Kandi Grey, Grade 12
UWCSA (Waterford)
In one of my classes, I remember being told that there is a difference between a place and an area of space. Space is the location, and it only becomes a place when people interact with it. So there is a space on campus, it's in the Creative Center for Dramatic Learning (the Music and Drama Building or CCLD as we students like to call it). There are two parts to the building, downstairs, which is where the music rooms are. And upstairs, where there is a dance studio. This is a space that has a firm place in my heart.
The dance studio above looks like one that you see in the movies. There are windows along one side, the full-length mirror on the adjacent wall. The pale golden floor boards, the ones that I've slipped over a million times with socks on my feet. Light pours in during the afternoon as the sun slowly sinks down behind the hills that overlook the school, the large windows looking out onto the sports field. The CCLD is a multi-purpose room, and it's not just used for dancing. It's a place where I had my first tango lesson. And it's the place where I've said goodbye to some of my closest friends. Lessons are held there; meetings, events, art happens in there. And I'm happy to say that I have been a part of it for seven years.
It's a place that I had my first drama lesson in when I was thirteen—mastering my stutter, slowing my thoughts long enough to focus on my lines for the short plays we did in class. I may no longer do Drama as a subject, but I have had auditions for plays and inter-house improvisation on those floors. There's the echoing sound of laughter as a friend fires off a brilliant scene.
My first tango lessons when I was fourteen, learning how to glide, socks making me skid, and trip over my feet. It's a skill I still maintain, though I can now glide in dance heels as well. Two years after my first tango, I joined in Latin American dance, and I learned to salsa in front of that all-seeing mirror. I've watched my posture change, the smiles dancing across my friend's faces as we perfect a move.
I was fifteen, with hours upon hours spent perfecting photographs, videos, and rehearsals. It was the room I mastered walking in stiletto heels and long skirts before the annual Evening of Dance, where I learned how to be comfortable being dipped by my dance partner.
It was the room I was in when I was sixteen, right before the Form Five graduation ceremony. The room I sat in, green graduation gown flowing down to my heels, as I really contemplated my future. The room I hugged friends goodbye who didn't come with me to the IB program.
Seventeen, new to IB, and the morning light greets me as I enter into a yoga class at six am. Breathing through the tangles of my limbs, the voice of the instructor focusing my attention on the moves rather than the academics. It was no longer just an area of space where I had learned different ways to walk, to talk, to dance. It had become a place where I learned to breathe.
There's a quiet that settles over me in that room, it's remained the same over the years, whereas I have changed. It's something that has been constant, no matter the experiences that have made that space into a place for me.
The dance studio above looks like one that you see in the movies. There are windows along one side, the full-length mirror on the adjacent wall. The pale golden floor boards, the ones that I've slipped over a million times with socks on my feet. Light pours in during the afternoon as the sun slowly sinks down behind the hills that overlook the school, the large windows looking out onto the sports field. The CCLD is a multi-purpose room, and it's not just used for dancing. It's a place where I had my first tango lesson. And it's the place where I've said goodbye to some of my closest friends. Lessons are held there; meetings, events, art happens in there. And I'm happy to say that I have been a part of it for seven years.
It's a place that I had my first drama lesson in when I was thirteen—mastering my stutter, slowing my thoughts long enough to focus on my lines for the short plays we did in class. I may no longer do Drama as a subject, but I have had auditions for plays and inter-house improvisation on those floors. There's the echoing sound of laughter as a friend fires off a brilliant scene.
My first tango lessons when I was fourteen, learning how to glide, socks making me skid, and trip over my feet. It's a skill I still maintain, though I can now glide in dance heels as well. Two years after my first tango, I joined in Latin American dance, and I learned to salsa in front of that all-seeing mirror. I've watched my posture change, the smiles dancing across my friend's faces as we perfect a move.
I was fifteen, with hours upon hours spent perfecting photographs, videos, and rehearsals. It was the room I mastered walking in stiletto heels and long skirts before the annual Evening of Dance, where I learned how to be comfortable being dipped by my dance partner.
It was the room I was in when I was sixteen, right before the Form Five graduation ceremony. The room I sat in, green graduation gown flowing down to my heels, as I really contemplated my future. The room I hugged friends goodbye who didn't come with me to the IB program.
Seventeen, new to IB, and the morning light greets me as I enter into a yoga class at six am. Breathing through the tangles of my limbs, the voice of the instructor focusing my attention on the moves rather than the academics. It was no longer just an area of space where I had learned different ways to walk, to talk, to dance. It had become a place where I learned to breathe.
There's a quiet that settles over me in that room, it's remained the same over the years, whereas I have changed. It's something that has been constant, no matter the experiences that have made that space into a place for me.
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