Yogurt With Biscuits
When I was five years old, my mom signed me up for ballet classes. I don’t know if she wanted to find me a hobby or rather fulfill the childhood dream, she never had the chance to but there I was — in my full glory, looking like the pink panther — pink leotard and do-it-yourself tutu with my best friend from kindergarten standing next to me. Back then, my desire to spend an additional hour with her after daycare exceeded my readiness to be prodded by my teacher to do a split. Little did I know that my friend would eventually quit after a couple of lessons and nor did I realize that this endeavor is going to turn into my biggest passion for the next 12 years.
I am 23 years old now and I am in my senior year at university.
I’m not sure which caused me to get yogurt and a pack of biscuits — the fact that I frequently lack the time to prepare meals at home or the fact that I typically lack the energy to do it. What I know since I was a child is that doing something as simple as yogurt with biscuits requires certain techniques.
First, the yogurt should be stirred well so that there are no lumps to assure that the texture is consistent. Then, the biscuits, which must be of those cheap, regular ones, should be crushed to such a size that they are neither too large to soften nor too small to completely fall apart. Last but not least, one should mix the two components in a bowl and wait for one to two minutes to make sure that the biscuits have absorbed some of the yogurt. My mom taught me that.
After my friend quit ballet because her 5-year-old brain decided that playing outside with her friends is more enjoyable than spending hours practicing, I quickly fell in love with dance. The delicate movements, the grace, the beauty of it all, and the pleasure of performing on stage kept me going. Every week, I used to spend hours practicing, and as I grew older, I managed to perform in several performances of Sofia Opera and Ballet, as well as to win some bronze, silver, and gold medals from competitions.
At 23, yogurt with biscuits tastes bitter.
The other day, I had a dream that I was on stage and my ballet teacher was there. She was screaming at me. I dream about her from time to time.
My instructor was a tough one and had high expectations. Despite my best attempts, she frequently succeeded in making me feel insignificant. I remember her telling me that I was a failure and that I was bringing the rest of the school down. Hundreds of times. Frequently, I felt like I wasn’t cut out to be a ballerina. I don’t like giving up to this day and fulfilling a dream can make me grit my teeth and keep going.
Then, I had a dream about me performing on the big stage as the audience applauded.
“And one, and two. Demi plié, tendu forward, rond de jambe… Margarita, you are wrong again!”
One time, during a one-on-one lesson, while I was standing on my toes doing Arabesque, I got so sick that the whole room started spinning around me. I barely finished my rehearsal, and then, my teacher told my mother that I didn’t do well. After we got home, I cried for a while, but it turned out I had a fever. I asked my mom to make yogurt with biscuits for me.
At 23, some memories about my career as a ballerina make me laugh. What a naive but stubborn kid I was.
After long rehearsals that sometimes lasted until 10 or 11 pm, my mom would pick me up with her old Peugeot 106 and drive me home. It was a noisy car, and I could hear it from two blocks away. But it was comforting to know that my mother was there waiting for me. When we got home, she would make me dinner, which usually consisted of yogurt with biscuits. It wasn’t a gourmet meal by any means, but it was comforting in its simplicity. We would sit at the table, and we would talk.
One day, during rehearsals, I pulled my Achilles tendon. The pain was unbearable. I couldn’t dance but I kept quiet. I knew that I would need to take time off to recover. I began to question whether all the effort I put into ballet was worth it.
At 18, I quit. Not because of my Achilles or the occasional “you-are-not-doing-it-right” sessions but because my life took an unexpected turn as I decided that I want to study Business Administration.
At 23, I’m eating my yogurt with biscuits in my student apartment.
I remember: I am at the living room table, and my mom is sitting next to me. The clatter of the spoon on my Winnie the Pooh bow can largely be heard along with my sobbing, and my tears are mixed with the yogurt.
I believe that my mom knew how hard I was trying and how much I wanted to become a prima one day. Sometimes, she would advise me that I should quit. I think it was painful for her, too. After wiping my tears away and angrily telling her that I don’t want to give up, she would always hug me tight while my mouth was still smeared with yogurt.
Today, we hardly ever share a meal.
At 23, I have a dream of my mom making me yogurt with biscuits again.
Margarita Arsova is a Journalism and Mass Communication student at the American University in Bulgaria. She occasionally misses ballet.
