It was all too fast. Everything seems to happen in a blur: the drums, the double bass, the violin in a rusted voice, then the cello. My body followed the melody in a way my brain couldn’t even understand. I felt blood burning, boiling, and rushing to the very tips of my fingers. There’s no thinking, no considering, no hesitation. Spin, jump, twist, move, flip, and spin again! Faster, still faster! Anger, frustration, ecstasy----everything was just simply there, like roses in bushes ripe and blooming, waiting for me to pick them up. A sharp beat came in, and the deep and fond sound of the cello led me across the stage as the music turned for a grand high pitch. Then, it all ended, so fast that I find it hard to accept---5 minutes ago I was still on the back stage. Now I stood in silence, following the death of the last note.

My head was dizzy as I walked to the front of the stage. The lights were so bright that I couldn’t even see the audience. I bowed to the floor, a deep and long bow. I think I heard applause, but I don’t really care.

For a dancer, there was too much to the stage that the audience don’t know.

I broke my ankle 2 month prior to the performance. I cried myself hoarse when my doctor told me only miracle can bring me to dance the show — a chance I’ve been fighting for the entire year. I threw everything within reach that night, but even the white walls of the hospital seemed to laugh at my helplessness. Until one day mom placed a stretch band for rehabilitative training beside my pillow, I understood what I have to do. I have to dance. That much haven’t gone with my ankle.

There was too much to the stage that people couldn’t understand.

They say we dance for the craze of the audience, for the feeling of the spot light, and for the flowers and cheers. This, I believed before, but not now. I realized, under the pale light in my ward, that I dance for the very thing that brought me to the practice room — passion.

Without passion, no dancer could survive days after days of dull practice. No dancer could stand the pain and cruelty of injury and fierce competition. No dancer could walk through the dark early mornings and solitary nights, listening to the same piece of music a hundred times and still put in all their hearts and love.

Please remember, when every dancer first began their journey, they have no one by their side. They have no audience, no stage, no flowers or applause. It is faith and passion that pushed them forward, through hardships and precariousness. It is faith and passion that brought me to the stage where I stand, where I shine.

I could’ve given everything to stay there, even just a little bit longer. But no, no. 5 minutes is all there is. And I’ll have to leave — away from the light and stage, and go on to a still tougher journey.