AFTER THE CURTAINS CLOSE

One morning, I tucked my leotard into a drawer for the last time, though I didn’t know it. One  afternoon, I rushed to untie my pointe shoes for the last time, though I didn’t know it. One evening, I  heard the final applause as the curtains closed unaware it would be the last. Time is fleeting, and art is receding. I found myself doodling on my math paper mid-exam, because art lives within us and has to find its way out.  

But the curtains are closed 

My world was ballet. It was my future, my passion, my expression, and my joy. At two years old I  believed I would love it forever, though how much can you truly know at two? When I say my  world revolved around ballet, I mean I learned to pirouette until I could no longer see. I had a  tunnel-vision idea of my future; all I wanted was to be a prima ballerina. I was never the greatest  talent in my class, but I had the passion. I found life in ballet. And I knew no life without it.  

Fast forward from two to twenty. I returned from university and mistakenly opened a drawer where  I thought I would find my socks only to find my leotards just as I had left them, tucked away with  my ballet tights and waiting to be worn. Curiosity drove me to open my ballet bag, where I found  ballet shoes, pointe shoes, spare tights, loose bobby pins, and wrinkled skirts. It felt as though the bag  had remained untouched, a museum of what I loved and the dreams I once chased.  

One day, I woke up and instead of snapping into my leotard I snapped into the real world, not the  fairytale I had rehearsed and the future I longed for. I stepped off stage believing I would return the  following year. I didn’t. And for the final time I heard the applause and watched the curtains close  without soaking in that it would be the last of me on stage in my ballet shoes.  

Art lives within, and to find the start is to embark,  

And to find the origin is to reignite the spark. 

Performing in costume, endless hours of practice to perfection, all to perform for the people I love  and amongst those who cared. A feeling irreplaceable. “Come on, girls, we are on in five minutes.” I  was always giddy before a performance, never nervous. I bounced backstage while my teachers  urged me to lower my voice. Before stepping on stage, we sat in our leotards while our makeup was  done, so as not to stain our costumes. The floors were sticky so that we wouldn’t slip, the lights ran  hot, and the elastic snapped softly at our shoulders. I was told to sit still, but I never could; the  excitement was too much. My teachers warned that if I kept talking all the hairspray would end up  in my mouth, most times it did. 

Somewhere between then and now, I stopped pushing when I realised I would not be a ballerina. I  thought I had to step onto the conveyor belt we are trained to follow, so I set my dreams aside and  put my energy into what seemed most important. In actuality, art is the heart of it all.

Everyone has a form of art or a place of passion from their youth. Why can something that took up  all of our time, thought and energy slip away so swiftly? Yes time is of the essence and priorities are  shifted, but art must live on and live with us as it is truly what makes us, us. The loss of art along  the way is a terrible tale. If it tries to leave as we continue to grow older, I will forever keep the  curtain open, carry music with me and a pencil in my pocket.

Guest Essay

By Taya El Aref

Published September 7, 2025