Without second thought, I wiped my tears, forgetting that I had applied mascara and eye liner, smudging and smearing it everywhere all over my face. I didn’t care. Dressed in black from head to toe, I was somewhat experiencing death of my own.

My phone rang.

“Hello?” I asked in a confused tone.

“It’s me, Alice. How did the service go? Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay right now. I feel overwhelmed. I don’t know why but it feels as if my whole family is falling apart. No one really cares about each other right now. Sometimes...I find myself forgetting how it’s like to love someone or even worse, how it feels to be loved,” I confessed insecurely.

“Hey, do me a favor. Before I come, wear your leotard and put on your ballet shoes and meet me in front of your garage. Don’t ask me why. Just do what I told you to do.”


I kept thinking my friend had gone pathetic while I stripped off my clothing, but I acquiesced to her request. Slamming the front door behind me, I noticed she was here already, sitting cross-legged with a brown bag beside her and this huge white tarp-looking thing that spread across before her.

“I thought you were coming here to see me or talk to me.”

“In a way I am. I’m here...am I not.”

“Then what’s this?”

“It’s your canvas.”

“I don’t get it...what are we doing?”

“We...are...painting.”

“What does painting have to do with dancing?”

“All right, here you go,” she said as she passed me bottle of paint.

I walked to the center of the canvas hesitantly with bottle of yellow and orange.

“Ok...so...what am I doing?” I replied casually.

“I want you...to recreate your life on this piece of canvas like a story. As you dance, I want you to paint the canvas.”


Thinking that it was a waste of time, I purposely made a failed attempt at the arabesque. Then I clumsily did fouttes from one corner to another while I squirted paint. Believe me, I was even shocked by how ugly it looked. A person without ever laying eyes on a piece of art would never dare to purchase that.

“Seriously, stop. Look at the lines you’ve made. They’re all short and choppy. Go again, back to the middle.”

I was becoming quite frustrated. What did she want?

“This time I want you to close your eyes. I want you to think of something-happy or sad, something that made you angry, a time when you were joyous, or a time you felt like you didn’t belong. Do you have something?”

“Yes.”

“Can you feel it? Good...now dance.”

The contents of my heart were spilling out. Never had I once felt something that of passion or truth. I suddenly realized that I had locked up my feelings all this time because I lacked the courage and bravery it took to open up. Sweeping bottles of blue and purple off the ground, I glided across the canvas with my front leg brushing straight into the air with my back leg flowing behind innocently and gracefully. Every revolution of the piroutte brought out opposing forces-loss and gain, happiness and grief. I was as elegant and beautiful as a swan yet as strong and powerful as a gymnast. Confidently, I admitted my struggles boldly in red and orange. Green splashes of jealousy and envy filled the canvas. Throwing my arms back dramatically and spiritually, I recorded forgiveness in yellow and pink. I outlined fear and pain in streaks of brown and black.

“Open your eyes. Look at what you have created.”

“Oh my gosh. I did this?”

I stood there speechless and dumbfounded by how much truth and beauty it held. Words couldn’t express joy at that point. Only tears could.

“I guess you do have those deep emotions somewhere...I’ve never lost hope and faith in you only because I never stopped believing in you and I need for you to never doubt in yourself.”

I raced towards her in tears with paint all over my body.

“I may have doubted myself but I’ve never regretted our friendship,” I answered, giving her a warm embrace.