Hello there. I am a young dancer, and I'd like to share a story that I am too afraid to share with anyone who will recognize it, so here I am anonymous. I have a specific memory in mind here. We were doing a photoshoot for a show that was coming up. I was very excited because although I had done some small photoshoots before, it was always exciting. An artist specializing in clothing had come, and he chose a few adults (we were working with a company of adult dancers that we knew) and one girl from our company to dress up, and then the rest of us were in our costumes for the show. He picked Avery to wear his garment, and I don't blame him. Avery was probably the best dancer in our company, and she was very pretty. She was often picked for promo images and lead roles. That, I don't have a problem with. There is a difference between favoritism and just being able to recognize talent and beauty. No, my problem is with what happened next. So, we were shooting pictures, the photographer was a bit intimidating, but it was fine. Our teacher was positioning people and then the photographer tweaked our movements as we went. Then, when they decided to go for another angle, something happened. Our teacher was positioning people around but left out about around five of us. Now, we five were not popular in the company. Not for being mean or incredibly bad, but we just didn't… stand out. So, when asked what we should do, our teacher said: “just go stand out of frame, this photo is pretty full of people already (to be fair, there were quite a lot of people), and this will only take a minute, and then you'll be back in!” Okay! We were happy to do so. So we went into the shade, happy to get some break from the sweltering sun. time passed. Five minutes. Ten. twenty. They hadn't called us back into the frame yet, so we just sat and waited. Then they started re-arranging people again. But they didn't notice us. Eventually, we realized that if we didn't say anything, we might be forgotten. Mind you that we weren't out of sight, just in the background. So I raised my voice and asked if we could be in yet. Our teacher was surprised, like she had forgotten we were there. She put us back in, but it still hurt. Getting to see the same four or five people get chosen to be in the spotlight again and again, while we five were continuously forgotten? I tried to act like it was fine, but it stung. It really stung.
“And...Aster, you're up!" I shakily drew in a breath and bent down to check if my en pointe shoes were tied. Why did the air suddenly seem so cold? Why were chills running up my spine? And why, out of all things, was I scared? It's gonna be alright, I assured myself. My brain believed it, but my heart didn't. It beat fast, as if it was saying, "Oh, I'm not sure..." My friend Wonder's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Pssst. Aster, go on," She nudged me with her elbow. "You can do this!" Wonder's sunny, smiling face encouraged me, but didn't do much to move my fears. "I can't do it." "What?" Wonder's face fell. "I just can't. I'm too scared." "But you can do it!" Wonder protested. "Then how do I do it?" "Just face your fears." * * * The first time my mother told me to try ballet, I was really skeptical. Ballet? Really? With music that goes, dodo-do-do? Nope, not for me. Then, she MADE me try it, which I complained about for a long time. She pushed me into our custom-made Porsche car and said, "You can't think that ballet is terrible before you've even tried it." Sigh. Grown-ups. "I still think ballet is a waste of time and torrible." I declared with a matter-of-fact look on my face, staring at her through the rear view mirror with my brown eyes. "Oh, Aster," murmured Mum. "Using words you've made up." I did make up words if there wasn't a good enough word in Merriam Webster's dictionary. Terrible and horrible both sounded the same and meant the same thing, so I decided to merge them to create, "Torrible". It's a word that's twice as strong than your ordinary negative adjective. Once we got to the ballet studio, I crossed my arms to make myself seem like I meant business and didn't want to be there. "Welcome!" cried a bright-eyed woman. "I'm Madame Natalia!" She had her hazel hair in a tight bun and was wearing a black leotard paired with white tights and ballet shoes. "Please come inside!" I reluctantly entered the studio. It had glossy walls, wooden bars, and a huge mirror at the very front. I had thought that ballet was going to be boring. Boy, was I wrong. Ballet now seemed like it was part of everything in my life now. It was in my schedule, and I tried to do anything to please Madame Natalia. I was having so much fun doing pliés and tendus and pirouettes that I even forgot how I first felt like when I went to the studio! It was as if I couldn't feel that way about ballet anymore. Soon, three years had passed and I was a high-level fifteen year old. Madame Natalia had long gone; I now had a teacher named Madame Trance. Her name suited her. She looked as if she had been taking too many sleeping pills. Her blonde hair always seemed to float and her gray eyes were always dreamy as if she were far, far away from the studio. One day Madame Trance said, “Aster, there's going to be a competition at the Lincoln Center Ballet Stage. Do you want to go for it?” My eyes grew wide. A competition? For real?“YES!” I shouted, jumping up and down. Madame looked at me disapprovingly and shook her head. “What's wrong Madame?” I asked, cocking my head, settling down again. “Oh, dear. The people downstairs will complain again.” I grinned sheepishly, embarrassed. * * * So here I was, at Lincoln Center making a fool out of myself. My brain had already confirmed that I couldn't bring myself to dance on the ballet stage. I had looked down at my feet and moped. Then, Wonder had given me one of the best pieces of advice that I had ever heard in my life: "Face your fears". I looked up. Wonder nodded. I thought about spiders. Poison. War. Stage fright, and another gazillion things that I never knew that I was afraid of. "If you're ever gonna do something in life," soothed Wonder, bring me back into the present, "If you're ever gonna try something new, you have to go face-to-face with whatever you're afraid of." She stared at me so intently that I snickered."Wow!" I laughed. "You sound just like a teacher!" "Thank you."Wonder giggled. "Number 26, are you coming? I repeat, number 26, are you coming?" I inhaled deeply and stepped forward. I put on my best calm face. It didn't matter which place I came in. All that mattered was that I had faced my fears.
Hello. I am Azka. I am a homemaker having a caring husband with two beautiful kids. I am a graduate in Bachelors of Sciences in Computer science. Did three months of internship. Started work on some online business platform. My hobbies include reading online novels, dance on music for excercising. Loved to write since I was 17. Didn't wrote continuously though but wrote bit by bit. Mostly wrote on a private online diary. I would like to earn online from doing what I always wanted to do ie from reading or from writing. I am easy going friendly person. People love to accompany me. I am also a good secret keeper. I am happy with my love life and living. I'M Me the only unique one in my own way.
The Living “I'm so stiff,” cried the corpse, “I'm dying to dance again.” And there he rose, hopping off the autopsy table to do a pirouette on the pristine tiles of the room. He twirled and twisted in perfect synchrony to imaginary music, jumping and turning with such conviction that the coroner nearly heard that same music the dead was dancing to. He moved around the room, avoiding each object with such precision that the amazed onlooker couldn't help but wonder if this man had ever been there before. The coroner never got any company – only the dead came to visit him. He stared, amazed at the newly exhumed corpse jumping across the room in a perfect brisé. The dancer became akin to a top spinning out of balance, coiling around in some hidden rage before reaching a crescendo with a sweep of his hand. He moved into what looked like the final position, right leg outstretched, tracing a circle around him with his arms spread far behind, face wistful as he looked up past the ceiling. Spellbound, the coroner couldn't but clap at what had played in front of him. He had never been too much of a fan of the performing arts but to deny the dance proper appreciation would be a sin, even if it was to music he can't hear. The beauty of his form, his harmony, the sincerity of his expression; it was all utter perfection. The undead dancer gave a low bow to the coroner, a humble thank you coming from his lips. As he did so, the stunned man was reminded of something he'd read a long, long time ago. “And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music,” he whispered, eyes wide. “Nietzsche,” the other nodded, pale as death but looking more alive than ever. He reached his right hand towards the still man. “Now, dance with me.” The coroner, entranced, put a hesitant hand on his. A gasp escaped his lips as their skin touched. “It's cold.” + The Dead If the corpse heard, he didn't show it as he wrapped his left arm around the living one. He hummed in approval as the other put his hand on his shoulder. The beat of the other's heart was intoxicating to his ears; the breath on his lips, the blood running through his veins. It had been so long since he'd last been alive that all he could do was admire the essence of life in his arms. He loved how it brought him on the cliff of ecstasy; dangling off the edge, so close to falling into intense, never ending pleasure. Infatuated he was with life – no – he daresay lusted for it. He lusted to feel life in his hands, in his control, doing as he desired. He waltzed the living man across the room, carefully avoiding the chairs and tables and gently twirling him around, making the other lose balance slightly just for the dead to catch him in his cold embrace once more. The unlikely pair did this again and again, their delicate stepping and turning becoming something more aggressive; they pushed and they pulled, their turns sharpening. The corpse shoved the coroner on to the autopsy table he came from, pushing him down on the cold metal. “You are mine now.” This shook the living man out of his enchanted stupor, and he writhed and kicked, trying to escape from the cold, rigid grip of death. “No,” the dancer tutted condescendingly; a reasoning mother to an irascible child. “That is not how you are to behave.” From the side table he produced a scalpel, blemish-free and all but gleaming in the harsh light. An unsettling thought came about the coroner. I had just finished sharpening my tools.
I met Lyrical when I was 2 years old. She was, and is, very special to me. The first time I held her hand, she spun me. When I was 9, Lyrical leaped away and that was disheartening, nevertheless, I found ways to follow her. She moved from town to town, but I always managed to keep in touch. I could dance with her even if it was a long journey to meet her. For some reason, she was aloof, waltzing from place to place -sometimes close, sometimes far. She required me to do more; stretch myself, comit, and not just be a friend to play with once or twice a week. Her companionship became costly, however, I always found ways to be with her. She was pushy. Twice a week became everyday and one hour sessions became four. I was spinning like the first time, but now out of control. Careening, wheeling, spiraling - Inside turns. Outside turns. I needed to learn balance. Finally, I found my center, landing in a new position. I worked harder and spent time with her. We would not always get along. She would often break my heart. I would bend to her whim then snap at her command, the shift making my body ache. But I loved it. The thrill of another day with it. I loved it most in high school where I directed my will to the discipline of technique. In the process, I was introduced to even more friends that knew her as I did. Challenging. Formidable. Intimidating. Even though this relationship has demanded much from me, it has always been my inspiration. Lyrical is ballet. She is jazz. She is Contemporary. She is tap. She is dance. She is it. Dance is my art form. It is the expression of my creativity through my body. It is the showcasing of emotions in ways words fail to convey. My everyday struggles are diminished while spinning, leaping, and jumping. And my life continues to be enriched because of it.
I spent the majority of my childhood watching my parents perform in front of large, roaring crowds. In Ethiopia, my parents were two of the most famous dancers who performed dances from all the native cultures in our country. When they made their way to the stage, their presence excited thousands. Although they were two different people, they danced as if they were one. Their dance moves seemed so magical; every step and turn was precise and had a meaning. My mother floated in the air, twisted, turned, and landed between my father's arms. The crowd would cheer and chant their names, and my parents became my idols. Nothing made me happier than watching them on stage and seeing people appreciate their hard work. These moments of watching them from a crowd solidified my desire to be a performer, just like my parents. I first shared my passion for dancing with my father when I was seven years old; I walked purposefully out of my bedroom to tell him that I wanted to be included in an important part of his and my mother's life. He was ecstatic as he proclaimed it to my mother who in turn was in disbelief but felt honored. They both hugged me so tightly, I could feel my tiny arms push against my rib cage. Two weeks later, my parents started taking me to their studio for dance lessons, where we danced for hours on end until my body gave out. They strongly believe that practice makes perfect and the earlier I started practicing, the better performer I was going to become. Every step I made counted. I had a goal in mind, and nothing could stop me from being amazing. My skills were clearly hereditary. I got every stance, pivot, and move correctly within weeks. As I danced my little heart out religiously every day, I saw how my parents admired my dedication. After three years of long and arduous lessons, they finally agreed to let me perform on stage with them. When they told me, I broke out in tears. I was overwhelmed by the emotion that I was finally going to perform before an audience and make my parents proud. Amid bright lights, rolling cameras, and chanting crowds, I was observing my parents in the middle of their performance when my father called me from backstage to do my routine. The night that I prepared for for years had finally come. When it was time for me to dance, though, I forgot all the moves. I stood still as I stared at the enormous crowd. My body started to shiver as the back of my ears got warmer and the tip of my fingers started to throb. The deafening speakers quickened the pace of my heart. After what had felt like millennia, I ran off the stage. I looked back at my parents; a hint of sorrow and pity was displayed on their faces. My body had failed me. For years this night has made me question if I will ever be a true performer. That night was the last time I was on stage as a performer, but it was not the last time I danced. Although I realized early that my stage fright hindered me from showcasing my talent to the crowds, this obstacle has made me more appreciative of my gift to communicate without using any words. Dancing is a secret language. It's a passion and an adventure. It's my quest for perfection and desire to portray a message through my routine. For a long time, my stage fright caused me to doubt myself, but now I realize that this weakness doesn't make my abilities any less meaningful.
Annika Thompson 2/22/19 The stage is set. The elegant tufts of tulle on the metal hangers flutter with the bustle of backstage preparation. The house is silent, but only for a moment, as eager theatre patrons gather outside its doors, lining the gold-tipped velvet ropes that accompany its entrances. The scene beneath the stage is chaotic, and the crisp, strong smell of hairspray has settled in the air. Many a performer are running about, tying bows made from pink ribbon and adjusting crystalline headpieces so they will sparkle just right when they catch the magnificent stage lights. Last-minute concerns about that tricky set of turns arise, but the doubts are brushed aside as a loving partner reinstills confidence with reassuring words. The chaos turns into chaotic serenity as the minute details of performance preparation are all accounted for. The performers of the opening act take their places on the slightly scuffed black stage and in the wings behind the grand black curtains. The air is filled with a heavy silence, as the theatre patrons have taken their seats and are anxiously awaiting the arrival of the orchestra's first notes. The excitement floating about the stage is compelling and powerful, but the performers must not move a muscle until the right moment. Months of intense preparation have led to that moment. The lights finally flick on, and the exquisite music begins. This is the right moment. This is ballet. The world inside the theatre during a ballet is a different world from that outside the theatre's doors. This ballet world is far away, and is not of an earthly kind. Magic occurs through the fluid motions of a ballerina's body. A story is being told without words, and there are no limitations in this faraway place. The ballerinas are bringing their audience along with them in the journey they are performing. The audience is transported to another dimension in which fairytales are reality and time is not an element. Every emotion displayed by the performers are another part of the story, so one must not look away so as to not miss a single moment of it. Words do not belong in this magical world within the dark theatre, only music, motion and facial expressions so powerful that words are not missed. A ballet is a breath of fresh air, a release from the bounds of real life, even if only for a short period of time on a Saturday evening. It does not matter what is going on outside the theatre's doors when a ballet is being performed on its stage; the captivating, breathtaking performance is enough to make it all stop being important for a while. A ballet becomes moments shared between the performers and their audience. A bond, even if only temporary, is formed between these two parties throughout the course of the story, the journey. This bond is part of the magic of ballet as well. There is nothing else in the world that can foster a bond quite like this one. The moments of a ballet are meant to be cherished by both the performers and the audience. For a ballerina, performing in a ballet is their chance to share their most treasured passion with whomever is longing to see a good story, and for the audience member, attending a ballet provides them with the opportunity to step away from life and see a good story. There are no bounds when it comes to ballet; there is only magic, and chaotic serenity.
As I motioned to my class to gather around me in our room at the El Camino YMCA, fifteen tiny dancers in fluffy pink tutus huddled into a tight circle. “Okay, girls,” I said happily. “I have a secret to tell you!” Gluing their little four- and five-year-old shoulders side by side, faces brightly smiling, they waited in anticipation for my top-secret announcement. Usually my proclamations come with a sucker or some other treat for a job well done. But today's surprise, in my opinion, was extra special. “What's the secret?” I heard in unison, their precious faces close to mine. But just as I was about to unveil my news, one little munchkin by the name of Bebe, with her all-knowing eyes, jumped up and down and shouted, “I know what it is!” “You do?” I giggled. I was sure she had no clue, for secrets are always my forte. “Yep!” she beamed, her nose now against mine. “The secret is you love us!” For a moment, the room stood still, and my heart began to swell. The innocence of her insight was not only precious, but she was spot on with what I was about to say. “You're right!” I shouted, patting her cheek. “That's the secret! I love all of you! And don't you ever forget it.” As the joy only children find in the simplest of moments grew, they gathered even closer for a group hug before running off to their mommies waiting to take them home. And I was left with a precious memory to warm my soul. Long ago, I read the book The Secret, which is based on the idea that abundance arrives from the law of attraction—what we think, we attract. Our minds are magnets for all that is good and all that's bad. Looking for ways to appreciate the gifts that come with each day, I've read everything on this subject to keep me on the path to my life's riches. But in that moment of pure childish innocence, I realized I just discovered the foundation for the true law of attraction. While it's nice to think we can control the outcome of our lives with just our minds, the reality is our poor little brains get sidetracked with fear, expectation, and disappointment. Staying positive is a beautiful concept, but it can also be exhausting when the return appears to take forever. There will always be pain, sorrow, and dark days. It's just how life goes. When we fall down that rabbit hole of woe-is-me, remaining optimistic feels like a losing battle, and negativity creeps back in discoloring everything, even the possible good. Gathering angel Bebe into my arms to congratulate her on knowing my secret, I saw that the abundance in my life might not come from my brain working overtime to stay positive, but from the life source beating within—my heart. When I become brave enough to give my love openly, without expectations, the return is always overwhelming because I've allowed myself to communicate on the most intimate of levels. Just after releasing the babies to their families, another whimsical cherub named Nora ran back with her four-year-old enthusiasm and whispered, “Can I tell Mommy the secret?” Cupping her sweet face into my hands, I kissed her cheek and answered, “Yes, you can tell anyone you want. In fact, you can tell the world.” For love, in my opinion, is the key to true happiness, fulfillment, and ultimately abundance. When you love openly, your life can't help but flow positively, and that should never be kept a secret.
One of the things I have always told myself is that I am not just one thing. I feel like in this society, we as people tend to put labels on people, condensing them into these tiny boxes. I never liked that, I never understood it because we are constantly changing, constantly learning things about ourselves. It is human to evolve. We are a universe of secrets. I am more than one thing. But with that being said...I do like to label myself as an artist. I was undoubtedly created to create. That is my life motto and I will keep it until the day I die. Whether it's filming, dancing, writing stories and poetry, drawing, or taking pictures, I am always creating. I do not think I could ever stop. But unfortunately, there was a moment in my life where I did not create. I wanted to be a marine biologist actually. I loved animals, especially marine animals. I still love animals but when my sister and my nephew disappeared from my life, that wanting of being a marine biologist went away. I blamed myself. They are deaf while the rest of my family is hearing, which meant that the relationships they had with us were not the same as their deaf community. It was a toxic situation and my family wanted to get them out but my sister did not feel heard. She felt babied and she felt like we did not understand her. And she was right, I never really took the time to learn the language. I did not have as strong of a connection with her as I should have had and I blamed myself wholeheartedly for it. I thought that maybe if I had took the time to get to know her as a person through her language, maybe that could have made all the difference. I have never felt so worthless in a situation. I felt so empty. We got her and my nephew back but, it still bothered me. So down I went into this deep well of emotions that I did not understand at the time. I could not find any thing to hold onto. It was dark, haunting, and echoed all of the nasty words that ran through my head. I was alone. Until I found a pen. With that pen, I wrote what I felt. With that pen, I drew monsters, heroes, villains, whatever I wanted. All of those emotions were tumbling out of me in a way that helped me heal. It had its ups and downs. At one point, writing and drawing weren't enough. I still felt this ache in my stomach. I wanted it to go away so I started moving my body. I started teaching myself how to dance. I gravitated towards hip hop because it was harsh but fluid. It was hard hitting and a release of anger, sadness, and fear. It was like this dragon was sleeping inside of me for years until finally, it woke up and breathed this spark of passion within me. I kept it hidden for a while, especially in high school. It was my little secret. I wasn't the loudest kid. That's when the label “loner” became to be the word to describe me. But I kept my head down, made good grades, stayed close to my two best friends, created my art, and tried to be the perfect little Christian girl all of my teachers asked for. At my parochial school, I realized two things. You did not matter unless you were outgoing and played sports. And if you didn't sit back and listen to what they told you, you were an outsider. We were told what was right and wrong, not how to think for ourselves. We were not meant to question religion, just accept. I hated it deep down, but I did what I was told. I didn't think my school was too bad, but when a gay male was kicked out for posting videos on YouTube about his sexuality, my feelings about my school changed. From then on, my eyes were opened. I saw the misogyny, xenophobia, racism, and prejudice all too well. But I kept my head down, those empty feelings came back and so I created. I ended up directing my own play, which was the light at the end of the tunnel. I was almost…happy. Then all of sudden, it was time for me to go to college. I was asked to choose which art style I wanted to succeed in. I did not want to choose. I wanted to succeed in all. That is when I found the camera. I realized that you could captured anything in a camera. I could tell stories in a camera. I could dance in front of the camera and create characters that fought the bad guys. I could use all of the skills I had and in return create something bigger than I ever could have imagined. So now, I am in college. I met some good people, I am creating, and I will continue to create. But I am not yet completely happy. I will not be happy until I make my own production company with shows talking about representation of all races, genders, sexualities, and mental illnesses in a positive, entertaining, and educational way. That is my goal. Until then, I will keep learning about my craft and evolving as a person. And learn ASL along the way. You know, I used to hate the color yellow, but Van Gogh showed me its potential. To me, it has become a color that represents a sad, hopeful kind of happiness. I am still so far from being who I want to be, but I will get there with time. I will.
A shadow is a dark shape produced when a body is between rays of light and a surface. More than often, "shadow" is used to describe negativity, causing many people to think of shadows in a pessimistic view. However, today, I'm going to prove you all wrong. A shadow follows their owner around, it's a companion you can never get rid of. Even in a dark environment, it stays with you, even if you can't see it. Your shadow imitates your every action. It knows what you've done. It knows all the good things you had done. It knows all the bad things you had done. You shadow has seen the worse side of you, but yet it never leaves your side. It accepts you, and continuously follows what you do. That's how it shows its support. A shadow may seem natural, people may not pay it much attention, but its always there. It's always there to remind us that we're never alone, because we'll always have our shadow. Our twin, and our companion for life.
This aspiring novelist, writing enthusiast and food blogger was born on July 16, 1968, in Flint Michigan. Her musical talents began at a very young age. She began singing in church at the age of 7 and had the violin mastered by the age of twelve. Then, before she knew it, she was whisked away with her family, to sunny Florida to live. She was a middle child who grew up and spent her teenage years on the boardwalk of Daytona Beach. She attended a private Christian academy where she was active in cheerleading, dancing, journalism, and swimming. After high school, she decided her horizons needed broadening. She attended college in Michigan and obtained her degree with a major in Business. Then she got a job and wore black pumps to work every day. She had lunch with the girls, drank coffee every day, wore suits to work, and treated herself to manicures on a monthly basis. She became a top seller in lead sales in her division and overall ranked #13 in the United States as the top seller in her field. She was given a bonus, a promotion, and a lovely spa package. She was managing to raise four children as a full- time mom. Her children were all teenagers by this time. She was working many hours overtime, parent-teacher meetings, homework, school plays, science projects, and after-school activities. She was that one woman trying to achieve it all and trying not to allow her kids to feel left behind. One morning, she woke up for work and found her thirteen-year-old son half dead, slumped over on the living-room sofa. She had him rushed to the emergency room. It turned out that he happened to be sick and needed hospitalization for several months. He would need after-care treatment once he returned home. After very little thought about her decision, while her son was in intensive care, she went to her work and turned in her keys and resigned. She felt deep in her heart that her son needed her. She belonged at home with her son. Financially they were fine. She had her savings, 401K, and bonuses she managed to save. Her son remained her only concern. A year passes by, and her son became strong and healthy. They all started going to their local church not far from their home. She became a Sunday School teacher. She also started singing in the adult choir and played her violin. She began teaching at a girl's club in the church and she also taught at the Christian camp every summer. She was scheduled to sing a solo one night. She waited to be called up to the stage. Once announced to the stage, she briefly told her testimony. She glanced around the room and noticed people whispered to one another. They pointed at her. It made her feel awkward, but she continued with her song. They graciously applauded and she took her seat. After she had taken her seat, she felt someone rub her shoulder, and she turned around. Nobody was there. Then, something caught the corner of her eye. Laying draped across her shoulder. She gasped. Her hairpiece that was attached to her ponytail had fallen off. It had fallen across her shoulder. Her face started to turn beet red, and she started to sink down into her seat. She could see the people that sat around her with their pitiful smiles, It made her feel more embarrassed. She had to find her escape route immediately. She excused herself. She took her children and herself at home. She didn't return back to church for a couple weeks. Unexpectedly, she met and fell in love with a southern gentleman. He lived in Alabama. Now she lives in the country in Northern Michigan. Her days are spent working in the garden, planting flowers, cleaning the dirt out from under her fingernails and making gravy. They have a home that they purchased and are fixing up. They are renting out the guest house and are in the process of painting and redecorating. It is a chore but the process has been refreshing. It took a while for her to adjust to being without her children. It was the five of them for so long. She went through empty nest syndrome. She even cried and went through depression for a short time. However, she found writing as a way to escape. She would journal and also write in her food blog. She would also find refuge in her garden. I'm sure if her adolescent self could see her now she would cringe at how she traded in her idea of becoming an unmarried, without children, fashion designer in Paris, to a Business degree achiever, writing her first novel, completing an E-Book called “Comfort Foods for the Soul,” and falling in love with a better life. A life full of possibilities, a life much better for her.
I have been rallying around this topic about 2 weeks, as I was shocked and this heartbreak affected the whole world. I needed a pluck to write and pose what I have been going through. Exactly, this is very controversial and explicit problem of these days that do not need any innuendo. Unfortunately, the Olympic figure skating medalist Denis Ten was killed on Thursday. Ten was stabbed after a dispute with people who allegedly tried to steal a mirror from his car in his home city of Almaty. He was born in Kazakhstan to a family of Korean descent, Ten's bronze at the Winter Olympics in Sochi in 2014 made him Kazakhstan's first medalist in figure skating. He was industrious person. He found a way to realize real his ME even when there were no opportunity in our country to go skating, namely no an ice rink and a coach. His mother wanted him to be well-rounded person, that is way joined him to divergent after class rehearsals, such as dancing, music classes, karate, drawing and so on. His affection to music was inherited from his mother. At the early ages of his childhood, he did not realize in which sphere implement his dreams and find a harmony of his heart and soul. However, 1999 after the staking competition, he was completely sure about his direction. When he turned six, their family moved to Russia in pursuit to find a wide range of opportunities for further developments. There his hard work and belief into the bright future made him a first Kazakh ice skater who become a winner in Olympics. In last five years, he was in Unites states of America, where he trained and underwent arduous days his life, as in spite of the injury, and prohibition to go trainings, he continued to reinforce his will and courage. He was well-known person, his friend canadian skater Patrick Chan, who won silver in the same competition, said on Twitter he was “honored and grateful to have shared the ice” with Ten. “One of the most beautiful skaters to have graced our sport. My thoughts are with his family during this unimaginable time.” The whole country was shocked. “His shining achievements brought glory to our country and helped popularize sport among young people,” Kazakhstan President Nursultan Nazarbayev said. “Denis was not only an excellent athlete, whose talents was recognized and honored in many countries of the world, but also a remarkable personality and a true patriot of Kazakhstan.” Everybody wanted to give a hand, two countries were coalesced to organize a funeral. Whereas, there were too many cons that need to be said. I was disappointed with the action of the residents who attended the funeral of this consummate person. I guess that people lost their humanity. 1. Two people who tried to steal the mirror were so egoistic, by stabbing his leg several times to hide their action and personalities. 2. According to the Korean traditions it is essential to hand out a hanky and mini-burgers(bread) that is a kind of a part of burial. There were a mass of people who came and shared this misfortune. And Ten's mother was roaring with pain. So she give a way to women, who were standing there to finish the dispensation of needs. Whereas these people showed very ignominious behavior. Unfortunately, they decided to not to hand out things. I was really upset with them. 3. At the beginning of the ceremony Ten's mother prevented a auditory NOT TO TAKE PHOTOS AND SELPHONES. Again the mass decided to photograph and share in social networks. Mother of Denis was at a stalemate and dropped her eyes to this horribleness. I think this actions should be said not hide, and taken into account not to humiliate somebody, but to avoid them next time. In addition, try to show good qualities in every possible moments of this very short life until the Judgement day. Furthermore, he organized a huge ice show “Denis Ten and his friends”. Eventually, the whole money was invested into the charity. He loved teaching to what he knows and organized master classes with international coaches for Kazakh children with his own budget. All these deeds make him a MAN of great importance, who loves his country and puts a maximum effort to make it flourish. He was able to understand and feel the importance of happiness rather that the fleeting deceit of the life. He was aware that the care and attention is the best cure to everything, not the pleasure we try to reach and get. Owning to this he reached a peak in his life. That is way, everybody born as a MAN with no deed. And cry by letting down the drops of tear of happiness. whereas, die in the same way but with the weeping of others. Here could rise a question that DID THE PERSON DIE AS A MAN? DID THIS PERSON LIVED AS A MAN? Ten had a short, but meaningful life. HE WAS A MAN AND A DIED AS A MAN. By being optimistic and laborious person, he was able to leave a great hope after himself, that we could do our best and become a developed country.
Hello. My name is Jeyla Osmanova. I am 14 years old and study in the 9th grade. Today I'd like to talk about one of my interests. I used to play chess, do gymnastics, studied English, Spanish (there're not my native languages). And know I want to tell you about one of my main interests. There are a lot of types of dance in the world: hip hop, break dance, different folk dances, ballroom dances. My favorite type of dance is the last one. There are different types of Ballroom dances, such as cha-cha-cha, rumba, paso doble, samba, jive, tango and etc. Each style has its own origin. My favorite style is samba, rumba , tango and paso doble. Samba is Brazilian in origin and there are many different forms of Samba dancing developed in Brazil, some for couples, and others for individual- solo dancing. Samba is one of the most well-known Latin dances. Paso doble has both Spanish and French characteristics. The steps contain French terms, but the dance resembles the nature of the bullfight. It is known as one of the fastest Latin ballroom dances. In some versions, the man portrays matador in the dance and the woman portrays the bull. Rumba is not just a mere dance with steps and standard accompanying, it is a storytelling. Its movements show the flirtation, the teasing and the ultimate connection between two people in love . I have been going to ballroom dances since I was three years old and now I am a professional dancer. I have a lot of certificates and medal that I've got from competitions. I love dancing, the way couples move on the parquet, the way you feel yourself after training. I noticed that even if before the lessons I am tired, then after the lessons I feel myself very well , i feel exited , full of energy and want to train even more. Also dancing affects my mood. Previously, when I wasn't going to dances I was very nervous because of my study, but now even if I have a lot of homework to do I don't get nervous about it . I feel, that I am able to do whatever I want and I feel very calm and happy. In my opinion in dance no matter what type of dance is this you should believe your partner. Also I think when you have some kind of feeling for your partner, not exactly love, maybe just sympathy , then your dance becomes sensual. In my childhood, during the training I and my partner always were arguing, used to bite and scratch each other. But when we were on a competitions, forgetting about arguments, we supported and showed attention to each other to win the competition. For me one of the best things in dance is that I am always in form, no matter how much I eat, I am not getting fat. But unfortunately in my country ballroom dance are not developed very well. So, when I'll enter a university in another country, I'm going to find myself a dance partner and increase my professionalism .
Education is one of the main spheres in people's life. All that exists now and the current standard of living of mankind is achieved through education. If a person is educated, then a person can achieve everything he wants in this world. Nowadays, almost every child, boys and girls, go to school receive basic education. However, a lot of years ago goals of women were to find husband and have a well-groomed household. At that time, many women did not have the opportunity to get an education, the role of women in life was limited to home and family. Fortunately, in the late 1800s, women started going to college, and later they began to get higher education. After that, education dramatically changed the role of women in society. It is sad that the problem of the education of women has not been solved definitively because some countries continue to discriminate against girls' education. It turned out that the majority of girls who do not go to school live in some countries of Africa, in the south and west of Asia and in the Arab States. These girls face such problems as wars, violence, gender discrimination, early marriage and others. Women's education means change of the world. If women are educated, then their families will prosper. When families prosper, the people and the country will also prosper. In addition, in today's there are many research papers that show that the education of a woman will lead to positive consequences. Why should we focus on the education of women? CAI Co- founder Greg Mortenson answered in this way: “If you really want to empower societies, reduce poverty, improve health care and fight high rates of infant and maternal mortality, the answer is to educate girls”. Children of an educated woman are also educated. An African proverb says, “If we educate a boy, we educate one person. If we educate a girl, we educate a family – and a whole nation.” If a woman went to school and university, she will send her children to a good university and give a high-quality education. Thus, in our society will be a lot of educated people. According to many investing in the education of women, we invest in the nation. An educated woman can succeed in the political sphere and benefit her country. It is more likely that educated women will participate in political discussions and make good decisions because in today's days there are many prominent women politicians who benefit to their country. Studies show that the government and other institutions where women work function better and with less corruption. Thus, an educated woman can succeed in political activity even better than men. Women receiving education prevent the explosion of the population and raise the standard of living. In many countries where uneducated women live, many children are born and they are not provided with a good standard of living. According to UNESCO, educated women had an average of two or three children, they could provide a normal standard of living and educate their children. On the contrary, uneducated women had an average of six children and could not provide and send to school. That's how a woman's education affects the population and the standard of living. Education of women prevents early marriage. As we know, in some countries girls are married early. These girls still do not know anything, they do not get an education and they do not know how to treat children because they are children themselves. Thus, they have a number of other problems. In most cases, such phenomena occur because children and their parents are not educated. Educated girls usually marry later, when they are better able to take care of themselves, about the family and about their children. For all these reasons, the education of women is necessary. As we have said, education is one of the main factors in a person's life. Everyone has the right to receive education, regardless of the sex of the person. Girls have the same hopes and dreams as boys. Women also want to study, they want to work, they want to help their country. In addition, the education of women plays a very important role in the formation of the family, society, people and the country. For all these reasons, every person in this world must understand what an enormous power and power the educated woman has.