Good Bye 2018

We are saying goodbye to 2018. It's been such a long and full year.
I had taken a bunch of good resolution and I guess it is time to see how far I've come.
In 2018 I did not get any new degree but I did pass all my exams, leaving me with only my internship, thesis and a couple of papers to hand to get my degree.
I read 48 books, not counting comics and among them were wonderful discoveries for which I must thank my friends. I am still not over Carry on, or Six of Crows. I loved A Darker Shade of Magic. I've discovered with immense pleasure that diversity is now a thing in literature. Thanks Those-Two-Front-Row-Nerds for this.
I read some feminist novels such as the The Power and got to educate myself further. Thanks My-Weird-Sister for this.
This year, I finished the second draft of my novel and it feels like an accomplishment in itself. That story had been haunting me for a while and it now feels like I can finally move on and write something new. Thanks to That-Blond-Gryffindor-Kid for having been such a cheerleader for this project. Hope you'll like it.
I wanted to open my very own Etsy Shop to sell out all those stuff I make but don't know what to do with, which I did, but did not really do anything of it so that will be a work in progress.
I worked on my drawing skills and finished the Inktober, and I am kind of proud of it. I'll try to keep at it. I'd like to really develop my universe a bit.
I finally kicked myself into signing up for a contemporary dance class and I am so glad I did! It takes me out of my confort zone but God, I love it! Thanks That-Quiet-Girl for motivating me without knowing it.
I travelled quite a bit this year. We went to Switzerland several times, to ski or to visit my in-laws.
I went to London with My-Weird-Sister for my birthday, and to Birmingham in the summer to visit That-Girl-I-met-in-Bucarest. (and God I was happy to see her again and test our friendship. She is a treasure.)
I visited Latvia in the summer and Budapest in the winter with My-Lovely-Monster and My-Sister-That-Nerd.
I went to Barcelona as Mrs C, the English Teacher.
I went to Thailand to visit LEAAAAA, and I discovered that travelling by myself wasn't so bad.
I was at my friends' side when they got married and saw couples form and break down. I got closer to some people and farther from others.
I faced my very own nightmare and spent a weekend with my aggressor and still mamaged to live to tell the tale, managed to stand tall, to walk with my head high and enjoy myself. I think that was one of my biggest victories this year. I shall not let this dictate my life anymore. I've proved it to myself.
I got to get out of my confort zone and try new things.

Everything considered, It has been quite an interesting year. hard on my nerves but enlightening.
I've hurt, I've felt hollow and caving in, but I've also felt fuller and more inhabited.
I am slowly getting to know myself and my body.

Some people seem to walk through life, having everything figured out and never doubting anything.
I don't.
I've fallen quite a few times. I've gone through some tragedies. I have been hurt and I have been abused.
And yet I am here.
I don't have everything sorted out, but I am going in the right direction, heading down my own path.

Hairs and feminism

One of the things Budapest is famous for is the bath houses that can be found anywhere in the city.
My best friend, who is travelling with us, is staying at a five-stars hotel that has its own spa, and we decided yesterday to go and relax there.

For someone who's been doing modeling, I am quite prude. I both want to been seen and notice, while being terribly self-conscious.
I am tall but I feel small. I feel too thin and too fat at the same time, never fit enough. My ribs are showing and I am flat chested.
I've always had trouble seeing this body as mine, if that makes any sense. I sometimes look at my feet and wonder when they got so far away. I've tried drawing myself once, and realised that even with a selfie, I don't know what I look like. I look at the picture but it doesn't ring true.
Domesticating my body has been an on going battle for as long as I can remember.
Not that I feel my body hideous. No, no. It's a nice bag of meat. It's just that... It doesn't really feel like it's mine. More like I am getting away with something.
I am both that cute girl in a pretty skirt and that boy in the leather jacket.

That means that I don't pay much attention to my body. I wear make up only when I feel like it.
And I shave on a very irregular basis. Which means that when we arrived at the spa, I realized that I was to walk around in a bathing suit (and not the one I like and chose and feel okay in) and that I was very definitely hairy.
My legs, my armpits, my bikini-line were not the way it is expected for women to be.
And despite all my education about feminism and all the things I know about how hairs are okay and normal and that I wasn't doing anything wrong my not shaving more regularly, I must admit, I felt ashamed. I wanted to recoil in the small cabin and wished the bathrobe would be longer.
I felt... dirty?
But My best friend had invited us here and there was no way I could not go, so I walked on. I kept my bath robe until the last possible moment and I just ran away with it.

I am a feminist and I don't care if a girl is hairy or not, though I confess I made fun of men who were really hairy. And I know I shouldn't feel bad and I should be proud of my body, no matter the way it is. But... I wasn't.
My point here is that... maybe it was okay.
It doesn't make me any less of a feminist to feel uneasy. I guess.

Budapest - Day 1

What happened to us?

I wonder why I am so hard to live with.
When did we stop being best friends and when did we settle for this mockery of a couple. When did we lose each other?
I constantly miss my best friend, miss that person with whom I shared so much. I miss the closeness and the easiness of what we had.
I hate myself for not loving who you have become, for not laughing at your jokes, for not liking your song references, for glaring at you when you make remarks I don't like, for being so thin skinned.
I hate that I feel alone when you are by my side. I hate that I feel empty and cold even when you plant kisses on my forehead.
I miss you. Or I miss what we had, I don't know.
Did I dream those blessed days? did I romanticise it all?

I never wanted to sell you false dreams and fake happiness.
I don't know who this person that you are dating is. I sometimes don't recognize myself. Bitter and distant.

I long for something but I don't know how to get it anymore.

We don't have anything in common anymore. Though I sometimes wonder if we ever did.
There are things I wish we could have shared, but I took too long to start and you went on by yourself and I felt betrayed.
There were things I wanted to do with you, but live got in the way. Family, friends, work, everything.
I can't sit still and you are fine not moving for the entire day.

I want to talk about books with you. I want to talk about movies or TV shows with you. I want to talk about art and history and I want to craft with you. I want to go watch the stars and I want to have impromptu outings to the museum. I want to be surprised and excited, but you want calm and rest.
What is there for us to build together? It scares me.

La Sagrada Familia

  

  

  

I visited La Sagrada Familia today and I fell in love with the colours and the lights. 

Who are you?

Who are you?
I write for myself here, the same way people talk to themselves I guess. It helps clear out my head.
I never wrote in the hope to be read. I've given this address to some people over the years, but no one ever showed any interest in reading it. So who are you?
There seem to be between 4 and 6 people reading this regularly, but for the life of me I can't seem to guess who they are. Not the Sweet monster. He mentionned coming here once in a while. Not my sister, or at least I don't think so.
Then who?
Who
Are
You?
I wish I knew. no one ever brought up my blog in a conversation. Or made a reference to it. There are no comments, no message. So I have no way to know.
So do tell me please. So I'd know. If you've been reading here for a while it means that we know each other.
So tell me. I'd like to know.

Sylvia

I finished the second draft of my novel.
I feel proud and empty.
What should I do?

The small one is the monster. The black one is probably the deadliest, thought they'd rather not know for sure.

They had short hair and a jaw you could sharpen knives on. Everything about them was jet black. their short hair, gloves, boots, even the great coat that bellowed after them. But the most interesting black was their eyes. Not that you could see them behind their clear glasses. They looked grey.
Next to them the girl was vibrating with colours. Fiery red hair woven in a complicated braid, cheeks covered with freckles and slightly reddened by the winter cold. She could have been sixteen or fifty.
- Are you sure this is the right place?" She asked.
- No, but I never am and yet I am never wrong either." Their voice was soft and harsh.
The girl caught a gloved hand and pushed the sleeve up, revealing chalk white skin veined with black.
- Oh, so that's why you are in a mood."
- I am not in a mood. I just wish we didn't have to do that.
- But it's going to be fun!
- No, it's going to be fun for you! For me it's going to be satisfying and quite disgusting, just as it always is."

They climbed up the stairs just when a woman pushed the door open.
- Come on Jewel" she called her dog.
She never saw them but tightened her scarf around her neck as if a cold wind had blown to her face. The air was still.

Three flight of stairs, a door on the left. The floor board creaked heavily under the girl. The one in black made no noise.
They rang the bell.
- I am starving!" She was cheerful tonight. As she always was.
- You always are.
The door opened on a little man. White t-shirt, grey trousers, slippers.
- What's it?
- New neighbours, coming to say hi!" Her words shone like the summer sun. "Can we come in?"
- Sure, sure.
He never stood a chance. But then they never did. He moved and pulled the wooden panel, inviting them in.
They could see the aura around him shift and ooze. They had been right, as always.
He gestured them forward and they walked into the living room. The TV was on but weirdly it had stopped broadcasting anything. The man didn't notice. The room was cramped. Piles of junk, dirty laundry, some plates, some leftovers.
The girl was in the middle of the little place, taking it all in. The stale air, tinged with sweat and smoke. The sounds through the thin walls.
The one in black just sat on the couch and drew out a pack of cigarettes. They looked like they were thirty or a bit less. Probably not more. At least they looked like they had an age.
The man stood there, confused.
- So which flat did you move in?
- Down" they said.
- Like ground floor?
- No, bellow that.
He frowned. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, but he couldn't tell what. His head was fuzzy.
- But there is no flat bellow ground floor.
His voice trailed off as the girl started to take off her scarf. She was pretty. He liked them pretty. She was young. He liked that too.
He never stood a chance.
- Leave me my due." They said, exhaling smoke, their unlit cigarette hanging between their gloved fingers.
- Sure.
And then she opened her mouth. And then she opened her jaw. And she never stopped. It looked like it has no limits.
Blood sprayed but the meat was good. It was warm and it felt spicy on her tongues.
- Don't toy with your food." They said from the couch as she tore the man's left arm. He'd have screamed but she had ripped his lower jaw first so all that came out was a gurgling sound. "We haven't got all night."
She shrugged and took a giant bite.
When the man was about to die, they stood up, as graceful as a cat, or as an ibis. Long legs and fluid movements.
They looked tall and thin.
First they took off their glasses, revealing their impossibly black eyes and store them carefully in some inside pocket of their coat. Then the peeled off their gloves and put them away the same way. Their hands were black. Absolutely and perfectly black, as it they had dipped them in tar, or maybe in the night sky itself.
Then, They plunged both hands and eyes into the man's life, tearing it away, pulling at it hungrily.
The body slumped forward and the black receded from their hands, living only too white skin.
The girl laughed, the bottom half of her face drenched in blood.
- That was good!
They smiled, or at least it looked like what they would have called a smile if they had known what a smile was.
- Yeah, It feels better.

You.

It felt good to see you.
I don't like not talking to you.

Grit.

Grit is to dive straight into work after finishing a challenge.
Grit is to look at the backlog and pull up your sleeves.
Grit is to say good bye early to your friends to get on with whatever need to be done.

To make no excuse and refuse to give in to despair.
To keep your head down and refuse to take the easy way.

To refuse the limitations set by others
To refuse to listen to their voices saying it is impossible.
It is not impossible. It's just hard.

I've comme to realise that This is probably one of the traits I like about myself. This ability to look at difficulties and see a challenge. No matter how daunting the task.
Problems are just mountains to be conquered and countries to explore.

I want my biography to be long and complicated. Full of adventures and projects and things I built and did. Sometimes people say they don't understand how I do all the stuff I do. But there is nothing to wonder about really. I just worked. I toil, I cry, I rant, but I do it anyway.

I feel weak,

I don't know what makes my head buzz like this.
My hands shake. My knees feel weak.
Hunger, tiredness, excitement or stress.
My guts are tied in a knot.
I am restless.

You.

Play with my hair,
Run your fingers on my skin,
Down the collar of my shirt.

Make my heart race.
With your soft lips,
your finger nails.

Nanowrimo

So this happened.

My place

I am very private.
It takes time for me to trust people.
My home is my safe place, my haven,
Where I hoard books and stacks of fabric.
We rarely invite anyone. If not ever.
Two or three at a time. At best.
I am wary of people invading my personal space.

It could not have crossed my mind that I needed to warn guests about being reasonable, to behave appropriately. How could it? I'd never allow myself to lose control. We are not teens anymore. We know ourselves. Don't we? What we can or cannot do. What is proper and what is not.
So I do not take well people giving up on politeness, on basic courtesy under my roof. I do not take well people trespassing in rooms they were not invited in.
I despise hubris as much as I despise lack of control.
I took a gamble and learnt my lesson. No more guests.
Apologies should be given in person, not through their beloved, and they should be given to the host, not to the assembly. Saying sorry for the state I was in is not the same as admitting one's fault.
I love your dearly and I find myself heartbroken. His behaviour was rude. To me and to my guests.
I cannot fathom why he did what he did, for it is his actions I blame him for. He was the eldest and should have known. I find him no excuse.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do. In this house we cherish intellect, cunning and decency.

In the dead of the night

When stories really begin,
not at midnight, when people still go about their business,
Enjoying drinks and company,
Not near dawn, when the birds call for the sun to rise,
Banishing the monsters and the unseen.
No, it's in the blank between them,
When one is utterly alone, walking in the streets.
When all the noises are distant, alien,
When everything is still and quiet.
On a facade a lone window is alight,
A party? A romantic evening? A good book?
The air is cold and people huddle together
in the safety and warmth of their homes,
While I walk the night.

Hollow

Small kisses,
Chapped lips.
Hungry kisses,
urgent and feverish.

Why do I crave them? why do I feel cold?

I miss the butterflies,
the way my stomach lurches,
the feeling under the sole of my feet
like the ground disappeared.

I crave for short breath.
For my heart to race.
For disorientation.

Fill the void.
O please please please,
Hold me tight.
Pour some air in my lungs,
some fire in under my skin.

Winter

I like winter.
I like how it changes how I perceive the world.
The way sounds are muffled by my thick hat, the way gloves for a wall between me and the world.
I feel further from reality and that helps me take a step back, look at things from a different angle. I makes me look up and notice that the sky is not grey, but an infinite number of hues between black and white. It makes me stop and look at how people move in crowds. The patterns raindrops make on the windows. The smell of cold in the air.
It sure makes it harder for me to focus and I probably look haughtier, more reserved, hopefully more unpleasant.
Because I feel more distant from the world it makes it harder to connect with people, to take part in conversations, to relate.

The other side of the world

I am in Thailand and I love every minute of it.

I love the gigantic skyscrapers, titanic towers of steel and glass.
I love the palaces and temples, shinning and colourful.
I love the ruins, both forgotten and very much alive.
I love the blue sky and the storms.
I love the skyline and the small details.

In good company

Travelling alone has such a special taste to it. It takes good feet and thick skin. Getting lost, talking to strangers, trusting your guts.
I used to be scared of travelling alone. It made me uneasy. Not because I didn't feel safe, but because I felt like I didn't belong. Like I was a trespasser. I felt exposed and out-of-place.
I guess I never really liked my own company. Same way I never like to hear my own voice.
I don't know when it changed. It must have been subtle.
I first noticed that the dread of spending a day by myself somewhere I didn't know had lessened when I visited a friend in Birmingham last summer. She was working all day long so I was on my own. I had plenty of empty hours to fill. And I made do.
I found places to visit, Museums to get lost in, Movies I could go to. I made a list of things I could do and off I went. I wandered around the city, walking, gorging myself with the small details of the city. The light in the trees, the skyline, facades and window sills decorations.
Once I had a plan, I got on with it and the unease left.
I guess that's just that: I only needed a plan. No matter how imprecise and incomplete.

Here, the challenge is bigger, because I can't speak the language. But I marvel at the resourcefulness it brings out in me. The quick thinking, and gut-trusting.
A good sense of direction, a vague idea of what I want to do, a list to check and a good pair of shoes. That's all I need in the end.
The awkwardness hasn't entirely disappeared but I'm slowly discovering how to change it into a sense of challenge. The same way being afraid of everything made me bold.
I slowly get to see how I can be a good travelling companion to myself.

Because I am alone with myself, I can take in everything. My attention is undivided.
I take it all in.
The sounds, the sights, the smells, the way my feet move on the uneven ground, the way the shade is a relief. I devour the world and feed it to my inner-world, so that later, when I'm lost in the triviality of daily life, I can dive in and find solace in the memories. So that it can slowly decay and turn into fertile ground for new stories. New pictures. New adventures.

Inktober - Day 21 "drain"

Among the clouds

Watching the world far below
Cities like orange spiderwebs,
Shining in an ocean of ink.

On the horizon clouds have amassed,
Castles and Fortresses, high and wide,
They rage war against each other,
Light flashing in the night.

Now the sky is clear,
Stars are innumerable.
An infinite number of jewels
sparkling a universe away.

Far ahead the sky is changing,
Red, Orange, Yellow,
Impossible hues of blue

The sun is approaching,
Conquering the night.
It is only a star among millions,
but here, it rules like a god over them all.

Inktober - Day 17

Inktober - Day 14 "clock"

Inktober - Day 11 "Cruel"

 

Inktober - Day 8

The smell of depression.

Depression has a smell,
cold cigarette and coffee
sweat and sadness.
I watch him walk and talk and I can see him,
grey and blue and green.
I can see the cracks.
I can see the stains.
I am too much of a stranger to tell him,
but I see him and I know.
I may have some sympathy for him.
Depression has a smell and I could never forget it,
This is a smell of the living that is already dead.
They just don't know it yet.
I could never forget this smell.
I wonder what happened to that boy after I left.
I have remorse.

Depression has a smell,
and there is nothing more I can do.

Inktober - Day 1

One of my new year resolutions was to learn how to draw. Or at least to improve.
So I decided to kick myself into trying to follow the Inktober challenge.
One drawing a day.
I'll post those I like.

All the things I did not tell you

Sometimes I hurt.
It is irrational.
Sometimes I hurt and it make me angry, because I have nothing to show for the pain. It is just there. My chest in caving in and my insides are hollow, but nothing shows.
Sometimes, I feel weak and I grit my teeth and try my best not to show it. Not to whine. Not to complain. It seems like the only thing to do.
So I don't understand when you don't.
I don't understand, when you just accept things. being sick, hurting, being tired.
I don't understand that you'd let it show.
I guess I internalised all too well that boys don't cry and that girls are weak.
I knew where I stood. which is exactly nowhere.
admitting limitations was just admitting being weak and that was never something I could afford to consider. I don't really know why.
You say I have weird rules. It might be true, but those rules allowed me to get where I am.
We can't be sick at the same time, because if you are sick it means that I must take care of you.
If I am sick, it means that I am so far gone that I become useless.
If I am sick, it means that I failed and I can't pretend anymore.
If I am sick, I can't take care of you.
But if you are sick, I must. that's how things should be.
So I resented you.
I resented you because no matter how empty and broken I was, I could rest.
I resented that you had the luxury to be sick but I didn't. I resented that you are okay with that. That You think my rules are weird and useless. That you didn't understand what was going on.
We will never talk about it. Because there is no way we'll find the words. Because it would mean screaming and yelling and emptying that rage that always boils inside me. Because that would meant fighting.
I hate myself for being weak and I don't know what to do with this pain. This hatred.
I hate you for not understanding that and feeling the same. I suppose that last one is more jealousy than hatred.
And inside, slowly, one brick at a time, the wall rises.

Glimpses of Happiness

Pictures taken in August during my friends' wedding.
Credit Photo: https://blossomandco.com/fr/photos/photographe-de-mariage-aix-en-provence

Going on an adventure again!

I booked my flights for Thailand!
I am going back to Thailand! I am so excited! and I am going to see Lea, and we are going to have so much fun, and also I'll visit Juliette, in Vietnam! I have never been to Vietnam before! I am so excited!

Mabon

Today is Mabon. It is a celebration of the harvest, of the gifts we received from the Earth. To me it has quite a wide meaning. It is a time to reflect and celebrate what I was given by life.
I am lucky, there is no denying it. No matter how hard my life has been and sometimes still is, I have been given more that enough to prosper.

I am lucky to have a loving family. Dysfunctional, true. Not tight knit, sure, but loving none the less. We are not close, but we will be there for each other.
I am lucky to have elders from who to learn. It is a gift to be an adult and to still be able to learn from my grand parents.
I am luck to have a found family. Morgane and Sethy, I am so grateful to have you two.
I am lucky to have friends. It took me a while to realise that I actually have many, and like my family, we might not be thick as thieves, we are still there for each other.
I am lucky I found someone willing to share his life with me. We are far from perfect for each other, but we make a good team and he makes my life way easier. You help me be my best self and for that I am grateful.

I am grateful for the opportunities I received.
To meet new people, to try new things, to grow as a person.
I am grateful for my job. I am lucky to have a position I love in a time where enjoying one's job is a privilege.

Social Animal

I do not consider myself to have many friends. I have a hard time trusting people and social interactions tend to easily exhaust me. Add the fact that I barely check Facebook anymore (Thank God, Partner does, otherwise I would probably miss a bunch of events) and that should be a perfect recipe for an empty social life, but apparently, people don't mind it that much.

Last spring, my friend Vin asked me to be one of her bride's maids. Among all the friends she has, some that we share, she picked me. I was incredibly touch because though I do consider as a dear friend, I did not think she considered me as a close friend.

I have had a habit of disappearing from friends'groups after a while. Because I wasn't invested in whatever we had in common, or because of break ups, I usually lost friends every two to four years. I lost most of my university friends after I broke up with my ex-girlfriend, I lost people I used to Larp with when I left a toxic relationship. etc. Sometimes it still hurts, but I thought I was just not that good at keeping friends, at keeping in touch.

But some people stuck along the way and I met new people. People that I do not share with my partner, with whom I try to be nice and to show attention. Send post card, show emotional involvement.

And recently, it struck me. I have friends.Not just people I meet at events, but friends that actively seek my presence and that I actively try to see.
Have diner with the Steam-girls in a cool restaurant.
Go see that girl who is not my girlfriend to have a quiet knitting evening, drinking tea and talking traumas.
Texting my best friends to plan trips to different exhibitions.
Messaging my best travel companions to go on a trip.

It seems incredible to me. I don't know how to explain it, but I am genuinely amazed to have friends. Not that I don't believe I deserve to have friends or any kind of self depreciation, but I was never good at making strong bonds with people. Or when I did, it was rarely healthy.
And I only just realised that I do not need strong bonds to have friends. I just needed to find people who still noticed me even if after a while, I just sit somewhere to read or to knit quietly. I just needed to find people who don't care that I don't go out often or late and who will still invite me.

It might sound naive or even downright stupid, but understanding social relationships and how it build them is not given to anyone from the start. Some of us never had the opportunity to develop the skills to interact with people and create bonds with them.
My expectations of friendship was all kind of wrong and it took me time and efforts to understand that. It took time to meet people who didn't care that I was distant and who were willing to walk the extra mile to get to know me.
We may not be very close, but we are probably closer that I realise. They might not stay forever, but I am beginning to think that they will stay longer than I expected.
Thanks guys.

That last summer evening

September is here again already. The summer flew away in the blink of an eye. I had so many projects and did so little. But it’s okay. I did okay.
It has been quite an emotional roller coaster.
I said goodbye to a movement in which I grew up for twenty years.
I faced the monster of my nightmares for three days and survived. He didn’t break me. I am stronger than what he did to me.
I visited a friend abroad and we only grew closer.
I was by my friend’s side for her wedding.
I traveled to a new country and came back with stories and ideas.
I didn’t do the things I had planned, but in a way I did more. I went on adventures and came back richer, bigger.

Following the rainbow

August 2018 - Riga, Latvia

Those things

There are things that I dare not voice.
Thoughts I dare not form,
Images that I only dare conjure under the cover of the night.
In the farthest corner of my mind.

For I am afraid that if I linger on them, more than a heartbeat, I shatter into pieces.

You,

You look like what lives down the abyss of my mind.
And I can't help but stare at you.
I stand on the edge and I can picture myself falling.
You sound like those voices that lurk in my darkness of my mind.
And I can't help but follow you.
I am attracted to your shadow.

Sunlight and water

Late at night

Too many questions

What do you want?
What's wrong?
How are you?
Who are you?
What are you afraid of?
What are you running from?

New beginnings

I just came back from my scout camp.
One week sleeping under a tent, building fires to cook, taking care of kids. And as always I come back drained, exhausted, and a bit off.
I've felt all grey since my friend and co-leader left.

This was quite a great experience, as most camps are, but this one had a special taste. This was my last one as titular leader. Starting next year, I decided to be only a additional leader, the one you call when you don't have enough leaders for a specific event.
Taking care of kids at work and during the weekend has left me exhausted all year long, and I think it might have a negative impact on my patience with both my students and the kids.
As such, this camp had a sort of bitter-sweet atmosphere.
I don't think I'll ever be able to really cut all ties with the scouts, as the whole movement played a huge role in building who I am today, but I feel that I need to move on.

I joined the scouts twenty years ago. I stopped twice for a year after becoming a leader. I took part to sixteen camps. I made friends I'd have never known if it wasn't for those Sunday afternoons running in the woods. Some will be my friends for ever or so I wish, some I lost track of long ago, but all of them had a small impact on me.

I never took the leader's oath. Never felt worthy of it. but I wear on my uniform the medals of my oaths as a guide, as a pioneer and as a companion.
I became a leader because it seemed obvious for me to be one. I had joined the movement so long ago that it seemed the right thing to do. Each step of the pedagogy lasts three years, except the last one, which lasts two, but can be followed by a third year of service. that's what I did. after enjoying the movement and it's opportunities for twelve years, it seemed only fair to give some of that time back.

almost ten years later, I feel that maybe along the way, I repaid my debt. I gave back a bit of what I got. I shared a bit of the wisdom I acquired along the way, but taking the oath seemed wrong. I didn't have enough time to give to the movement to be worthy of the oath. It wasn't my priority, so how could I claim to take such an engagement if I wasn't ready to give it everything?

I gave it all I could. All I was ready to give. Whatever time, whatever energy I felt I could give, I gave. And today, looking at my uniform, I wonder whether it really is the end, whether I didn't make a mistake, whether walking away from this is the right thing to do.

Find grace where you can

I have faith. I doubt too much not to have faith, if it makes any sense.
I feel, deep in my bones that there is something. Even though I am otherwise extremely rational. Even though I disagree with a lot of what is written in the Bible. Even though I do not agree with the dogma my church preaches.
I have faith, and I believe that the founding principles of my church are right, are good, are wise and necessary. Love thy neighbour is what matters to me.
My faith doesn't fit exactly the catholic canvas, but it's okay. I don't mind and I don't think it actually matters. I have faith and I take part in the church because I believe it can do good, because I believe it is the right thing to do.
But as such, I do not often have the opportunity to truly feel like I belong in the church. Often I am an outsider, an intruder. but sometimes I find grace. An echo, a certainty, that there is something and that it is loving and benevolent.
Singing is one of them.
I love singing but I grew very self conscious of singing. Never singing alone, never singing without other people to cover me. I love singing but I stopped, somewhere along the way. Somewhere among the little remarks that stung too much and sticked too long. After I left my music school, I stopped singing.
This week, I didn't go to mass in my usual parish. I went to mass with a group of other young people who decided to celebrate their faith with art. we got to go to mass with them. Oh boy it was different from my usual parish!
I like mass. I have time to pray, to think, and I can sing. I get to sing and to feel lifted, to feel carried by the others. I do not cower or hide. I sing with all those things inside me that want to get out.
And God they sang.
Not old odes whose lines no one pays attention to anymore, or whose lines are close-minded.
No. They sang poems and songs that talked of love and acceptance.
I so we sang. I sang.
It did not matter that what I believe in is slightly different. It didn't matter that I love women. It did not matter who I've been or what I've done. All that mattered was that we sang. We sang of belief and trust and hope. And I felt good. I felt grace in the easy harmony of the moment.

I do not often mention faith and what I believe in but meeting people who believe and who are willing to discuss it and to accept who you are, what you are, what you believe in is rare and precious to me. Those small moments of grace are priceless to me/

God, it felt good.

In the wild.

My hands are callused.
My hair smells of wood smoke.
My hands are rough.
My back is sore.

Wings

There is an emptiness in my back, where my wings used to be.
I feel cold and naked without their weigh,
I used to hug myself in them. Soft and warm.

I miss the haven they were,
The barrier they made between me and this harsh world.
With them gone, what am I?

The sky never looked so big,
so close and so far.
Never again shall I feel the ice cold air of the great heights.

The wind on my back makes me want to cry.
My skin is too soft, too new.
They are gone.

Small gestures

Hold my hand,
brush your fingertips against my lips,
put your head on my shoulder
catch me looking at you and smile.

Bite my neck,
bite my lips,
take my hand,
take my breath away.

Write things to make me blush,
not too much,
not too little,
just enough.

Congratulations

Today my first class of senior highschoolers graduated. The vast majority of them with honour.
I couldn't be prouder.
This has been a stressing year, for them and for me both. To me it felt like running a marathon, trying to stay ahead of the rest of the competitors. I built my classes chapter after chapter, desperately trying to find interesting material, to articulate the class so they'd enjoy it. I tried to pass on to them what I learnt from experience in the ten years head start I've had.
I wanted their highschool experience to have nothing on common with mine.

It's been daunting and exhausting and over all such a gratifying experience.
I was scared witless of messing it up, of letting them down, of failing them.

And God; I couldn't have been prouder today.
God, I couldn't have been happier today.

Today I was the lucky witness of their happiness, of their success, of their joy.

All through the year I saw them evolve, I saw them grow.
They grew, they grew up.
I saw them bloom and shine, gain confidence and start to fly on their own, making choices about their future, questioning their knowledge and the role they were to play in society.
I saw opinions form, ideas appear.
Hands rose.
That little spark of curiosity, of passion sometimes maybe.
God, when I see them I catch myself thinking maybe, just maybe, the future will be brighter.

Oh I couldn't be prouder.
So to all my students, those who will read this and those who won't,
I've seen you work, I've seen you endure the stress, the winter, the exhaustion and I am proud of you. I am proud of the effort you made, I am proud of the mistakes you made, proof that you tried and you learnt.

You are good and will get even better. You are strong and fierce and deserve a bright future.
I believe each and everyone of you will find a path, or several, and become the best version of yourselves.
Enjoy and rejoice! It is not time to mourn the end of an era but to celebrate the beginning of the rest of your lives.
I wish you all the best there is. A life full of opportunities, of dreams to fulfil, of challenges to take, of trials that will make your life more interesting. I wish you luck and love, happiness and pride.
Because today; you all made me both happy and proud.

Congratulations.

Such a small and lovely planet

At the end of the day

Somebody kick me hard.
I thought I was doing fine.
Did I spoil everything again?

Is there anything beyond my reach,
something I couldn’t break,
couldn’t ruin?

My hands hurt,
I want to crawl out of my skin.

The voices keep repeating those harsh words.
Among all the things that were said,
only the sharp one stayed.
Those that hurt,
Those that cut,
Those that stung.
Hours and days later,
They’re still here,
spinning in my head.
I still can’t get them out.

Sealed lips

"You need to learn to be humbler."
"You sound very condescending sometimes."
"Is that really what you thought?"

I tried to do it right.
I tried to be good.
I tried to be better.
It seemed that I failed.

"Good morning" I always said with that singsong voice.
Smiling and easy-going.

Apologize first, even if you don't understand what you did wrong.
It doesn't matter.
If you hurt someone, you apologize.
That's what you do.

I thought I could be proud and uncompromising,
I didn't think being whole would be so wrong.
I messed it up, didn't I?

They said I should keep quiet in front of the grown ups.
I had thought I could talk now,
I was wrong, wasn't I?

I don't know how to talk
I don't know how to speak
I don't know how...

I keep going from sadness to anger.
From the shame for not fitting in
to the pain of a bruised pride.

Why should I apologize for speaking up?
why am I not allowed to point out at people's mistakes?

I rock like a boat on the ocean, caught in the storm.
I am lost and there is no lighthouse.

Listen

Lying on my back, I let my thoughts wander, taken away by the music.
I listen.
Behind my closed eyelids I can see worlds and galaxies
I can see mountains and stars.
I live in worlds you've never seen and there is only so much words can convey.
Listen.
I am carried away. I feel the sun, the wind, the fall.
I smell the sea, the snow and the storm.
Oh if you could listen.
If you could walk with me inside my head.
The shadows are deep but you've never seen light so bright.
Oh how I wish you could hear.

My ears betray me and I am cut from the world in a way that you cannot fathom.
But right here, right now, if you could hear that world that only belongs to me.
Oh, if you only you could.

I need more SENSE8