice or the look she gives me, as if she knows something I don't. It could be the faith that she has in me. I don't understand what she sees in me that makes her believe I will succeed in the real world.
She keeps talking about how I am going to do great things when I am older. Older? Does this life thing just keep and keep going? I follow my routine meticulously. I wake up, get ready in precisely one hour and forty minutes. I go to school from eight to three, rest for thirty minutes, do homework, and then attend dance class from six in the evening until ten. I know, it's a big commitment, but one thing I'm certain of is that I want to keep dancing for my whole life. It makes me feel alive, relieved, and for the best four hours, makes me feel out of control in a good and calming way. Should I study dance in college? Do I want to do this professionally? Those two questions are always in my head on my way back home.
Is it brave or crazy? Is it brave to follow your passion even though it makes the future uncertain? Or is it just crazy to risk it all and follow your gut, which is screaming, "This is what you were meant to be"? Going back to my dear repetitive meals, that may be why I like dinner the least. This is when the conversation gets serious, and the future is always the topic at the table: What colleges are you considering? What major is the most interesting to you? My brain burns a little every time I hear those questions. My mom knows my love for dance is stronger than anything in my life, but my dad does not. I keep going back and forth about following what my dad thinks I should do and what my mom knows I will be. Like I said, every morning I get the feeling that she knows something that I don't
One day, my parents decided to fly to Iowa for my mom's college reunion. I was in charge of my sister and making sure she was well and stayed alive the whole time. My sister has an eating disorder; her relationship with food is like burned popcorn: sometimes it's good, sometimes it's just salty, and most of the time it's just burned and bitter. My job was to ensure she ate breakfast, because it is the hardest meal for her. I chose to go with cereal, fruity flavor, and a lactose-free meal to be exact. Great combination, perfect for a chill day. As I gave her the bowl, she kept looking at me, waiting for me to quote my mom and say, "Eat it all, even if it gets mushy, that is when the real flavor kicks in". Am I allowed to say that? It feels like a high-pressure moment, not only because of her struggles but because that is my mom's power. She has the power to make the mushy cereal taste amazing. I ended up quoting my mom while holding my breath and letting that power get into my heart, body, and mind. Of course, as any artist, that moment was ten times more dramatic and artistic in my head. I had to perform; I got to be my mom for exactly two seconds. Wouldn't do it again, so much responsibility in that phrase.
Later that day, after following the schedule step by step and calling my mom every time I had to reheat dinner for my sister. I kept thinking, Why does that phrase hold so much power over me? Why do my sister and I need to hear that every morning, and why does my mom never fail to say it?
I asked my mom the next day. With my brain filled with curiosity and confusion, I wondered why she said that phrase every morning, especially at breakfast. She answered me with another question, which was rude of her. She said, "Well, why are you scared of choosing dance as your major?" I know. How does that relate to what I asked? I knew that she knew something I didn't. She knew that dance was what I wanted to do. Going back to that mind-explosive moment, I opened my mouth in shock, and not a word came out. She just looked at me as she does in the morning and said, "Think about it, once you know, I will tell you why."
I went back to my room, and my head started spiraling. For the next few weeks, I couldn't figure it out; is it because there are so many major options? Are there many other things that interest me? Because I am scared? Scared of what?
After my Thursday night dance class, I decided to walk home. I needed to keep thinking. On my way back, I fell on the street because I tripped over a stone. I twisted my ankle and had to stop dancing for 3 weeks. The doctor told me, with an annoying tone, to focus on another hobby while I waited to return to dance classes. Consider writing a story or reading a book. What kind of person does that? I am joking. The hope that these weeks might pass quickly kept me sane and alive. I went back to bed on the night of the third week, and that day I stayed up thinking about what my life would be like without dancing. I can't be miserable like this, waiting to dance again someday. The next day, I got up, went to the kitchen, and told my mom that I chose to study dance in college. I was already expecting a worried and angry face from my dad, but surprisingly, he gave me a smile and said, "I knew it." The calming tone in his voice did not calm me at all. He actually saw how miserable I was these past weeks?" That was the actual surprise.
My mom handed me the cereal bowl, chocolate flavor, without saying a word, and I was surprised by the many treats in one morning. I looked at my mom with my eyes fully open, begging her with my facial expression to say the words so I could properly start my day. She didn't. My dad looked at her, and they both smiled. My mom looked at me and added, "I don't need to say it anymore, you understood". You need the mushy part of the cereal to appreciate the crunchy part. You needed to live a moment without dance to see how much you can't live without it. Yes, if you choose dance as a major, you will have many other mushy parts to get through in life, in fact, as with any other major. However, they will serve as a reminder to keep going and to give it all...