This was part of an english assignment for my major year 10 exams. We were to write 3 short stories based on "change". It's a pretty broad topic so act surprised by the end ) it'd make me happy. I'd appreciate your opinions, fellow fictionpressioners!


By the way, I live in Australia and go to an Australian school so keep that in mind as you read on. Year9 is theFreshmen year and Year 12 is Senior year.


Change is commonly interpreted as the action, or the physical being that causes change, but I believe an important factor of change is realization. The process of where one is put through a course of a mixture of predictable and unpredictable events which causes them to change a former opinion or belief.

Steps, Not Leaps.

Once I thought to become a dancer. Articulate. Powerful. Precise. But then I asked all the girls in my 1st grade class what they wanted to be. My dreams were dashed. How could there be 17 other famous and successful ballet dancers when there is only enough room for in the one narrow spotlight? I wanted my ambition so much. It was my ultimate goal – to become that articulate, powerful, precise woman.

My journey through school outlined how obsessed I had become with the idea of a beautiful, famous dancer. All I ever wanted to be was the most articulate, most powerful, most precise woman in the world.

Articulate. Powerful. Precise.

I was debate captain, winning best speaker at almost all competitions, a state representative public speaker and going onto representing Australia in the Worlds' United Nations Assembly, Universal Youth Public Speaking Festival and various others. I laced passion with fluency and weaved webs of speech and persuasion. But it was not webs I wanted to weave, but movements and rhythm. It was not ever good enough. I wanted to be able to speak to the audience, without using words.

I was cross country, rowing, equestrian and tennis captain all in the same year. I was never satisfied with 1st in cross country unless I could improve my former time. I wanted to row faster and faster, till people noticed the powerful strokes that I forced my arms through, despite the fatigue and pain. A horse could never be good as its master, my philosophy was. In my case, the horse was my path to my dreams and me, the master. Control and power of a small tennis ball only went so far. I was out there to prove to everybody I was the most physically mastered woman on stage - the one who could pirouette the longest, or leap the furthest.

I strived to be the perfect student. I had to have the best marks, the best reports, the best assessment results. Why? I was out there to prove I was the most accurate, exact student there - the shining star that teachers would single out for praise. Academically, I was out to conquer. I had a burning ambition at steak, and I wanted everybody to know that. I had to prove that I was that singular individual committed to her ambition. Precision was the keyhole to my dream.

I worked hard and long to reach the end of year 12. I was a scholarship student with A and many school honours riddling my blazer. Everyone was so proud. My mum. My dad. My teachers and friends. But why? It was truly confusing. I hadn't achieved my goal. I was so close, grasping the edges of what could have been. I was so angry. They didn't understand. They never understood. I always reminded my family and friends why I was so bent on perfection. The reaction was the same. A shaken head, a face of pity, a 'get-real' speech. It was horrible realization that struck me. Then. There. At my graduation. Ironic that my dreams would be shattered on the one day that dreams should be celebrated.

Somewhere along the way, I lost sight of the dream of my 6 year old self. Sure I was articulate, sure I was powerful, and sure was I precise but none of this mattered. Public speaking, rowing and a report card only gets you that far in life. I had spent 12 long, tiring years working and striving so hard to achieve an elusive goal. I didn't need to be powerful, or precise, or articulate.

Realization struck me like a headlong crash into a brick wall. All this time, I had lived under such a severe misconception that polluted all other priorities in life. It was a terrible, truly terrible moment in ones life – to discover that the steps you have taken to complete your life long dream have been so misleading and false. I had taken leaps, instead of steps. I had taken short cuts into the wrong road. The most basic steps I had leaped over. The vital turns in the roads to my dream, I had missed.

I had forgotten my heart. I left it far, far behind as I progressed by leaps and cut corners.

My friends and family were left behind in that dream. My family: they meant everything to me, yet were left forgotten as grains of sand as I led myself into deeper seas. My friends: if I ever reached my dreams, they would have been the soles in my shoes. In all my life I had never placed my confidence in anybody. I had no trust or reliance in God or the hundreds of people surrounding me at that graduation. Well, it was a cowering realization that made me think of the false principles that had governed my life.

In all honesty, I never truly learnt the three real things I needed for my dream to come true.

Love, for support in those first steps in the beginning.

Faith, for the support I would need during and after my dreams were established.

And, perhaps most practically, ballet lessons.