The silhouette of a slim ballerina hopped on the field of poppies against the poppy-orange sky, it appeared as if she was dancing with fire that had burned the entire earth. The passion that she carried with her on her delicate feet and graceful movements felt like watching a beautiful, petite woman with a huge pregnant belly. Frail yet strong, Anita wished to dance like her as she sunk onto her bed to continue watching the Ballerina's Association video.

Anita had trained herself to be a ballerina, but she fell in love and soon found herself in the eye of the storm, a husband busy with work, twin toddlers who didn't get along, a mother-in-law obsessed with keeping the house spotless, and a father-in-law who wanted tea by his bed before he even woke up. Pregnancy had caused her hourglass body to become one rounded bottle, her feet to become calloused and her toenails to be chipped like the paint on the walls from the scratching and drawing by the toddlers. Disheartened, she had once passed by the Ballerina's Association Club after shopping for groceries, and through the glass walls, she was shocked to see a sixty-year-old lady spinning like an agile twelve-year-old girl. That was when it struck her, however, life happened, and she had to keep going at it.

As Anita found herself being carried by this passionate river of thoughts, a cry tore through the peaceful morning and some birds perched on a nearby tree flitted away.

"Mama . . . Mama! Shreya hit!"

"No, he's lying! He took my Bobo doll!"

"Anita! Where's my yellow file? I'm getting late to the office!"

"Anita, stop your kids from making a mess! I'm not the cleaning lady of this house!"

"Where's my cup of tea? I had only two since morning!"

Frustrated, Anita stood up on her toes and closed her eyes. She found herself to be a twelve-year-old girl, sitting on a bench by a park in her picturesque hometown, swinging her ballerina legs, licking a vanilla softie. The pond would glitter from the dancing rays of the sweltering sun as she would pull up her spaghetti straps, safe and cool under the shade of the big oak tree. She would watch the fluttering swans in the afternoon silence and imagine herself to be one like the princess from the ballet Swan Lake.

Drawing from a distant memory that seemed like a dream now, Anita started performing the Dance of the Little Swans piece from Swan Lake. She jumped out of her bedroom and into the eye of the storm, dancing in between the scattered toys and the yellow files, in between cleaning supplies and dirty tea cups. The toddlers stopped crying, the husband stopped shouting, and the in-laws stopped fussing. At a loss for screams and complaints, all watched her, dancing rhythmically, passionately, senselessly over the house of ruins.

As the dance dragged on to appear even more senseless, the mother-in-law quickly started to clean the house. The husband found his yellow file and left, the father-in-law stood up and made tea for himself. The toddlers stopped crying and quietly played together, sharing the Bobo doll. Anita danced and danced till the entire house fell into the afternoon silence and she felt like a twelve-year-old ballerina, dreaming to be a swan.