EN: This is just me at my worst

26/3/2017 – Rotterdam, Netherlands
Listening now: Dean Lewis – Half a Man

Hello babes.

First of all, and before I get flooded by concerned texts, I am doing great, thank you. I feel like this need a little bit of an explanation, so here I go. What you are about to read is a mash up of my five last drafts. I didn’t mean to post that today – I first came to tell you how good I felt as of now – and actually I didn’t mean to post it at all, and that’s probably why they never made it through the publication stage (and why I didn’t post anything for ages). But then here I was, going through it all, and I suddenly started to reconsider. Now I concede that this is all genuinely depressing, and that’s exactly the reason why I didn’t want to post it before – I thought there was no need to give a stage to my sorrow, as it would only emphasize and possibly accentuate it. But now that I’m doing much better, I am thinking that it is important to acknowledge these feelings, and give them the space they need to carry their way. So here you go. There is no real conclusion nor anything to take out of it. This is just me at my worst, with the many questions I cannot seem to eradicate of my mind. “Enjoy” and take care.

Much love ♡



I hate myself. And when I say myself, believe me, I don’t only mean the physical me, although most of my body does upset me as well. The list of my complexes is never-ending, it is like a river throwing itself infinitely in the sea, only I am the river and the sea is my poor self-esteem. The voice in my head is like a condescending maniac who would yell insults to me all day long. Its sentences are punctuated by “how stupid” statements which only job is to make sure that my head keeps low, very, very low. The voice reminds me that I am never enough. Never beautiful, smart or funny enough. I am not gifted enough. I am barely average. If you asked, slightly below most of the time.

The real reason why I’ve been single for the past three years is not that I couldn’t overcome the failure of my last relationship, nor that I got sexually assaulted by some dude. The only valid reason is that I hate myself, and I cannot understand why would someone bother to love me. I cannot understand why someone who would be mentally stable and right in its own mind could find me good enough for him. I have been ruining every single relationship I may have had these last three years because I was scared that someone could see something in myself that I have never been able to perceive so far. I have been scared to accept that my entire existence have been evolving towards putting myself down, and most importantly, I have been profoundly scared to change anything about that, because god knows what kind of even darker place would failure bring me to.

The truth is, being single is comfortable. And I am not talking about these bullshits of being free to do whatever you want whenever you want. What I mean is, when being single you don’t need to cope with someone perceiving you as you really are. You don’t need to show them the scars which punctuate every part of your body and soul, you don’t have to give any explanations for the darkness which is surrounding you. You can chose to ignore the growing list of your personal problems, because anyway nobody will be there to pointing them out to you.

You can keep thinking that spending two days in bed, invaded by the most horrible migraines at the perspective of the exams is okey. Yeah right, it has always been such an intricate of your life for those past twenty years, why should you bother calling it into question.
You can keep thinking that having a panick attack after falling from a few stairs, hyperventilating and your heart running wild to the point that you cannot even speak or breathe for the next five to ten minutes, an intense fear submerging yourself is okey. After all, it already happened so many times..
You can keep binge eating all and every single one of your problems, as if food was the plaster of your bleeding soul. Weighing yourself five times a day, making yourself throwing up for feeling so guilty, while crying in your shower and then, keep sobbing while seeing your naked body in the mirror. It is fine, you got the situation in your hands.. Literally.
You can keep biting the inner part of your lip each and every time that sometimes body shames you, counting down the hours until you will be able to be home and get back to that holy shower.
You can keep your tinder account, establishing your self worth to the number of matches you can get in a day. Trying to fill your ego with the stupid compliments of horny, lonesome strangers. And you can even date some of them, anxious to the point of not being able to talk properly, to the point of not being able to be yourself. You can keep ignoring the long and awkward silences which ponderates those meetings by staring at the exit door. You can keep closing your eyes when he will try to kiss you so that you won’t have to see in what kind of mess you are putting yerself. You can keep chasing all his defaults to find the best way to sabotage what could have been the beginning of a nice story. If only..

I have been hating myself for pretty much my whole life, trying to make some light out of my darkest zones, trying to be a better person, trying to be just enough so that I could be in a place of self-acceptance. But the truth is, the solitude that I have been feeling this whole time has been like another obvious confirmation of the fact that i am not that okey person I pretend to be. How could I possibly love someone properly, when I am not even able to give myself the self-validation necessary to keep going smoothly? The answer is simple: I can’t. For that if i ever want to experience love again, I shall start to treat myself like someone who deserves it.

I think that’s what my brain has been trying to tell me as well, manifesting its uneasiness by putting itself on strike. It cannot express what it feels through words, so it uses pain to vehicle for its feelings. It forces me to introspection, remembering all the things I chose to suppress. My brain is like an idle teenager: it isolates himself from the rest, and when it feels like it cannot stand it all anymore, it yells so hard that you cannot not feel all the anger and sorrow that it is experiencing, yet cannot help but feel mad at it for not being capable to express it another way.

It is devastating though. When this happens, I feel like I’m a victim of my own body, of my own mind. And there is nothing I can do but curl up in silence because the more I strive, the more painful it is. The key is to completely lose control. But this is so frightening, because it means letting myself dive as deeply as I need to, and again, I’m not always so sure that I can get back to the surface.

Maybe one day i’ll be able to hug myself in the darkness, picking myself up when everything seems so cruel and then, maybe just maybe those satanic migraines will leave me forever. Or perhaps they won’t. Perhaps they will keep popping out as a reminder to take better care of my tiny heart, for my mind to be more gentle. Maybe they give me those hard days so that i can appreciate the normal ones better. Who knows? Perhaps I hear my heart beating in my brain to remind myself that life keeps floating at its own pace, no matter how inconvenient it might feel to me right now, so that I’d better get used to it.

EN: Dear 2016

4/1/2017 – Chiny, Belgium
Listening now: Angus & Julia Stone – Yellow Brick Road

Dear 2016,

I wasn’t ready for you. I know I shouldn’t compare, but 2015 was so soft and smooth and nobody told me about you before you arrived. You were by far the most challenging year and so there should be no surprise if I told you that I am still quite shaken by everything you made me go through. You made me fall pretty hard, and I still keep the mark of those bruises. Sometimes it is hard to look back on the time we spent together and not feel bitter about it, because it feels like we were in some kind of toxic relationship. Probably for that reason, your departure is strangely releasing, as if during this past year, life was choking me and suddenly, as you left, put some oxygen back in my lungs. But don’t get me wrong, there have been some stolen moments of joy and happiness that I will cherish for a long time, and I cannot feel thankful enough for those. In fact, even the worst times, you taught me a lot, transfiguring me into a phoenix, and I am genuinely grateful for that. Many times, you forced me to pick myself up from nothing, building my life back from ashes. You showed me how precious and fragile our time on Earth could be, taught me to ask for help when needed, whispered me to embrace opportunities, forced me to feel more gratitude and many, many times, you surprised me, giving me a glimpse of light in the darkest times. So thanks for that. Overall, even though you did hurt me, you made me realise that bruises are meant to go away and that we should take them as a reminder to take better care of ourselves. So guess what? That’s exactly what I aspire to do in 2017!

I want to get better at loving myself. As lame and cliché as it can sound, I think that at the end of the day, it all comes down to it. For that, I need to take better care of my mind, slowly learning to accept myself just the way I am and being much more self-indulgent. I have really high criteria towards myself (and others, for that matter) and I need to be able to detach myself from those expectations. I need to learn to feel enough and stop trying to prove myself, seeking validation through achievements. I need to learn to accept my past as a part of who I am, but which is not determining the person I am or seek to be. And I need to stop comparing myself to others. So in taking better care of my mental, I will start writing in my diary again, because not only this enables me to keep track on how I feel, but it also allows me to reflect back on it with some distance.

I also want to take better care of my body, which I many times maltreated. I never actually put words on it with anyone before, mainly because I feel deeply ashamed of it and also because it is the way I am – I deal with my problems on my own (no matter how unsuccessful this has been proven to be) – but I have been torn by eating disorders for a long time, and I feel like 2017 is the time to deal with those issues. Now is the right moment for me to take the control back on my body. Even though I genuinely hate it the way it is now, I realise that my ridiculous obsession with weight is unhealthy and that I need to put an end to it, for the sake of my own health and well-being. And so, I want to start adopting healthy eating habits and do more exercise (I want to feel some tone back in my body, which is so exhausted all the time), as well as practising yoga daily so that I can feel more centred and at peace with myself.

I opened up a lot during this past year about the many issues I was dealing with. Often, people have been questioning this need of mine to publish such personal, if not even intimate details of my life with total strangers. The truth is, being honest with you, giving you an insight on what I was going through has been a powerful healing process. It made me realise the power of vulnerability, how strong of an impact it can have on my life as well as others, and many times, strengthen my bonds with people who surround me. Also, not only am I proud of sharing those bits of my life with you, but I also want to get more diligent in the way I do so. I want to get better at sharing what is going on in my mind with you and do it more often. Writing is fucking therapeutic, and I need to figure out a way to get over my organisational issues so that I can do it on a more regular basis.

Speaking of which, I want to be more organised as well. I think my main issue is time management, and so I need to start prioritising things which are really important to me in order to stop wasting time procrastinating and live a life which feels more fulfilling. Also, I am planning on buying myself a beautiful Moleskine and starting a bullet journal. I feel like this could be a way to stop this terrible habit of mine to do the things at the very last minute, as well as to make room for things that truly matter to me: playing the piano and drawing again, listening to music, watching films and reading more –interlude: I realise that these were already a goal of mine last year, which by the way, I miserably failed to accomplish (or wait.. did I?). But here we are, I think that in 2017, I need to be more grounded as well, and set myself some achievable goals (i.e: not writing a review a day..)-. Another objective is to learn dutch (for real this time!). I realise that my time in Rotterdam is coming to an end, and I would feel really bad if I didn’t make the most of it by improving my language skills over the past three years, as it clearly feels like I’m missing on some opportunities. I also want to interest myself more deeply into photography, learning more about the techniques, taking better pictures and updating my Instagram more often (to make things clear, I don’t aspire to be a “photographer” though, but I want to be able to capture the small instants of my daily life with more poetry and elegance). I also want to print all my photos and make albums, as well as digitalize the old ones.

So here we are, 2016. Time for goodbyes. Don’t worry, I won’t forget you. I will bury deeply inside me the painful (and less painful) memories which we built together, memories which will turn bitter-sweet and come to shake me from time to time, reminding me of the necessity not to leave in the past and to go ahead. I will carry the many dreams which grew out of us, and make sure to let them expand, watered by hope and love. And I will also look after my family and friends, those who took care of me in the times you revealed the darkest in me (oh god.. how dramatic do I sound now? But well.. I think that at that point, we can all acknowledge the fact that I am a drama queen..). Thanks for everything.

Take care, much love ♡


EN: 1 film a day challenge

3/11/2016 – Rotterdam, Netherlands
Listening now: Bon Iver – 22, A Million (in repeat mode!)

Hello babes!

I hope you are all doing amazing! It’s been two weeks since I last showed up (well, I don’t even know what this is meant to suggest.. I have never written regularly on this blog anyway) but here I am again! The last week has been pure madness – I passed my finals for this first term. I don’t think uni has ever been so intense for me (well, this is most probably due to my poor non-existant organisation skills but let’s skip that part of the story) also, these last few days have been really exhausting. With that being said, I absolutely loved this term and had insightful, thought-provoking courses (and lecturers!). The highlights of which being my electives, which I believe I could not have chosen better (I took “Art of Filmmaking” and “Cultural influences on Communication”, and both were a blast). Although as suggested earlier, I haven’t been really hard working lately (well, apart from this week.. obviously) and therefore failed to watch lots of the assigned films (not to mention the literature) for these courses, which is an absolute shame because I’m sure they all were super interesting.

But November just arrived, and every month, I try to set myself some new goals. October’s ones were to start running and catching up with my yoga and guess what.. I’m not doing bad so far! I’m actually way better at running than I thought I would be and, even more surprising: I kind of enjoy it until now (it gives me some kind of high/super proud feeling every single time I finally get to my front door, which makes me feel like an absolute goddess!). Moreover, not only can I feel that my body is becoming stronger (I have fucking abs showing up.. can you believe it?!), but it also helps me to declutter my mind and discover some wonderfully beautiful places in Rotterdam. Anyway, I could go on forever about it, so enough digress, let’s go back to the subject: November is here, and I decided to set myself a new challenge.

While being in London, I bought myself this book called 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die, from Steven Jay Schneider (I linked the last version available on Amazon if you’re interested and want to check it out). It is basically a list of 1001 classics/cult movies classed chronically, accompanied by some quick facts and reviews about the films. It is a perfect coffee table book and is also a great one to turn to when you lack inspiration (as well as a very good gift for any cinéphile). Nevertheless, it has been on my shelf for two years now, and to be honest I kind of forgot about it. But this was until I passed my exams, and realised that:

  1. I freaking love movies (but rarely take the time to watch some)
  2. My general cinematographic culture is pretty much chimerical (apart if you consider 21st-century American romcoms.. but let’s not go there for now)
  3. And my review skills are.. hum “limited”, so to speak

So! Here we go.. My challenge for this month is to watch one film a day and review it on this blog. It has three main goals: expand my cultural capital, improve my critical review skills and, last but not least: publish more on this blog. If you’re interested in doing the challenge (oh my god, we could form a proper cine club!!), here is how I’m gonna make it work: every Sunday, at the bottom of the review, I will publish the list of the films that I will watch (in the original/subtitled version when possible) and review the following week, so that you can look at it as well and we can then exchange about it in the comment section down below if you’re interested in doing so. The films will be in the chronological order, so I will start off with the silent era, for two reasons: it is how 1001 movies is organized (and I hate jumping from one page to another, I prefer to read in the “correct” order), and it will probably be easier for me to review films which belong to the same period/movement (and later as we go on, draw parallels with older ones). So this week (well until sunday), the films are:

  • Le voyage dans la lune (A Trip to the Moon). Georges Méliès, 1902
  • The Great Train Robbery. Edwin S. Porter, 1903
  • The Birth of a Nation. D.W. Griffith, 1915

I’ll see you tomorrow! Until then, don’t forget to challenge yourself! Much love ♡


EN: About love and other bullshits #3

17/10/2016 – Rotterdam, Netherlands

Listening now: Cloves – Don’t forget about me

Hello babes!

I hope you are all doing wonderful. So far, in this series called “About love and other bullshits” (you can read the other posts here & there), I have mainly been talking (moaning?) about my ex boyfriend, which is totally understandable, considering the huge impact that he has had in my life. But by paying so much attention to that single particular story, which I have so often idealized, I sometimes overlooked all the other relationships that I may have had with men and which have brought me to being the individual I am at the moment. So, I thought I would share one of these stories with you today.

So there was this guy -let’s call him Jake. I already saw him once or twice cause we had some common friends. Then one time we had a chit-chat during a party. He seemed like a nice dude, asked me if I wanted to hang out sometimes and I said yeah, sure – cause I had no reason to say otherwise, he was a nice guy, remember? Plus he also had a beard. Beardmen are cool, it could only be great. So the day after, we hung out together. We had a bier, and then a second one. We watched a movie and at some point, he tried to kiss me. I was reluctant. In my head, things were really clear: I just wanted to be friend with him. But it completely came out of the blue to me, and I had no time to react. And as I didn’t move or say anything, he kept going. I felt trapped. Was this some kind of settled game, by which, accepting to come over his place, I implicitely agreed to all of this? Of course not, but still. I didn’t want to disappoint him, nor to run away like a weirdo. After all we had some friends in common, and I didn’t want it all to be even more awkward than it already was. Plus kissing never killed anyone, right? I could just force myself and then pretend this never happened. It wasn’t such a big deal.

Then things escalated quickly. He was getting closer, and even more insistant. As I realized where this was leading us, I told him, explicitly, softly but firmly, that I didn’t want to have sex with him. He kept going, didn’t really pay attention to what I was saying. I repeated those few words again: I don’t want to have sex with you. Once again, he dismissed my talk, ignored my feelings. He just kept kissing me and his hands were running wild over my body, more and more adventurous, making me feel nauseous already. I didn’t know what to do, what to say. Should I start yelling and asking for help? But who could possibly come? Did I really want to make such drama out of it? Should I bite him and run away? But what about the times I’d see him around again? Worst, what if he started being violent? How could I possibly protect myself? I was like a trapped mouse, and the cat was coming to get me.

I remember exactly the moment I gave up. The instant when I understood he wouldn’t let me go away so easily. And that resigned thought in my head: “let that be”. I felt fragile, petite and hopeless. I was like a lying corpse, from which the soul would have been taken away. I was merely a ghost. I was so detached from my body that I didn’t even feel anything. I never felt so alienated from myself.

I took three long showers that night. Not only because I felt profoundly dirty and ashamed of myself, but also because I wanted to make sure to eliminate every single particule of him. He wasn’t there anymore, yet I could still feel him. His perfume was making me sick, I could smell it on every cell of my body.

Not long after this “incident” I saw him again, although I first made sure to avoid him because I couldn’t stand his presence anymore.. He made me feel shameful. Even so, we ended up meeting, and I told him I didn’t want to see him ever again. I made up some stupid excuses, compared him to my previous relationships, telling him that I didn’t want us to go through all that drama again. He started being angry. He didn’t like being compared to those guys. He thought he was nothing like them, and told me that anyway, if I didn’t want this deep inside, I wouldn’t have done it. I felt so mad at that moment and I couldn’t even understand why.

It was so insiduous and non-violent that for a long time, the thought of being raped didn’t even cross my mind. I was passive and lifeless, it was like if he didn’t only possess my body, but also my soul, making me think that my consent wasn’t a neccesary part of sex. For a long time, I felt deeply guilty and ashamed, for not being strong enough, for not being capable of standing up for myself, for not being able to protect my body, to speak up, to shout, to hit, to run.

Luckily Jake lives abroad now. This means that I have had time to think about all those things without feeling the oppressive weight of his presence around me. A few weeks ago I felt the urge to make peace with my past. For the very first time, I put words on what happened. I sent him a message, in which I explained how much he had hurt me, destroying me from the inside. I also told him how sorry I felt for him not believing that he was worth consent. Jake responded kindly. He apologized, then answered that he “liked [me] since the first time [he] saw [me]”, and that he “didn’t want to hurt [me] and make [me] feel bad” (those are his words). Finally, he concluded by telling me that he hoped we would have the opportunity to meet one of those days, so that he could “try to fix it”, and he apologized again.

There have been lots of questions haunting me since then. How could he possibly think that he could “try to fix it”? Does he even know how badly he broke me? Does he even understand how it feels to be dismissed, disregarded, disrespected? What if he didn’t mean it? Could it be possible that he raped me without even ever envisaging it? Could it be that he has so little notion of sexual pleasure and so little regard for women that he didn’t realize it? If so, did he ever rape other women?

I don’t have any answer to those questions, and probably never will. They will stay a part of me, just like the disgust I felt (and still feel) about my body, my anxiety when surrounded by men, and all the negative thoughts towards myself that he implicitely gave to me. But I don’t consider it to be irredeemably, for that I know stars can only shine in the dark. If I need to carry on with my life, Jack certainly doesn’t deserve the comfort of my silence, so I’ll keep speaking up about it, again and again, until we won’t have any use of the word “rape” anymore.

Take care of yourself, and don’t ever be afraid to let your voice be heard! Much love ♡


EN: Sweaty ramble on summer time

14/9/2016 – Rotterdam, Netherlands
Listening now: Stromae – Avec Caesaria

Hello babes,

Long time no see! I hope you are doing good.  I don’t know how the weather is where you are at the moment, but here in Rotterdam, it’s fucking callente and to be absolutely honnest, if it was even only a little bit warmer, I might just die from overheat. It is so hot that I am writting this wearing only a bra and some underwears, all the windows and doors wide open so that I won’t  suffocate. But even though this might be one of the sweatiest post, I ain’t gonna complain about it, because it’s clearly the best weather I’ve experienced in Rotterdam so far.

By the way, YES, I’m back in the Netherlands. After spending three months back in my hometown (well, homevillage feels more appropriate but nevermind), and two weeks squatting my friend’s place because I was still sub-renting my room (stupid Caroline..), I finally moved in yesterday! Somehow, this feels like another big step for me, like a true ending of the summer. In order not to forget these three months back home, I decided to write a quick post about this summer, so that you will also get some explanations about the few photos you might have seen on my Instagram.

So heeeeeere we go! This summer I..

  • went to the hairdresser, prepared the babies’ room (nope, I ain’t pregnant yet.. but my cousin is and guess what? I have the great honnor to be the godmother of the baby), went shopping, did some echographies and speculated about how different our lives would be in a few months
  • felt poorly,  watched all the seasons of Game of Thrones in two weeks (can we talk about addiction?) and reorganized all my Pinterest boards, which gave me lots of inspiration to change my room around (but I’ll keep you updated about that later..)
  • met with all my highschool classmates for a lovely afternoon
  • walked 25 km in the woods with my ex-boyfriend, only to wonder what on earth 17 years-old me was thinking about when going out with that guy (it was about time..)
  • passed my theorical exam and started taking driving lessons with my dad (see.. sometimes, I do stick to my resolutions..)
  • worked, worked, worked, worked, worked.. (this joke’s getting old.. isn’t it?) I am not gonna bullshit about it though, I felt completely miserable to spend my summer confined in a shop while all my friends were enjoying their holidays on the most wonderful beaches; even though let’s face it, there’s nothing quite like the feeling of being rich when you get your first paycheck (and all the other ones after that), plus my body is in a much better shape than it was before summer, thanks to it
  • went shopping a lot (no coincidence with the previous point.. obviously)
  • walked pretty much everyday with my mum across fields and woods and god.. I am gonna miss it
  • went back to my grand-ma’s house, which is probably the creepiest place to sleep in, considering all the weird noises, but also the loveliest, if I think about all the memories from my childhood I have there
  • broke my laptop.. again. Only this time I decided to buy a new one because come on.. this laptop spent more time being ill than I did these last ten years
  • did lots of antique markets to find bits and pieces for my appartment (and got that wonderful Aladdin’s oil lamp you saw on my Instagram)
  • walked another 25 km with an old friend of mine (with whom I didn’t speak for two years) and made peace with him (can you tell there’s something therapeutic about walking such long distances in the woods..), which made me realize that, really, there’s only one step from hatred to love
  • watched all the seasons of Orange is the New Black with my mum.. and then got also addicted to Stranger Things (actually, writting about all these series, I’m thinking that I should probably do a whole another post about it)
  • went kayaking and cliff jumping with my dad
  • bought all the Harry Potter books so that I could read them again this autumn (madness..)
  • went to Amsterdam for the first time with my parents, ate space cakes with my mum (who would have thought?) and felt completely in love with the city.. so decided to do my internship there this year
  • and finally.. felt completely depressed on the 29th of August, reading an e-mail from uni and realizing that the holidays were over

That’s about it! I hope you spent a lovely summer. In the comments below, please tell me one thing that made yours special. Much love! ♡




EN/FR: A year in music/ Une année en musique

7/7/2016 – Chiny, Belgium
Listening now: 

Music has always had a significant place in my life. I have this very special custom (which I believe hope I am not the only one to have), to listen to a track in repeat mode for days when I love it. Subsequently, some tunes end up feeling like the soundtrack of a particular period of my life, so that every single time I hear it, I’m instantly thrown back to the places and the moments which match the song. This, I believe, is the power of music (well, irritation from my beloved one’s is also quite strong one -and a totally legitimate consequence of my bad habit – but sorry I’m just not sorry about that).

Just a little bit more of a year after the end of my exchange year in London, music has always proven to be the best way to dive, deeply nostalgic, in the remnants of the memories of that specific time of my life. Also, I constituted a Spotify playlist of all the tracks I used to listen to while being there, just to ensure myself to have some good material to let the saudade invade all my body, close my eyes, and remember all the wonderful instants that shaped this amazing trip.

So if you were in London with me, I hope you can feel it all again. The art lessons, the tipsy singing in the train, the chill afternoons in the parc, the lonesome moments in your bed, the gospel choir, the Croydon nights out, the 109s, the long Drama rehearsals, the pesto-pasta cooking, the vintage markets and all the things in between. And if you weren’t, well.. I hope you’ll have a good time listening to this playlist, and that it will give you a better insight on my exchange. If you enjoyed it, please don’t hesitate to subscribe to my Spotify. I’ll see you soon!

Much love ♡


La musique a toujours eu une place essentielle dans ma vie. J’ai cette habitude très spéciale (que je pense espère ne pas être la seule à avoir) d’écouter un morceau en boucle pendant des jours lorsque je l’aime. Ainsi, certains airs finissent par sonner comme la bande sonore d’une période particulière de ma vie, de manière telle qu’à chaque fois que je les entends, ils me projettent instantanément aux endroits et moments associés à la chanson. Et c’est sans doute ça, le pouvoir de la musique (enfin vous me direz, celui d’irriter mes proches à force de ma mauvaise habitude est aussi un pouvoir assez puissant).

Un tout petit peu plus d’un an après la fin de ma seconde rhéto à Londres, la musique a aussi su faire ses preuves comme étant le meilleur moyen de me plonger, profondément nostalgique, dans les vestiges de ma mémoire de cette partie spécifique de ma vie. Ainsi, je me suis constitué une playlist Spotify de tous les morceaux dont j’avais pour habitude d’écouter lorsque je vivais là-bas, afin de m’assurer d’avoir de quoi laisser la saudade envahir tout mon corps pendant que je ferme les yeux et prends le temps de me remémorer tous les instants précieux qui ont fait de ce voyage ce qu’il était.

Donc si tu étais à Londres avec moi, j’espère que tu peux ressentir toutes ces choses une deuxième fois. Les cours d’art, les chants pompettes dans le train, les après-midis calmes dans le parc, les moments seuls dans le lit, la chorale de gospel, les sorties à Croydon, les 109s, les longues répétitions de théâtre, la cuisine de pâtes au pesto, les marchés vintages, et toutes les autres petites choses. Et si tu n’y étais pas.. Et bien j’espère que tu prendras du bon temps en écoutant cette playlist, et que ça te donnera une meilleure idée de cette année d’échange. Si elle te plaît, n’hésite pas à t’abonner à mon Spotify. A très bientôt!

Much love ♡


EN: About love and other bullshits #2

5/7/2016 – Chiny, Belgium
Listening now: Delilah – Strong for me

A few months ago, I wrote an article (which you can read here) while processing my break-up from the only serious relationship I’ve ever had, which also partly meant mourning my ex-boyfriend – or trying to, at least. Back in time, I remember feeling more and more distanced from him while being abroad, thanks to the ability of travelling to remote you from the things you have to deal with. Also, it felt like I went over it, as I barely thought about him anymore.

And then I came back to Belgium more and more regularly. Saw people I used to meet while being with him, and went back to places I used to go around during our relationship. For the first time in a long, long time, memories started to emerge, and with them, lots of emotions I thought I would never have to cope with anymore. It was like if everything reminded me of his absence, everywhere I went here. So I found myself like a complete psycho, tracking every single post of my ex-lover, anticipating all the events where he could be and, of course, losing my mind every single fucking time he would contact me – or answer kindly to one of my message, for that matter. I was helpless. Again.

Although I can clearly understand why this happened at that particular period of my life, as I was terribly vulnerable and more in need for love than ever, I was still mad about myself. Because even though in my head I could completely rationalize the fact that I wasn’t with that boy anymore, and explain why with reasonable reasons, there still was a tiny part of my heart which was fancying him, and secretely hoping he would come back some day. After all this time, I never succeeded to kill the hope and it felt like a total failure to be that desperate post break-up person again, when I thought that I was over it and used to mock badly those kind of people.

But still.. When I saw him for the first time in two years, and perceived that he was giving me some attention, I felt deeply recognized and somewhat important. When he stood for me publicly – for what felt like was the first time ever – and started to engage in a loooong conversation, to finally text me that he would love seeing me again soon and take the time for a deeper chit-chat.. I first felt hesitant. There was this part of myself which realised how even more different we were from each other. The one that would also think that there was no good in meeting him again soon, at least not by our own. Unfortunately, that piece of my brain was quite tired that night and decided to answer later on.. Terrible idea. Also, it took me a day to process all the informations and try to clear my mind. Once again, I started to idealize our relationship and was all flatered that he would pay attention to me. Now let me have a word about idealization. I am not an expert of relationships (see by yourself), but if there is one thing I learnt during these 20 last years.. It’s that the magnification of any kind of thing is never a good thing. It blurs your perception of reality and is generally followed by a hard fall when you end up perceiving things as they really are. But enough disgress, let’s go back to the essential: So the stupid subdivision of my heart (or ego, I don’t know anymore) which was all flatered that he would pay attention to me went mental and decided that after all, it would be a wonderful idea to spend time together again. Oh my.. What’s wrong with you Caroline?

I literaly went crazy. No need to pretend that this wasn’t the case and that I had the situation in my hands, because I really didn’t. This terrible decision turned me hysterical. I started to imagine a hundred situations in my brain, with what I pretended was him but was actual an ideal version of a lover that never existed. I also spent two hundred quids on underwears (don’t judge me), and while realising that I was completely losing control, called a friend for a bit of reassurance. Then, I headed for what I fancied calling a date (but wasn’t, really), somehow hoping that he would regret dumping me three years beforehand, by recognizing how such a sweet babe I am. Yeah I know right.. Ridiculous.

So we met. It was nice, really, but nothing more. Just.. Nice. By walking next to him and talking about our respective lives for hours, it just appeared even more clearly how so different we were from each other. I also understood that no matter how nice he could be, he would never be the person meant to be with me again, because we could simply just not bring to each other what we needed. He was and will still be a really important person in my life, but not that special one whom I will recall the sweet memories of loving days in repeat mode with anymore.

Understanding that felt pleasingly right, as it meant that I wouldn’t have to feel guilty or ashamed from being with him again, nor to explain awkwardly to my beloved ones that I successfully managed to get back with him. But it also felt terribly sad, while I became conscious that during all those years of mourn, his existence was for me synonym of love. He was the only person which made me experience it, and therefore the one which I would refer to in that matter. For an extraordinary long time, I identified him as being love in itself, when he was only the form it took for me at a particular moment of my life – no need to specify that this moment was now far past. This realization was remarkably bittersweet, as it meant giving up on the convinction that there was someone right for me somewhere in this world. Now don’t get me wrong: even though giving up on him means that I have no proof or certitude that this love exist anymore, only hope that it does, I don’t think that I’m doomed to celibacy for the rest of my life – far away from that, I think that this new understanding might help me to go ahead and start forgetting the poor boy in order to, why not, begin something new and exciting with someone else (thanks god!).

To be continued.. Much love ♡