ballerina chronicles:

This greedy, capitalistic world holds absolutely no space for creatives. We live in a world that values art only to a certain extent. In society's eyes, even in the 21st century, the only artists that deserve to be celebrated are those who have already made it. The world takes little interest in underdogs, like me. 

I was exposed to the arts at the age of 5. And I've clung to it ever since. I started with dancing. My mother enrolled me in a ballet class at the same studio where my Auntie was getting her training. This was after my family moved out of the hood and into the suburbs. My parents grew up in the grits of Los Angeles in the 70s. Surrounded by rough neighborhoods with crime, gun violence, and poverty. It was extremely important to my mom that her children grew up in a safer environment. So, after my twin sisters were born, we moved out of the inner city. 

Growing up in the suburbs had its perks. It was a blessing to be able to be raised in a space that was (seemingly) nice and safe. We lived in a two-story, four-bedroom house with a spacious backyard, a well-kept front lawn, and a respectful community of neighbors. I'll never forget our address; 1234 Dolphin Drive. Our play cousins lived one house down from us and we would play outside with them, all day until the street lights would come on. I felt safe and secure in my immediate bubble. It wasn't until I stepped out into the real world that I'd lose pieces of myself. 

The suburbs consisted of predominantly white institutions leaving me, a lot of the time, being the only Afro-Latina present. I don't remember it being much of a problem in the public school setting, but in dance class, I was always the only Black girl.

The first dance teacher I ever had was a white woman. Her name was Miss. Ashley and I was the only student in her class, at the time. When I got older, my mom told me that when I first started dance classes, she was worried because I didn't pick it up right away. She told me about the conversations she had with Miss. Ashley about my progression in class. Miss. Ashley reassured my mom that I would be fine. She saw great potential in me and told my mom to keep me in dance. And that's exactly what she did. 

By the grace of my mother, I spent all of my developmental years dancing my heart out. It became impossible to keep me away from it. Dance became an important part of my identity. I felt lost without it. If I wasn't at school, I was at dance training. Working hard and doing my absolute best to assimilate. But obviously, I knew I was different than the other girls.

The majority of them were white with straight hair. And I, on the other hand, stood out like a sore thumb. Having chocolate-colored skin and a curly afro, I couldn't relate to the other girls, hair or otherwise. They never seemed to have trouble throwing their hair in a bun for ballet class last minute and their tights always matched their skin effortlessly. Little me would have died to have had it that easy.