I Loved School

And by school I mean high school. Not uni. Uni's okay. It's only ever okay. But more about that another time maybe, I want to talk about my old high school!

I haven't talked about myself on this blog (it did start out as a place for me to just post my creative writing pieces) but my mind can't stop running (unfortunately for me...) and my itching fingers can't stop typing (unfortunately for you...) so today we're going to take a little trip down memory lane.

I went back to Winthrop today for their open day. My parents were running a stall and I went along to visit and hang out. I would've gone anyway even if they weren't helping out. Going back was fun, I got to see all my old high school teachers and some of my friends which was really good because I haven't seen some of them in a while.

First up, I went to visit my dance mummy, Skye. She was one of the most supportive people in my high school life and she's still there for me. I love her to bits. Dance has been such a lighthouse in my life, especially in high school where I really needed something solid to hang on to. In dance, I found my heart and passion, I found my family and I found a reason to wake up every day. It didn't matter that Skye only taught me for one year, what mattered was the impact she made and still does make on me. She showed me the sort of dancer I could be and she brought the other dance girls and I together as a family. Never did I think that I would be such good friends with the girls I had dance with but by the end of year 12 we were such a close knit bunch. We had come from such different social groups but through dance we created our own little family and world. She just invests so much time and effort into us and our talents.

Skye has inspired me so much (oh gosh, I'm tearing up...) and I can honestly say that I would not be the person I am today if I hadn't had met her. She encouraged me and supported me and loved me and laughed with me and cried with me and understood me. I wouldn't have given WAAPA a shot if she hadn't encouraged me, that's for sure. I'm not even sure if I would still be dancing if she hadn't inspired me. Year 11 dance had been awful. She had had a tough job when she took over. I remember thinking that no matter how much I enjoyed dance, if we had another terrible teacher, I would drop the subject. I'm so grateful that she came along to pick the pieces of our once fairly strong dance department up and weld it back together like new. She's an amazing and talented person with such a big heart.

Before I found Skye though, I ran into Madam Henri. Now, Madam has pretty much seen me grow up through high school. She's the only teacher who has taught me every single year of high school. Madam Henri is my original school mummy. She was my French teacher. She's so cute and I also love her to little itty bitty bits. Our French class was also very close. Wellllllll for me at least but that's something that I won't get into. By the time we got to year 12, there was only five of us and I got along very well with everyone (except one person which I will also not go into).

Madam is adorable. She is small, has big eyes, the LONGEST lashes, the curliest hair and is just the cutest. She probably won't like me saying that about her but I think she is. Teaching me for five years straight is an accomplishment. No other teacher has done that and as a result, we have grown very close. That and the small group of people we had in our class all contributed to the really supportive atmosphere our class had. I love her so much.

I also had to go looking for my school dad, Mr Altraide. Mr Altraide is one of the best teachers you will ever have and if he's ever taught you, you'll agree with me. He is a fantastic teacher and such a supportive one too. Most teachers just teach you what the syllabus says but Mr Altraide does that and so much more. He invests so much time and effort into helping his students and making school an enjoyable learning place for them. I have first hand experience with this. I did physics in high school and when I started in year 11, I absolutely hated it. I was pretty much failing it and no matter how much I complained and cried and whined about how much I disliked it, Mr Altraide's support and help didn't falter one bit. He would help me as best as he could, explaining the same things over and over again and telling me that it was okay if I didn't pass, I could always try again next time.

Year 12 was no different (although my hatred of physics wasn't as strong). I would be almost in tears telling him how stressed I was because I didn't understand it and I didn't want to be doing it but yet, he never told me to just drop it. He would come over and give me tutoring, stay back at school and give me tutoring, give up his lunch time to give me tutoring, always be on call if I needed help, he would pray for me when I did and didn't need it and so much more. All for free.

(On a side note - I don't know why I kept with physics. Now that I've gone through it though, I don't regret it. It's actually so helpful especially with dance.)

Mr Altraide was also my school dad because he was my year 12 mentor. At Winthrop, when you're in year 12, some of the teachers pick a number of students to be mentors for so that all the students have one. They just basically watch over you in the stress hole that is year 12. They were more than just teachers and mentors though, they were friends. I'll always remember walking into his science lab whenever (lunch time, after school, school holidays) for a chat or single or group tutoring and him always being ready with some food and drinks. The beginning of my conversation with him today when I saw him pretty much went like this:

Mr Altraide: Hey Des!
Me: MR ALTRAIDE! *big bear hug*
Mr Altraide: How are you?
Me: Good! How are you?
Mr Altraide: Me? I'm great! Want some ice cream?

And off he went to get ice cream from his freezer in his office.

He's not only is he like a dad to me, he's also pretty much a friend to my family. He taught my older sister when she went to Winthrop as well and my parents love him. It's not hard to though.

I should probably also mention what he looks like. He looks like a black santa, no joke. Round, jolly, ALWAYS laughing and smiling (as the Facebook groups go: you know shits about to go down when Mr Altraide doesn't laugh or smile), always with presents (food) and always ready with his massive heart of gold. He also has one heck of a life story and testimony. Even with the really sad parts, he still manages to tell them with a laugh. I've learned from Mr Altraide that when something really bad happens, you can either take it with a positive attitude or a negative attitude and the outcomes can depend on how you take it. So take it with a positive attitude and if things don't work out, then at least you can say you tried. I'm trying to do that but sometimes it's hard. All the same, Mr Altraide is adorable.

Special mentions also go out to these people:
Miss Talbot, who was a really great support in year 11. Year 11 was probably my hardest year (yeah, harder than year 12) and she was just a really great friend and support for me to have.
Miss Haydock, who I get along with like two peas in a pod! It's always a pleasure seeing her and chatting to her.
THE DON! Mr Hart is just champion. 'Nuff said.
Burto, who I can't believe is leaving WBC! And who I also cannot believe actually likes durian?! Ewww.

Going back to Winthrop not only gave me a chance to catch up with teachers and friends but I also got to realise just how much I loved that place. This isn't a new revelation for me, I knew when I was going to WBC that I loved it, but now that I'm not there anymore, I really do miss it. Maybe not so much the school work but most definitely the people and atmosphere. High school was hard for me, really hard at some points but I actually wouldn't change it for anything. Going through all the highs and lows and abysses (whether it be by myself or with the support of the people around me) has shaped me to be who I am and while I might not like some aspects, I wouldn't change any of it.

Thanks Winthrop, I really do love you :).

Sorry about the lengthy emotional rambling post but I thought it'd be nice to thank my old high school and teachers. MWAH!

Reasons Why I Don't Like Summer

1. Insects. I really hate insects and bugs and creepy crawlies so summer is just the worst time for me. All the flies are out attacking my food and the mosquitoes are out attacking me. Spiders are hanging around creeping me out and crickets don't shut up at night. I saw a huge Daddy Longlegs in my bathroom this morning and boy, did it wake me up from my half-asleep state. I screamed and it sort of came out as a really weird strangled scale of notes because of my sleep-voice.


2. The sun sets later. This means that there are longer days and anyone who knows me knows that I like my night time. It also means that the sun's at a really horrid angle when I drive to ballet. It doesn't help that I'm too short for the flappy thing the car has to block out the sun.


3. The sun rises earlier. Sunlight filtering through the blinds might sound nice as a descriptive text in a narrative but in real life (IRL cause imma geek like that), it's actually really annoying.


4. THE HEAT.

Oh gosh, there are SO many reasons why I hate the heat. I've never liked the heat (one of the many reasons why I hated living in Singapore) and, being an autumn baby (I'm not sure how it's relevant), I've always preferred my cold days and rainy nights. In no particular order, I present to you the main reasons why I don't enjoy the heat of summer.

Firstly, there's the issue of food and drinks. Ice cream isn't half as fun to eat when you're feeling hot than when the weather is cold. Sure, if might be a good relief and it might sound practical (cold ice cream on a hot day?) but is it fun? Not as fun as eating it on a cold day! And isn't that what summer's said to be? FUN? I also really like my hot drinks and coffees and teas. I pretty much live off it during the cold seasons (which might be why I get a little pudgy...) but it wouldn't be too practical to always be drinking a hot drink on a hot day. Because the heat around you isn't bad enough or anything, you gotta go warm up your insides. Smart.

Secondly, clothing. Summer signals the dusting off of sun dresses and shorts and skirts. What do these mean? Exposure of the legs and appendages. I have some real issues with my legs and I hate the way they are. Well actually, I love and hate them. I love that they're firm and toned(ish) and strong but I hate that they're so chunky and muscly. My calves are just basically one solid piece of muscle when I tense. It's actually a really freaky sight. Anyway, sun dresses, shorts and skirts means that exposure of the limbs is necessary if you want to survive the heat. This annoys me because I've always been really self-conscious about my legs and for the longest time I HATED showing them off so I always wore jeans. Like, always. Ballet's sort of helped me get over that issue a little bit which is a good thing even though I'm still not quite over it so exposing my legs isn't such a big deal anymore even though I still don't like it. I feel like that didn't really make sense but hopefully you got what I was trying to put across. Also, there's only so many layers of clothing you can take off before it becomes socially obscene. In the colder seasons though, you can layer up to your heart's warm and fuzzy content. *smiley face*

Along with that, I also love my jackets and jeans. I am most comfortable in jeans (besides dance attire) so you can aspect me to feel a little lost and exposed without them. Jackets, I feel, have the ability to change the look of an entire outfit. Depending on what type/style/design of jacket you wear, you can change a look from look really casual to a more evening-y/night out look. You can't do this in summer because it's impractical to wear a jacket when it's blistering. Boo.

Sleeping is next. I LOVE my sleep but hardly get enough of it. I hate being in bed at night not being able to sleep and just lying there lost in my own thoughts and imaginations. Depending on what mood I'm in, my mind will linger on different things, most of the time either on depressing stuff or some story I've got going on in my head that will never come true or be written. Either way, it generally leaves me feeling pretty bleugh. I don't like that feeling and lying in bed at night awake and alone with my mind leads me to that feeling. This brings us back to the heat of summer. My dislike for the summer heat stems from the fact that it leaves me awake at night. I get uncomfortable in the heat which means I can't get comfortable (...duh) enough to fall asleep. So I end up lying there, lost in my thoughts. And as I said earlier, I don't like that.

Next, exercise is more of a chore when it's hot. I love dance and I'll do it whenever and wherever but it's always slightly harder to actually do it when it's sweltering. Walking from the car park to the lecture theatre at uni is already tiring enough when it's not blistering but when it is.... ewwwww. Imagine what it's like when I'm actually putting effort into physical exertion. I don't have a problem with it when it's cold because it warms me up but I don't need to be warmed up when I'm already feeling hot.

Finally, I love my snow and rain and curling up in a blanket in front of a heater or fireplace with a massive cup of mocha and a movie or book.

So there you go. I'm sure there are other reasons why I don't like summer but those are the main ones. You can tell I'm totally looking forward to summer...

Stage

For Sarah
________________________________________________________________

I stared at my made up face in the mirror with a sigh. My vacant eyes blinked back at me as I gently poked my face, making sure that the dark circles under my eyes weren’t visible beneath my makeup. Long, tiring, continuous hours of rehearsal over the past few weeks were beginning to take a toll on me. My earlier disagreement with my mother, though, had been what triggered my current misery. I picked up my bright red lipstick to paint on my smile as my mind wandered back to that conversation.

“Mum, it’s opening night tonight, you could at least pretend to be happy for me,” I said, tugging at the phone chord in annoyance.

“Grace, you know I’m happy for you but are you sure being a dancer is what you really want to do?” Mum answered. I rolled my eyes at the phone. Mum always gave me this spiel whenever she called. With an over exaggerated sigh, I let her continue. “It’s fine as a hobby and all, but as a career? I mean I’m not saying you’re not talented enough, Grace, you got all those scholarships after all but the money you make professionally isn’t that much and it’s such an uncertain career path. I just want you to be happy, Grace.”

Yes, it was true that I didn’t make that much money as a professional dancer and as I looked around my dismal and practically empty apartment, I was glad that my mother wasn’t around to see it. Plastered walls, a worn couch, threadbare curtains and a fickle-minded heater were testament to what my salary could afford. My gaze swept around the bleak living space I called home and lingered on an old photograph of my mother on stage. I glared fiercely at the picture, as if glaring at it hard enough would enable her to feel my harsh stare over the phone. I had framed it and brought it with me in a lame attempt at some familial inspiration but in the context of this current conversation with her, I couldn’t understand why. A pair of old well-used pointe shoes sitting on my couch soon caught my attention and I immediately relaxed, my feet flexing and pointing instinctively.

“I am. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.” I may have said that a little sharply but I’d told her so many times before; I really didn’t want to be doing anything else.

“Well, I’d just hate to see you left with nothing to do if it doesn’t work out,” Mum said in a clipped tone.

I glanced at the pile of bills sitting on the table in front of me and thought about how I was just getting by but I’d never admit that to her. After her own failed attempts in the entertainment industry when she was younger, Mum had never truly been comfortable with my career choice. In the three years that I’d been in the city dancing professionally, never once had she come to watch me. Not even tonight, the opening night of my first role as a principal dancer.

My thoughts were interrupted when the backstage runner called the cue of some other dancers. I frowned and the white lighting surrounding the mirror made my expression look harsher than it was while the makeup exaggerated my appearance. I moved to find some floor space and practised some of the choreography, letting my character take over.

“Grace, it’s your cue soon,” the runner called.

I stopped and turned towards the mirror. Taking one last look at myself, I was shocked to realise how much I resembled my mother. The shadows cast over my features and the expression I currently wore under the bright green room lights was definitely a characteristic of hers; one I never realised I possessed. I instantly hated those lights. A sudden and unexpected overwhelming feeling of sadness washed over me and I wished she was here watching me tonight. Pushing the thought firmly away, I plastered on my best stage smile and headed out.

As I stood in the wings waiting, I took in the surroundings of my true home. The thick, slightly coarse fabric of the heavy side curtains felt familiar under my fingers and I could feel the ambient heat from the stage lights filtering into the wings, warming me. The music was louder here than it was backstage and it instantly changed my mood. I could hear the audience applauding enthusiastically as the scene ended and I thought with a sad smile how much more support I received here than I did at home. I prepared myself for my cue as the dancers who were onstage exited and whispered wishes of good luck before hurrying out of my way.

I wasn’t going to worry about my problems anymore tonight; I was going to worry about someone else’s instead. Tonight, I wasn’t Grace. Tonight, I was Odette.