Tap, jazz, lyrical, modern, hip hop, contemporary, ballet. All these types of dance have become my life since the age of 5. My favorite moment is when I'm in my dance costume, ready to perform. I've practiced the routine a hundred times again and again. The curtains of the theater rise up, the bright lights shine directly on me; a 40 inch peanut full of excitement. This is the moment everyone has been waiting for since they've arrived and sat in their seats. I wait a moment, see my wonderful parents sitting in the front row as usual. I smile, and begin. A certain force takes over my body. My feet move to the rhythm of the music. My energy takes over the room, and I can feel everyone's eyes on my. I absolutely love it. Now, time for the grand finale. I run, make a huge leap, and land on my knee. There is a moment of silence as everyone took in what has just happened. I let out a scream, holding my left leg. That was my first of twenty three broken legs.

When I was 6 ½ I was in a group hip hop routine. My parents told told me, “good luck” and “break a leg”. As Usher was singing his last “Yeah” I jumped off the stage, and broke my right leg. My parents didn't let me perform again till I was 8, where I broke another leg in a jazz performance. This continued throughout my elementary and middle school years, and didn't stop even when I became an adult.

On June 29th, at just 22 years old, I am about to perform my first ballet solo at a fairly nice theater located in Boston. This is my big moment to impress the important people watching, maybe even well known dance choreographers. My amazing instructor whom I love with all my heart tells me, as usual, “break a leg.” I start off ever so gracefully, making small leaps here and there. Five minutes in and I can tell my usual fans (mom, dad, aunts, uncles) are surprised I've gone this far without hurting myself. I have just as much energy as from when I first started. I can feel everyone's eyes on me, the center of attention. I love that. I smile and get ready for the grand finale everyone is waiting for. I run as fast as I can across the stage, and make the biggest leap of my career. Anyone who has seen me before can predict what will happen next. I land on my left leg, which I've only broken 5 times before. The pain is predictable, but doesn't hurt any less. I let out a shriek, and my instructor runs out to help me. There is silence, and then a gasp from the audience, and a gossipy murmur settles around. I am rushed to the hospital, and am told if I break one more leg, I may never dance again. “Dammit!” I yell, and turn to look my instructor who is so loyally by my side, as always. “Don't ever tell me to 'break a leg' again!”