I was born to a family of acrobats. I had been raised on the diet of trapeze acts. Both my parents were skilled trapeze artists. People used to clap profusely watching their daring acts. Be it static, flying or swinging trapeze they were master at everything.
I used to watch my parents from back stage while taking care
of my baby brother. Elder sisters are supposed to take good care of their
little ones. And I was assigned the job of handling my brother while my parents
performed their art.
People used to say that I would be a very good trapeze
artist as I had the trapeze art in my genes. I also used to imagine myself
performing before a packed crowd and acknowledging their applause.
When I was 6 years of age, my parents had started giving me
the training in gymnastics. Today after 5 years of training I know that my body
muscles have reached a level of flexibility that is required to be a trapeze
artist. I knew that I had the required combination of agility and flexibility
to be a successful trapeze artist. I had been doing all the exercises to strengthen
my muscles. I had taken the right diet to increase my stamina. In summary, I thought
that I was all ready to make a foray into starting my trapeze lessons.
On my 12th birthday, my parents thought of
initiating me into the flying trapeze acts. As I reached the top, my heart
started racing with excitement. I played
it down and tried to focus on the action ahead. My father showed me one act
where he went from one trapeze bar to another with making smooth transition
from one bar to another. I also tried to emulate my father but failed. I could
not catch the second bar because I could not leave the first bar because of the
fear of falling down.
Despite my training in the gymnastics, flying acrobatics
seemed a different ballgame all together for me. I observed that I was stricken
with the fear of heights. I was not provided the safety rope assuming that
being the daughter of amazing acrobats; I could manage without the safety rope.
Of course there was a safety net, but that didn’t help my confidence either. I just
kept clinging to the first trapeze bar.
When I came back, I explained my problem to my parents. My father
got disappointed in me big time, my mother tried to make him understand that I would
feel better with time. But he was really dejected seeing my performance.
I kept thinking whole
night about the incident. I could not sleep well. I had lost all confidence in
myself. Next day, when my parents told me to go to the flying trapeze training,
I pretended to be suffering from headache. I could hear smirk of the fellow
trapeze artists of my parents at circus. They were whispering that I was a
coward and making excuses to avoid the training.
Though they were right that I was making excuses but I was
not a coward. Yes, I was scared… and that too… to death.
I had left the trapeze training altogether and was happy
attending to my brother. One month had passed since my first day fiasco. On night
I heard sounds of sobbing coming from my parents’ room. I tried to overhear. It was my father sobbing and discussing my
unwillingness to try trapeze again. That hit me like a thunderbolt. I didn’t
know that my father rested so much of hopes on me.
The next day in the early morning, I went to the trapeze
training area. I overcame my fear by falling several times on the net (I didn’t
use the safety rope). After falling for ten times I succeeded in catching the
second bar in the eleventh time. Hearing
my father sob filled me with courage and boldness to try my limits and that
courage helped me start a new life. Today, I am a successful trapeze artist and
my parents are truly proud of my trapeze antics.
P.S: This is a
creative account
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