The alarm rang. I looked up at the clock. 5:05am. Too freaking early. I roll to the other side of my bed and begin a second round of sleep. What’s the point of this alarm sef? I wasn’t motivated to train anymore. My routine, after the traumatic experience, usually involved body conditioning and then some technique improvements but I stopped training.
It was 8:30am before I finally got up. I picked up my phone, scrolled through Instagram for about an hour. Updated myself on some of the dancers that I followed. My chest was immediately filled with jealousy. Why wasn’t I this lucky? Why didn’t I start training earlier? Asking myself these questions began to tire me. I thought I had gotten to point where I would accept my fate and move on, or at least, try to defy fate. But now, the questions were back in my head. They were often triggered by watching dancers who had had training from childhood. So why do you bother yourself watching them? If they make you feel this way, why do you put yourself through this every time?
The truth is, I couldn’t stop watching them. They were my source of learning. I studied them on a daily basis. Making a decision to stop watching these videos because it affected me was making a decision to remove one vital source of my learning. But at this point? I wasn’t even learning, I was just watching them. I’m not sure why I was watching them, I just watched.
Weeks turned into months as I watched these dancers who were already good, get better. My heart sank. You could’ve improved, yet you sat here making useless excuses. I watched them constantly, they were moving up. The level they were at, the one I was striving for, they had surpassed it. How did you let that happen, Ijay?
I needed a break from my break. I needed to be away from myself and the voice in my head. So judgmental.