Ownership. Hurt. Love.

I did something silly today. I missed dance class. Just cuz she said “What are you doing here? Your application has not been approved yet. I told you I’ll call you.” Well, no, she didn’t — tell me that or call me.

It’s my class dammit! I’ve been coming here for the past 6 months. Even when I’m not in the studio, I’m still at the studio. Unless I really make an effort, my life goes only from Tuesday to Friday to Sunday, and I have barely any recollection of what I did on the days in between cause I’m living on dance-time. It doesn’t matter how bad things are; it doesn’t matter that I have barely no cash; that I wanted to make a career out of something I was told I’m not good at; that there’s absolutely nothing that would make me WANT to miss class — nothing. And she stands right at the door, doesn’t let me come in — ‘cuz they weren’t able to open my .docx application — as if I’m going to violate the sacred protocol by stepping into the studio.

I respect protocol. There has to be a method for managing things, and some rules and regulations have to be in place. What upset me was her first sentence. “How did you come?”. like I’m some fucking stranger on the road who’s trying to milk the academy of all the free classes she can get. Had I not submitted the application, I would have understood that I’m not allowed to attend class. But I submitted the application. She knew what was written in it. I asked her if getting a seat in that batch (that’s what my application is about) would be difficult. She said it would happen. So I’m thinking the application is a formality — a formal document they can use. They didn’t inform me they couldn’t open it. I have paid my fees for the classes I’m attending/asking permission to attend. They still need an application. I don’t understand the logic entirely, so I dont understand what purpose my application serves, but if it’s protocol, I’ll adhere to it. I’m no one to tell them how to run their things. But darn it, after all this, after knowing the issue, after I’ve done what I’m supposed to do, I still can’t attend class because they couldn’t open the file and it hasn’t been approved yet.

And then she makes calls and ‘tries’ to get me side-permission to take class. An exception for me since I came ALL THE WAY. I didn’t ask for a favour. If I had wanted that, I would have walked into class with that application in my hand and asked her to ‘adjust’. No, I follow rules. So I don’t want to attend class today. I will write that application again, since there is no point in sending a file they cannot open again. And when it has been approved by everyone, I will attend class. That’s what I did.

I felt like shit. Standing outside my studio, my class. Yes, mine. It’s not just a studio, you know. And it’s not just a class. It’s this place, that’s mine. And to have her ask me what I’m doing there. Oh god, how that hurt. How. After I gave her the application, she said Oh, but I told you you could attend class. (She actually told me “Take a pen and paper and write an application now and then you can attend class” while she was on the phone with someone at the office) Thanks, but I’d already made up my mind. You see, I’m a stubborn bitch. I will do things entirely your way. I made up my mind with the first sentence that came out of your mouth.

No, I don’t blame her. She can do what she has to and say what she wants to. She isn’t responsible for how I feel. That is a fact. But I felt like shit. That’s also a fact. There’s no causal relationship here. Simple facts.

And this is not supposed to be that kind of a place. This is not a place where you’re not allowed in 5 mins early or allowed to stay back five minutes late. This is a place where I can ask my teacher not to play a song just cause I broke up with my boyfriend and this song reminds me of him. This is a place where my teacher will sit at 10 in the night on a footpath and hold me while I cry buckets over some silly shit. God, how i love it. I don’t think I really knew before today.


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