so long, childhood dreams
My parents recently came up to Warwick and surprised me with old family friends. Having not seen each other since before the pandemic, we had much to discuss — mainly the fact that I had grown up so much, as is always the way with your parents’ friends. Despite this fixation on how much I have changed, the old me was still a hot topic of discussion. In particular, what this family friend remembered about me was my talent for art, and how I used to make magazines and comics (which I sold on the playground!). It reminded me of my childhood dreams of being an animator, or graphic artist which were, unfortunately, long gone.
I used to be so obsessed with Adventure Time and Steven Universe. My family will tell you that I have been drawing and writing since I was very little, but I started to take it a bit more seriously at around age 12. I drew in lessons, during break time, mornings, and late into the night. I dreamt of having my own comic strip, and then it would get adapted into a TV show and I would work for Disney, and Cartoon Network and—then I hit puberty. I learnt shame. It wasn’t cool to sit alone at break, for a young girl, it wasn’t cool to be daydreaming about anime and comic book characters. I recall another time when my sister and I were in a supermarket. She said she’d buy me any magazine I wanted, and so I chose a My Little Pony magazine with free stickers. She laughed in my face, and refused, saying I needed to grow up. I was 12! And so I carried on, struggling through puberty with these ideas that I needed to grow up and be serious. My cartoonish art style wasn’t real art, it was amateurish at best, as I was constantly reminded by my art teacher at school (I’m sure a lot of artists out there have similar traumas). My life swirled out of control like a demented pirouette as I ventured deeper into puberty and its world of embarrassment and anxiety.
To help alleviate my symptoms, my school faculty agreed it would be a good idea to drop a GCSE. After much deliberation, I eventually chose Art and, to this day, it is one of my biggest regrets, but now I see why it was so easy for me to give up — because I doubted myself, and my talent. And then, there I was in the present, listening to my family friend, telling me how my drawings were beautiful, how I really could have become an illustrator. I thanked her, but inside I felt bitter. Could I really go on blaming my diminishing passion for what I thought I’d do for the rest of my life on a few harsh criticisms from my Year 8 art teacher? I knew the truth. I didn’t feel worthy. I had given up so easily and ran away as soon as it got hard. This is seemingly a trend in my life, one that, moving forward, I intend to challenge. But these were the places I felt most comfortable: where characters could be fluid in their sexuality and gender, where I could produce worlds with just my pencil — and so they always lingered in my mind since then.
Around the time of my family friends’ visit, my close friend had told me she would be teaching a beginner’s ballet class at the university gym, and would I like to come along?
Apart from the promise of ballet shoes, cute bows and leg warmers, thanks to recent trends of the coquette aesthetic, there has never really been much that has drawn me to the dance (though I always used to love Angelina Ballerina when I was little). My tomboyish nature, which the adults around me called it (I now realise this was just queerness) led me to a short-lived obsession with street dance, which I took classes for after seeing Kat Graham in Honey 2 (I wonder why). Robot dancing to Jessie J’s Who’s Laughing Now wearing a Pineapple t-shirt is still the most 2011 thing I can think of, and is somewhat of a fond memory. Regardless of whether or not my passion for street dance was misguided, sparked only by my budding lesbianism and no actual genuine interest in “popping and locking”, I gave up after about a year. I did this same thing with the trumpet. Why? At the time, I’m sure I would make half-hearted excuses — it was becoming tiresome, I never had any time to practice… as if a 10 year old really has that much on their plate. Now, a decade later, I see the real reason: I was not instantly gifted, or special. Already battling body image issues, too, dancing alongside other girls, who seemed to move so freely, earning them so much praise, disappointed me. Despite barely even scratching the surface of both of these past-times, I felt like a failure. All these feelings arose when I considered joining this ballet class. I knew nothing about ballet — wouldn’t I just embarrass myself? Nonetheless, I went, deciding it would be fun, and, in any case, I’d be supporting my close friend. I didn’t realise then that I’d be changed fundamentally by my decision.
hello, my healed twenties
As I walked into the room, I became (pleasantly) overwhelmed by its feminine energy. We all lined up in our pseudo-ballet gear, though someone there claimed to their friends, adorably, that they were wearing their old ballet shoes. The thought that they might be returning to ballet after a long period of inactivity, possibly stagnated by puberty and school and just life, filled me with joy.
And so the lesson began. We practiced the basic positions, which I threw myself into excitedly like I was in Barbie of Swan Lake. To watch my friend lead so gracefully, in an activity she once felt passion for, I honestly almost teared up. It was like watching the little girl inside of her come back to life. Her devotion to this class, which was entirely voluntary, was evident in her evenings spent carefully curating a playlist (featuring adorable, classical-style covers of songs from The Little Mermaid) and planning out the lesson. Whenever she was teaching and we met eyes, it was hard not to crack a smile, unaccustomed to seeing her in teacher-mode, but equally proud of her confidence. In turn, I felt myself actually enjoying learning this new skill, so much so that when I arrived home I showed my flatmates what I had learnt.
By the time the hour was up, I found myself filled not with self-loathing or defeat, but like I had just created a new memory. My gender didn’t matter. My body didn’t matter. I was just in that room, sharing a moment with other girls, who had all come for their own reasons. Just as I was getting ready to tell my bestie she smashed the class, two attendees came up to her to enthusiastically ask if they could go over the pirouette once more. It really made me smile.
The first thing I did after the session that evening was dig out the sketchbook I had purchased months back, still clinging to the hope that I might magically become an amazing artist. And maybe I never will be, just as I will probably never become Nina Sayers, but I felt inspired to draw some ballerinas, at least!
So if you feel like trying something new (or picking up where you left off on an old passion!) all I can say to you is GO FOR IT! And buy yourself that magazine with free toys, dance badly, draw silly little doodles. I think what makes me feel the most feminine is the reclamation of all the hobbies and interests I gave up on as a young girl. What you like doesn’t make you any less of an adult — in fact, reconnecting with your inner little girl is what will send you spinning into a bright, blissful future.