Yknow, a few months ago. If you’d ask me the same question you’re asking me now, I probably would have replied with such great fervour and confidence about the direction Im heading to, the things I want to achieve, how I had plans to achieve it and how much it all means to me. I’d say it with the kind of gusto and passion that you see characteristic of any newbie to the industry. Someone who’s just gotten a taste of the limelight and adrenalin rush of just being there for that few minutes. I’d pour my heart out to whoever had directed the question at me and most certainly at the end of it all, feel that bit of a tear forming in the inside corners of my eyes.

I never in the faintest abyss of my mind, fathomed the idea that passion could suffer the fate of a mortal. Never thought that my store for it was limited. But now, I see that I was wrong. And my decision is probably final.

Months ago, I toyed with the idea of hanging up my dancing shoes. After the DAP and pulling through the tumultuous grad show, which of course eventually turned out all dandy, I had decided I was going to take a break. But circumstances wouldnt allow it. My body shaped up and I was on form. I had to strike while the iron was hot. But as the routines grew mundane and we were thrown into plunging waters with no sign of a safety buoy, the injuries re-surfaced and they became a common place occurrence each week. But it didnt just stop there. Like a communicable disease, it spread. It wasnt the “old hip injury” anymore. It was now, my entire back, my knee and occasionally my ankle. Before you start letting your imagination run wild with thoughts that dance is possibly a form of torture, these originate from a weak back. Just a single spot could cause such immense trouble. You know what the best part is? I dont even know how I got the back injury thing going. I dont know how it all started.

Each week after subjecting myself to a 2 hour round of self-depreciating, I walk home under the deserted covered walkway with nothing more than the silent night and the clicking of my right knee as company. Each step I take home, induces a grimace from my disheveled and worn-out mug. And my heart lurches, threatening to plummet into the depths of my unfilled stomach each time I hear the click. It chides me for subjecting myself to something I so long ago wanted to say no to. I choke at the very thought of wearing my joints out before they’re due, and my throat feels as though the cold hand of a vengeful enemy has found its way there.

I refuse to stay for late-night suppers and them hanging out sessions anymore, defying my growling tummy’s protests. Not because I dont enjoy the company of those I train with, but rather, I dont want to sit there and silently pretend that Im enjoying the jokes while my eyes are tried and dry from the lack of oxygen. I dont want to have to listen to the sounds of my body screaming for me to crawl into bed and get some good shut eye. I can hear as my body slowly disintegrates from all the late nights. And it’s all not a pretty sight.

I watch and see before my very eyes, the damage that has been done. And honestly, I dont think I can take much more of it. Today’s training/session was ridiculous. No sign of relenting, no sign of forgiving. How does one progress if there is nothing sufficiently do-able? You need to have something of the person’s standard before pushing further. But no, rigid and cold, that’s all it was. On top of that, the song was fucking stupid. THAT for a finale item song? I mean, whatever I guess, it’s her prerogative. But I refuse to partake in an item in which I will look stupid. Honestly, that’s not the point of being on stage now is it? You want to put up a GOOD show, and to do that, you should make your dancers look good! Is it really that hard?

I still love performing. I love the stage, I love being on it and making everything look larger than life. And I love talking to the audience with a good choreographed piece. But now, you know it’s all over when you throw in the towel and decide not to put up a fight anymore. When you decide to shrug your shoulders and say, “Oh well” instead of fervently trying to defend your turf.

I think it’s come to a point when the battle armour is weak and the plenitude of scars are only what you have to show for. To retreat only means to come back with brand new gusto and fire, a whole new plan to tackling that situation on hand. Please, dont tell me to try harder cause I’ll only get better with time. Because I’ve tried hard enough and fought the battles to the best that I can, maybe the ascent of the white flag is soon to be.