My mother never let me take ballet as a child. I had watched countless videos of ballerinas on stage doing grand jetes and pirouettes, entrancing the audience. My mother was a ballerina herself which was an irony, since she forbid her daughter to do anything related to the dance. She had always said that it was because she had experienced the hardships of a ballerina firsthand and felt that she didn’t want her daughter to keep up with the tight schedules that a ballet dancer had to cope with.

I loved it though. I loved it more than anything. I loved the graceful yet powerful moves that the ballerinas had, the dainty expressions as if they had not a care in the world. I secretly practiced ballet in the comforts of my room while mother was out working or buying groceries. Having no siblings to tell on me, I had privacy when I was alone at home. Every day after school without fail, even if I had piles of homework that my teachers had given, I would dance. I would dance to release the stress that the world had put on my shoulders – at least that was what I felt it was like.

Then my mother found out. She had come home early and I hadn’t heard the door closing or the car being parked. I was too engrossed in dancing that even when she stomped up the stairs of my house, I hadn’t noticed. I was reprimanded, of course. My parents never failed to find fault in everything I did. She shouted and screamed about me defying her orders and for not listening to her. I didn’t understand though. I didn’t understand why she would forbid me to do what I liked, what I had a passion for. I was 12, at that time. I was beginning to grow up and beginning to see the world for what I really was. I started to see how unreasonable my parents were being.

I was childish. So I left.

I’ll admit I was foolish. Foolish enough to think that I would be able to find a place to stay. My mother’s parents had passed on long time ago and my father’s parents loathed my mother and me. I had no friends in school since I kept on moving from place to place and never got to settle down anywhere for over a year. Maybe that was another reason why I couldn’t find solace anywhere around the area. I was new. It made sense. I should never have ran away from home, but I couldn’t turn back now, not unless I wanted to be beaten or cursed at by my mother. I wandered along the deserted pathway, looking out for someone - anyone - around to tell me where I was. The sudden surge of regret and remorse coursed through my veins along with anxiousness.

What if I got kidnapped and never got to go back home? Panic struck me as I picked up my pace and frantically looked around for any sign of life. Much to my relief and surprise, there was a boy sitting on a wooden bench across from where I was standing. I ran up to the boy who had his earphone buds plugged into his ears with his eyes closed. He looked like he was content, something I thought I could never feel. I tapped his shoulder timidly, afraid to disrupt him yet I knew I had to talk to someone if I wanted to find a place to stay.

His eyes opened as I hopped to take a seat beside him. "Hi! I, uhm, I'm _____." I smiled hesitantly. His face remained expressionless. His right eyebrow cocked upwards, he clearly hadn't expected a person to appraoch him, much less start talking to him. "I'm Jongin." The sentence was short and curt but it made me elated. At least he acknowledged my presence despite me disrupting his supposed quiet time. I blinked at him, not knowing what to say anymore. It was awkward, to say the least and I didn't know how to continue the conversation.

As I said earlier, I had grown up with no siblings, no close cousins, no friends. It was expected that I had no experience whatsoever in conversing with others. I was socially awkward and I cursed inwardly at the little knowledge I had of making friends. "Why are you here?" I turned my head towards the voice, surprised. I hesitated again. Did I trust this person enough to tell my whole life story? No. But perhaps I felt a certain tug at my heartstrings and poured out everything before I could stop myself. It felt good, to be honest, to not restrain myself and to let everything go.

The boy sat there listening intently, and halfway, he removed his left earphone and turned off his mp3. I mentioned how lonely, restrained and disappointed I felt. It felt as if I was rambling but he was still listening and didn't seem like he was fazed by the amount of words I was pouring out. Jongin's back straightened when I uttered the word "ballet", which was unusual but I paid it no heed. Finishing off, I fiddled with my fingers and looked up at him.

"I know how it feels like," those were the words he muttered after I had stopped myself. "You do?" I was surprised, to say the least. This boy sitting in front of me looked like he was a rich boy, liked by everyone and envied by everyone. He seemed like the type to be a socialite, not an outcast like me, which was also why I hadn't expected him to engage in the conversation.

"I..." He looked sheepish yet proud to say the words. I looked up at him expectantly, nodding in encouragement. "I do ballet too." It came as a huge surprise but maybe I should have seen it coming. The way his eyes brightened the second I mentioned the dance, the way he had listened more attentively to what I had to say, the way his eyebrows furrowed when I said my mother forbade me from dancing - it had all pointed to the boy being interested in ballet.

I didn't know what to say. Time was at a standstill as we both looked at each other in amazement. We were strangers, and yet I felt this indescribable pull towards this boy. Perhaps it was because there was a connection, albeit thin, between us. Or perhaps it was the fact that there was someone out there who had the same fate as me. More than that, finally there was someone who understood, and I was sure that I'd keep him close.