I was always told that my future was bright so much so that I began
to believe it and as a naïve teenager, constantly repeated it to myself staring
at my reflection in the mirror. A similar mirror I now stare into and cringe at
the face I see staring right back.
I was never bright and it was a known fact. That’s where it all
began. People constantly felt that I needed the reassurance of my ‘bright’
future. I suppose I did, being the spotty, sore-thumb of my group of acquaintances.
My self-esteem was just slightly above non-existent. It seemed my luck changed
when I began to dance and sing. Of course it was all the doing of my
over-zealous mother who signed me up for any class she felt “was the one for
me”. It took four different instrumental classes, a judo programme, two cookery
classes and bitter disappointment on her part to find the real “one for me”.
I was just as reluctant to prance up and down a stage with cheap
make-up smacked on my face as I was to bake double chocolate anything and I
entered the dance studio dragging my feet just as I did previously and pushing
my glasses further up my nose even more furiously than before. With a bad
attitude, as is common in one’s teenage years, I stalked up to the teacher and
introduced myself with naught excitement and sat through a speech from a very
whimsical teacher that ended with the words “it’s gleaming, rich with stars”,
which was her take on our bright futures. These words are forever etched into
my memory.
She told us to let loose and let the music carry us. This was not
an easy task restricted by poorly-made leotards but boy, did I grow to love it!
Dance was my escape where I allowed nothing else to bother me and all the
failed tests were left outside the studio. Music was a comfort and feeling the
beautiful sound well up inside me and bubble up to the back of my throat made
me feel warm inside. With each session it was clear, or so I thought, that
dance was “the one for me”.
The freedom was like none I had ever felt. It was similar to
running through a field of daisies with the wind rushing through your hair and
butterflies gently fluttering by. The inner warmth I felt was like that one
would feel pouring heated honey into your mouth and letting it slide right down
to every inch of your body. It was absolutely magical and I no longer cared
about the layer of make-up we were forced to wear for performances. At this
point I began to believe that my future was indeed as bright as they said and
even more so as the dance scholarships to various top schools poured in.
From that point I was always enveloped in a cloud of glitter if not
physically then at least mentally in a sparkly world of my own. All I ever
heard were angelic voices singing, light footsteps on the stage and my mother’s
voice telling me how great I was going to be and how proud she was. Then it all
went wrong somewhere and I find myself reminiscing, staring sadly back at
myself; a struggling entertainer who once harboured the ambitious dreams of a
lively teenager. I thought I was going places and I would soon have my name in
shining lights all over the world not above the entrance to a middle of nowhere
bar. Perhaps there just was not enough space out there for all of us, I tell
myself, but surely I could have found my little corner of the world to do what
I love best and show the world my talent.
These tears that stream down my wrinkled face from my once
sparkling eyes are for all the hard work I put in that has resulted in nothing.
My labour produced not a single fruit. I weep for who I could have been and
what I could have done. The disappointment is so difficult to swallow after
having been told constantly that I had what it takes and now I recall this
phrase with such sour memories, ‘your future is bright. It’s gleaming, rich
with stars.” Did it really? Did it?
Langa-Rose
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