Likes and Dislikes
I hate nights. I hate getting into sleep. Thoughts just pop up in my head when I lie down and close my eyes. I get really sensitive when I try to sleep. What do I do if a murderer is in my house? Is the door key locked? Wait, but what if they made a fake key and open the door? Where do I hide? How should I escape? When I hear something, even a drop of tap water, my eyes open and I tend to check if everything is alright. I hate darkness. It makes everything spooky and horrifying. My mind switches on the “depression mode button” and recall all my mistakes and reflects my day – only the bad stuff. Once I sleep, I’m fine. But that all of this doesn’t mean I like waking up. When the sun is up, my mind switches off all negative buttons and I don’t care if I hear footsteps or hear any big sounds because my mind tells me “Who would want to commit a crime during the day? It’s all good! It’s not dark anymore so surely ghosts won’t come out!”.
I don’t like the fact that that there are only 24 hours a day. I don’t like that I am trying to finish this paragraph because I have other homework to do, but in a hour. If a day is longer, I don’t have to rush through all my work. I like social media. I like the fact that you can connect with people easily. I love how I can still communicate with my close friends from my old school. I guess it makes good-byes a bit easier. I love dancing, especially on stage. When I dance I feel free and released – like a bird out of cage. Dance is a way to showcase myself, and the expressing myself is a thrilling feeling. I love dancing but I don’t like it when it finish. I don’t like the feeling that everything is back to normal – no rehearsal, no audience.
And I realise… that there is always a dislike in my likes. I like the fresh feeling when I my room is clean, but I dislike the process. I like the moment when I solve a challenging math problem, but I dislike redoing the same problem over and over again to get the right answer. Speaking of math, I like solving math problems on whiteboard – the slippery feeling of writing on a smooth board like skating on a polished ice skating rink. I like erasing the whiteboard. The satisfaction of seeing the section where the duster touch, slowly disappear like magic. I like writing, when I know what I am supposed to write. But I hate ending it. I just don’t know how to end it.
Object
Little ballerina’s dream. Dancers twirling on their toes with their gorgeous pink shoes, twinkles a little girl’s eye. Eight years old – finally got my first ballet pointe shoes. My first shoe was tiny like a doll’s shoe and constantly glowing and kept it safe like a diamond. This shoe isn’t like any other shoe. More than a shoe but less than a shoe. Heaven but hell. My pointe shoe makes me feel like I am floating like I am a magician but never realised it is a torture device. Blood and blisters, but keep on dancing. Pain punches my mind, heart and body. My feet tells me to stop but my mind tells me to continue. My pointe shoe is never like other shoes – it is living. Despite the fact that it is a weapon, it was my buddy. It brought me to the next level, big step to a ballerina. It always supported me in class, performances and competitions. But like real buddy, it doesn’t last long. Sparkles flew away and its skin peeled. It’s what helped me stretch my limit and be mentally and physically stronger. Even after six years, my first pointe shoe stands out from 34 other pointe shoes I’ve worn. First time feeling the fascinated in dancing on pointe and first time feeling the pain of ballerinas. This shoe was my dream but also torture.
Family Piece
My mom’s hair is like black silk. When you touch her hair your finger tip slips down. Her glossy hair creates a bright arc shape on her head when light touches her hair, like an angel’s ring. Her hair curves towards her neck, looking like a perfect shaped mushroom. Her fringes gently touches her eyebrows and hide behind her ears. Her soft hair romp when wind blows like red-seeded dandelion blown away. My dad’s fringes are neatly divided into two and glued onto his head. His hair is mixed with silver thread and the of these thread increases yearly. My hair is sensitive – sensitive to all the negatives. Hair static makes my hair float and lose control. My hair is different everyday. Sometimes it’s straight, sometimes it’s curvy and sometimes it’s all over the place. Mondays – it likes to cover my face. Saturdays – it likes to go behind my head.
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