I am a dancer. I dance anything I feel like according to how the song directs me. I have no specific dance pattern. The music takes me where it wants to take me. I do not argue, I flow with it. I am quite successful in my work. I live through my feelings, my imaginations carrying my body to wherever it wants to take me. I go far, get lost, leave this world to a place where my movements are cherished and not just cherished, respected.

I am a girl. I am more of a woman but I am still young and with the right amount of disguise, I can pull off a little girl going to school with daddy’s hands intertwined in hers. I could pull off that disguise perfectly but sadly, I do not have the last part because I just lost my father. I hate my father. I hate him because he promised me he won’t go but now he is gone. I lost my mum a long time ago and I still desperately miss her. I told dad not to go, I feared he would. I saw how skinny he was becoming but he really is a shrewd, old man because he hid all that pain with a smile. A smile so wide, a smile so warm, a smile so loving, a smile so cunning. So when he died and that smile no longer existed, I cried. I missed that upward curve of his lips so much but when anger, pain, misery, all vices clouded my judgment; I hated that smile as much as I hated myself.

So, I drank. I heard about drinking for the first time when I was sixteen but I did not drink. I still did not drink in my early twenties but dad died in my late twenties and by twenty-seven, I heard about drinking. The same words, but now, with the chaos going on in my life, I saw drinking in a different light, it became a savior. Pain mixed with my blood, misery became my own sword but when I took that sip of beer for the first time, my tongue tingled in anticipation of...