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Monologue
Recently my inner-monologue returned. I say returned because it has a habit of leaving and then returning at the strangest times. Most often, it returns when I am reading Charlotte Bronte or Jane Austen, or when I watch seven consecutive episodes of Glee or Dance Academy. Sometimes when I’m dancing.
When I say inner-monologue is it clear what I mean? I am under the assumption that others experience the same phenomenon? It’s like the narration of my life. I don’t want to say that I hear things, because not only would that make me crazy, but it’s also inaccurate. I don’t actually hear things. It’s just that my mind fills in the blanks. As if my world is a novel, or a corny performing arts drama. I notice it the most when I’m lying, or when my feelings don’t match my surroundings. For example, if someone asks me how I am when I’m feeling bad and I say “Yeah, really good!” monologue says “she lied”. It makes me feel like there is order because my monologue acknowledges the discrepancy.
I’m not quite sure why I’m posting it. I suppose I could say that my monologue made me do it. But it didn’t. Tonight everything seemed to go wrong and I was faced with the harsh reality that my life is changing faster than I know how to deal with. The monologue seemed to make sense of it. This crazy endless monologue as I walked through Coles and out with a box of Twinings Lady Grey.
I think my monologue has a function. She is release from the pressure which I’m surrounded by. Without her… Probably nothing would change.
But at least she gives me inspiration for bizarre blogs?
Opportunity… Call back later?
Yesterday I missed an opportunity. It was a great opportunity indeed and one designed for me to pursue and no one else! Well…I suppose me and anyone else who might be a female dancer who resembles Ariel. That’s right. Yesterday Disney was hosting an open call for female dancers resembling Ariel. Now. there is no doubt in my mind that had I been able to attend, I would have been cast on the spot. In fact I may have been cast before the audition! It is likely that they would have seen me, glanced at my resume (Mainly so that it looked fair in front of the other applicants) and asked me which theme park I would prefer to work in. Yes I know the audition was for Hong Kong, but if they had seen me, they would have realised that it would not matter where they put me, I would be an unmissable asset to the corporation that is Disney.
Now why am I so sure? This is an excellent question. You see, I have attended a Disney audition before. And, as the fact that I was contemplating another might indicate, I was not offered a spot. In fact, I didn’t even get a call back. Why on earth would I be so confident then? It’s true that the position was for a dancer primarily, and although I believe that I have come a long way in my dance skills in three years, I probably don’t compare to the girls who have been studying dance since before they could breathe. But… I ask you this… Have you seen me? Have you actually stopped and looked at me? Probably not. Because if you had, then you wouldn’t be asking all of these questions. You see, I AM Ariel. Whether Disney like to admit it or not, I am she.
No one has confirmed my story, but no one has denied it either. This leaves me to the conclusion that there is just enough for it to be dismissed, but just enough truth in it that no one wishes to draw attention to it.
I was born in 1986. That much I know. Actually I know more. I know the exact date, but this being a public forum, I don’t want to attract any unwanted attention by giving away too many personal details. (This might affect any future audition prospects). The location of my birth is however, ambiguous, despite being clearly stated on my birth certificate. Why would they choose Blacktown? No one in their right mind would choose that as a location to have their daughter born. No. There is only one possibility (apart from the nine billion possibilities which I have chosen to ignore). That is that I was actually born on the teacup ride in Disneyland. Which Disneyland I am not quite sure, but that is not important. I do not take it as a mere coincidence that my birth coincided with the tragic Chernobyl disaster, the which was responsible for many defects and abnormalities especially in unborn children. Is it not possible and probable that the radioactivity from this disaster affected sea life as well? Including the merpeople? That’s why I was born with legs! And that’s where Disney got the idea of a mermaid wanting to be a human. I’m that mermaid! Don’t you see?
So why didn’t I go to that audition? If the role was meant for me? If I would have knocked all of the other applicants out of the water (if you’ll pardon the pun)?
The truth is, I know the truth. I wasn’t born in Disneyland and although my once Auburn hair has lightened to a sort of strawberry blonde, I was never meant to have fins. So when I heard of the audition, I was excited. But when I learned that it was on a day that I was to be teaching… I knew that this was not the day for my dreams to come true.
I still believe that one day I will be Ariel, but for now, just for now, responsibility reigns supreme in my life. And the things I have been given for now are for a reason.
But please, whoever is reading this, don’t let me forget that deep down, I am a Disney princess whether I was born in Disneyland or not.
The girl who cried in the corner
Tonight a girl in ballet class cried. One moment she was laughing at her attempt at a double pirouette from fourth position, the next minute the awkward laughter turned into tears. I think they were tears of frustration or embarrassment. Not that she needed to be embarrassed. None of us were able to produce a pirouette which would have been remotely passable in an RAD exam.
Our teacher graciously assured her that no one in the class was able to do the exercise perfectly and gave her a few minutes to collect herself as we continued with pirouettes. As we practiced our turns, worked on our turn out, our spotting, and remembered to keep our arms lifted from under the elbows, I kept one eye on this girl. I had no desire to embarrass her further or to invade her privacy, but I couldn’t help staring. I think it was because I know exactly how she feels. That intense frustration with your own body for not doing what you’re telling it to do? The feeling that your entire identity is tied up in your ability to do a pas de chatte? Or even the feeling that you want to cut your own toes off because you weren’t born with the perfect feet and you can’t even tell when they’re pointed.
I still remember the day I decided to take up ballet and the disappointment I experienced after my first term. I think that I expected myself to somehow be amazing, or perhaps I thought that the fact that I wanted it so badly would allow me to pick up the technique with unnatural ease. It was not so. Ballet class is one of the hardest things I have ever attempted. Every part of your body and your mind is occupied and exercises which should be easy are simply not. And it’s not over when your class is over. You can’t simply leave it all in the studio as you leave. I remember the first time I realised that I was not the perfect ballerina that I imagined I was. I was trying to do a glissade exercise and I simply couldn’t do it. So I naturally locked myself in the bathroom after class and sobbed uncontrollably. On numerous other occasions I would leave class with a smile on my face, then sit in the car and cry into the steering wheel for about ten minutes before I would finally turn the keys in the ignition and drive home.
I’m not sure what it is about ballet which makes you feel like simply crying in the corner. Maybe it’s because every part of you is exhausted and your emotions are the only thing you have left in tact… So naturally they’re the next thing to go. Perhaps it is the fact that your heart wants it so badly, but your body just can’t oblige.
To be honest, I have no idea why that girl cried tonight. But if it was ballet that she was crying for, the tears are worth it. Sooner or later, you experience the freedom which so much rigid structure and strict bodily training can actually offer your spirit. At first it frustrates and confuses you. But eventually, you’ll have a lesson which makes you realise that all those years of perfecting your technique give you the tools to do something which you have dreamt about since you were a little girl at the plaster-fun-house picking out a ballerina-shaped plaster to paint. And that lesson is hopefully enough to keep you going for at least a few weeks.
Tired, sore and hungry!
Today when I woke up, before I even rolled over I knew that I was sore. This was partially because I remembered the last four days, and partially because I remembered getting up in the middle of the night and hobbling to the bathroom, but mostly because before I had even moved I felt pain searing through my back, my neck, my thighs and my calves. Every time it happens, I can’t help but think that Voldermort might be near, but that is only out of an irrational desire to be locked somehow in a fantasy world of magic where I could probably charm myself into being a little more flexible or a little less sore after four consecutive hours of dance.
I know I know. I’m a whinger. People who do this full-time do this full-time. Dance that is. They get up, put on their leotard, pick up their carrot stick and head to the studio where they dance for nine hours. But I don’t dance full-time and I don’t know how to do this. I love it to bits, and that’s why I keep at it, but right now… I’m tired, hungry and sore. I’m pretty sure this is the way full-time dancers feel all the time. This feeling has inspired in me a new found respect for dancers (As in REAL dancers). It’s also inspired in me the need to develop better coping mechanisms.
So here is my list:
-Reading Harry Potter (This one is running thin as I have just started Deathly Hallows and will soon be finished the series)
-Facebook/Twitter whinging
-Healthy eating INCLUDING breakfast…so overrated as a meal!
-Cups of tea at any given hour of the day
-Carbs after 11pm
-SYTYCD sob stories which make me feel like I can do it too even though I know that I can’t
-And now blogging
Suggestions would be welcomed as I will be having not only twelve hours of uni, but also twelve hours of dance a week. This means that I will be physically exhausted, intellectually exhausted and no-doubt emotionally exhausted as a result. So basically… tired sore and hungry for just under to months. But at least now I have a blog right?
