Sometimes it takes more than once for me to learn a lesson. I feel that if I reason with someone and use logical explanations, said person will get it. I understand they may not quite agree with me but they will see my point at least. Well, apparently, that ain't the case. Especially with my mother. Its been four years of me reiterating that Im no ballerina. Yet, its been four years of me donning a leotard, slippers and oh so flattering white tights, twirling around Mrs. Meester's School of Dance. The most disgusting part is the bi-annual recitals we MUST put on in January and June. I've tried to compromise, asking Mom if I could at least take something more interesting, more me like hip-hop or reggae. She gave me her most condescending smile "No one needs to take a class like that, Nina" and continued sipping her skinny latte.
My mother doesn't know me at all. And the sad part is, she's not interested in knowing me; instead, she wants to create me like Im her own personal Frankenstein. We see how well that turned out. Actually, I've never really seen or read Frankenstein so Im guessing things went wrong. Im not into horror movies. Watching lunatics and zombies chase and then violently kill some teenagers. Not my thing; i'd rather choke on my own spit, which coincidentally, how i feel about going to ballet three times a week. Im like totally into hip-hop (and R&B). Give me some 50, give me some T.I or even some Mary and im happy. But of course, 'Mother' is not tryna hear it.
Today just happens to be June 5th, the day of my recital. its a beautiful friday and I just got out of school. The plan was for me to head to the dance studio and get in some stretches and a run through, head home for some homework and Mom would drive me to the recital tonight. But I can't. I just can't waste another day of my life on that garbage, especially not this gorgeous, sunny Friday full of possibilities. One being that Lucky (thats my crush, he is so f-ing hot) asked me what I was doing today afterschool. As I gathered my books at my locker, Lucky made his way over. He has that perfect, cool, relaxed walk that I love him for. "So whats up? We chillin'?" he asked. and whats a girl to do? I nodded my head (cooly, I hope) and said "Yeah." "Cool." he replied.
My mother doesn't know me at all. And the sad part is, she's not interested in knowing me; instead, she wants to create me like Im her own personal Frankenstein. We see how well that turned out. Actually, I've never really seen or read Frankenstein so Im guessing things went wrong. Im not into horror movies. Watching lunatics and zombies chase and then violently kill some teenagers. Not my thing; i'd rather choke on my own spit, which coincidentally, how i feel about going to ballet three times a week. Im like totally into hip-hop (and R&B). Give me some 50, give me some T.I or even some Mary and im happy. But of course, 'Mother' is not tryna hear it.
Today just happens to be June 5th, the day of my recital. its a beautiful friday and I just got out of school. The plan was for me to head to the dance studio and get in some stretches and a run through, head home for some homework and Mom would drive me to the recital tonight. But I can't. I just can't waste another day of my life on that garbage, especially not this gorgeous, sunny Friday full of possibilities. One being that Lucky (thats my crush, he is so f-ing hot) asked me what I was doing today afterschool. As I gathered my books at my locker, Lucky made his way over. He has that perfect, cool, relaxed walk that I love him for. "So whats up? We chillin'?" he asked. and whats a girl to do? I nodded my head (cooly, I hope) and said "Yeah." "Cool." he replied.
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