I'm not a native speaker so the essay is a little bit awkward. If you have any suggestions about my title, please let me know. Thx! : )
I talked about my dancing experience only once during middle school. The response I got from the boy was a shocking glare, followed by a condescending judgment, "You? Really?" I smiled but my heart skipped a beat. It was then and there that the reality hit me. I wasn't the perfect dancer; I wasn't a dancer at all! I was short, I could not stretch my legs even as far as an average girl, and my body felt stiff and lacked flexibility. I started to hate my body and doubt myself. For the next three years, I never told anyone that I learned ballet.
If I could go back to that questioning "really," I would respond, "Yes, I am a dancer." I don't have some kind of epiphany or a life-and-death story. I simply grew out of it. Over the years, the feeling of being a ballerina gradually came back to me. I loved dancing and the memories of those earlier years - when the mentality of "not good enough" had not yet affected me as a five-year old - became alive and encouraging. When I closed my eyes, I could hear Neapolitan of Swan Lake, I could see the audience standing up and applauding, I could feel my feet bending into a beautiful arch and my whole body stretching out as far as possible. Once again, in the world of ballet, I became the queen.
What I gradually realized is that being the most talented is not the most important. The joy of ballet doesn't come from winning a YAGP scholarship. The joy of singing a Christmas song to warm up a freezing winter evening doesn't require the voice of Andrea Bocelli. The joy of a scientific fascination - such as when I mistakenly turned a whole bottle of litmus red - has nothing to do with winning a prestigious Nobel Prize. I am not perfect, no one is perfect, and the beauty of life doesn't come from being perfect.
Occasionally, I also think of Ms. X, my ballet teacher, who is even shorter than me but has been teaching ballet with great passion for more than twenty years. I also think of one of my pen-pal who volunteers to translate Italian TV shows into almost immaculate Chinese but turns out to be "just" a dish washer in Rome. Similarly, his friend, an Arabic major, learns Italian and Latin out of curiosity and interest, with no thought for a reward or a certificate. Their stories touch me in the same way: you may be limited by many things - talent, responsibility, education, or even age - but you will never be limited by your passion. So, maybe the world sees me as an ordinary person, but I know that the joy and fulfillment from doing what I love will always be more than extraordinary.
