Jiatong Han, Metal 3, G2, Shenzhen College of International Education

    Xin is the lead dancer of a dance group. Learning to dance since 3 years old, she has borne indescribable pains compared to her peers while practicing the basics to achieve her current outstanding flexibility and coordination.

    As her best friend, it seems that I am more common and always remain in the background. Even though I was crazy about dancing for a time, I could not reach the stage that Xin had been on. For me, she is just like a magnificent mountain only for sightseeing but hard to climb over. Whether it is in art festivals or competitions, she always looks amazing in either long-sleeved folk costumes or crinoline dresses with lace borders. Each time I hear about her brilliance, I can only give a helpless smile.

    In the final year of elementary school, I wanted to catch the last opportunity to show myself to avoid any regrets in the future. I wanted to perform with my best friend Xin together on the same stage regardless of taking a prominent role or not, that alone was my little dream. I gained permission from the teacher in charge, probably because I had practiced the basics in my childhood. Initially, I practiced various dancing movements again and again on the woolen blanket in my house and it felt like I had butterflies in my stomach.

    Trying desperately to achieve Xin’s breathtaking, shining gazes, I stared smilingly and untiringly into the mirror, but could only attained one-10th of her charm. In the mirror was only a stiff face with a disheartened, sarcastic smile.

    During our rehearsals, I always had to practice separately because of my less coordinated movements, which annoyed the teachers and group mates. “Whatever we do, she simply cannot get that…” whispered someone.

    The words blast, rushed into my ears and I felt a hot wave rising from the bottom of my heart, which quickly crept onto my cheeks. I dared not look into the mirror. Fearing an awkward situation might arise, I ran outside and huddled up on a bench. A pair of delicate ballet shoes coupled with an elegant, professional ballet gait came into my tearful view. It was her, Xin.

    “Don’t mind their nonsense…I can teach you!” Xin said. I cautiously followed behind her, trying to survive those unfriendly gazes. From then on, she separately instructed me after each group rehearsal. She was so responsible that she even explained every single hand movement.

    When we were not rehearsing, she usually sat alone rubbing her ankles while others chose to play around. Beads of sweat, trickling down her smooth forehead, seemed to be scented with flowers — just like her name, Xin. As her first student, I often prepared a bottle of water for her, which she happily accepted. For the days after, I worked even harder for perfection in my performance.

    On the day of our last rehearsal, several judges sat in their chairs in a spacious hall. Accompanied by flowing music, rows of dancers floated onto the stage as choreographed. Xin wore light makeup that day, which made her even more charming. The performance was warmly applauded by the judges. Though I was not the lead dancer and the focus of attention, I did not feel sad because I was paving the way to success. “Come on!” I cheered myself silently.

    While all the dancers were removing their makeup, Xin talked agitatedly with a teacher. Waving her hands like mad, she was not her usual composed self.

    That night, the teacher gave me a call, telling me that Xin’s feet suffered a relapse of ligament injury and that she could not do high-intensity movements for long. She let me and Xin switch our dancing roles.

    I got the chance to be the lead dancer, but I was not thrilled at all. Instead I felt confused and stressed with a heavy heart. Just then, I saw the jumping penguins of the QQ app and opened it. It was a message from Xin, my “teacher.” “Break a leg, my friend! You can do better than me!” she wrote.

    On the day of our performance, the hall was fully packed. When I looked back at Xin, she wore the same confident and charming smile as usual. In the center of the stage, I kept spinning like a fairy collecting fragrance from flowers. Scenes of our rehearsal — the stern looks from the teachers and their patient and meticulous instructions — flashed back in my mind. But thunderous applause from the audience dragged me back and made me realize the success of the performance. “You’ve made it!” I said to myself.

    Through this experience, I learned to be persistent and never give up on any challenge. For me, life itself is a self-directed ballet drama, in which you can find yourself and the spirit of “never being a loser.”