Back and forward through time

I've been becoming more and more reluctant as to whether I should start my own blog or not. I still am, since I discovered that my decision skills are close to zero. So I told myself I might need some closure in order to make up my mind. I typed in the search bar the name of this blog and stumbled upon the most lovely and ridiculous memories I have from highschool. I still think it was quite an enchanting experience, and I'm glad I have something  reachable to go back to. Evidently, I do realise how many grammar and vocabulary mistakes I made as a teenager, not to mention obvious incoherences....seems quite silly right now, looking back at your teenage self from a recent adult perspective. I had never envisioned myself close to becoming twenty, but as it's rapidly approaching I can't help but wondering whether my 15 year-old version would be proud of my 20 year-old one. I guess she would.

I need not remind our few but hopefully satisfied readers that this is a collective blog. Still, I just did. I am happy to know and keep in touch with the girls that used to share this experience, even though we all spread out through different European corners. Each of us went our own way, following goals we shall hopefully achieve. As for my part, I think at the moment I'm simply enjoying being young, living in Paris, and most of all cultivating the precarious skills I seemed to have in my teens.


Not being entirely sure this is my last post on this blog, I shall name it as such for the time being.


Yours sincerely,
S

Au minuit

Chaque fois que je me crois perdue, mon ange prend soin de moi. Chaque fois que je m’éloigne de mes espoirs, la haute garde renvoie un oiseau sur mon épaule. Elle crie toujours: ”AIME,AIME,EEEM,L’AIAIME!”. Tous me rassurent. Rien n’est perdu. Moi même, je me ranvoie au passé et je me moque de ma propre personne. Que je suis malade! Comme j’aime la folie. Dramatiser, c’est mon style,c’est tout à fait vrai. Malheuresement, qui sait-peut-être pas, je me souviens trop souvent de ma tête. Le grand etêtement que je porte m’épaisse fortement. Je cherche une évasion, une toute petite porte. Mais, le bon ange garde mes deux cotés. T’est vraiment charmante, petite puce. Je t’aime trop,le trop raison que tu aies me force et me gratte et m’entoure et m’échauffe.

Ah, prison, ah béatitude. Comme je vous sente, comme je vous adore. Le goût sur mes leveres, le goût des toutes saveurs, des toutes souffrances. Je vois et j’adore. Je les laisse. Toutes. Toutes mes fautes qui cherchent pardon, tous mes petites préocupations. Comme je vous aime, chères.

Vous êtes ma vie. Vous êtes mes espoirs. Je tiendrai compte de vous, et vous seuls. Chez moi,c’est possible.Je le rendrai possible.

Having the mean reds

For those of you who are très unfortunate, and haven’t seen nor read "Breakfast at Tiffany’s", „Having the mean reds”, unlike the blues(when „you’re sad, that’s all”), is technically „being afraid, except you don’t know what you’re afraid of”. Actually the concept is about knowing exactly what you’re afraid of (so afraid, afraid even not to be going mad), but being too scared to admit it.

The mean reds have their way of appearing at turning points in your life. When you feel like you have to tip-toe your way through life, only because you feel as if you’re on a circus rope and beneath you your feelings are wrapped in glass. Hence, if you fall you will break and hurt both your inside (feelings, mind health, future etc.) and your outside (feeling gloomy shows, you, instead of having what Andy Warhol mentioned as “good days”, happen to have only horrible days).

Well, presumably having been there, I tend to wonder which your solution was. I mean, most people have a certain somebody (relative, friend, lover etc.) who, at the price of a simple phone call has you fine and dandy by the end of that minute. For those of you who can’t really explain the matters to others, what process do you use? Moi, par exemple, I tend to gently tap my left side part of the chest (the area right beneath your neck) using my right hand. Also, seeing a really good movie or reading a fairly good book I’ve already made an opinion about really decreases my tension. Still, my solutions are rather short-term. Dealing with your problems is the really heavy part.

Sometimes I wonder what other people would do. Salvador Dali was paranoid by nature. How on earth has he managed for that long? Jane Austen, oppositely, had a very relaxed way of writing, the only problems on her character’s minds were weather to marry or not, or how to succeed in seducing the person you’re already passionate about. I can’t help but wondering if she was really like that.

On the other hand, being on a turning point is all in all not that bad. It doesn’t really matter where you’re ending up as long as there still are positive things about it. And there always are. Except for being sent to jail or Canada (I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it). I’m serious, seeing the bright side is not at all overrated. In fact, only genuinely smart people manage to do that, donc, it’s in fact a proof of intelligence and understanding.

Alors, are we all set? Moral support is amongst the things that I do best , even with myself. Just keep on moving forward, always towards love, beauty, truth, passion, and (why not?) honest work.