All posts filed under: Creative

Enough

‘’Why can’t you be like all the girls your age?’’ he asked. ‘’Look at your cousin, she is doing normal stuff. Why can’t you be like her?’’ I was 13. My newly found passion for ballroom dancing didn’t please my father. He had a hard time understanding why I enjoyed spending all of my Saturday afternoons dancing with people who could be my grandparents. Sometimes I wondered whether I was making certain choices simply to annoy him. At least, that’s what he thought. Maybe he was right. I don’t know. Our relationship has always been complicated. I have always been different from the people my age, and that bothered him. He never missed an opportunity to remind me. I was never enough. Never good enough. Never funny enough. Never pretty enough. Despite my numerous attempts to please him, and be the perfect daughter, it was never enough. But he pretended. We pretended. We used to spend a lot of time in cinemas, supposedly to enjoy some father-daughter time. People thought that we shared a common …

The road to myself

 When I was a child, my parents used to repeatedly tell me that I was “one in a million”. At the time, I hated it. It was a constant reminder that I was not like my friends, not better or worse, simply different. I would spend my Saturday evenings learning ballroom dancing with my grandfather; my free time, reading Victor Hugo’s masterpieces or figuring out ways to make the world a better place. Growing up, I realised that having trouble fitting in was, in fact, not a curse. Being an outsider gave me the space necessary to observe the world around me, as I was attempting to understand its people, struggling to decide which part I wanted to play, who I wanted to be. Finding myself has been an intricate task. I have travelled North to South, East to West to figure out who I am. Along the way, I have developed a curiosity for different cultures, and have learnt to accept my own, through an internalised approach of tolerance, respect and compassion. I have …

Rebellion, Freedom and Passion

Friday 13th of November I am quite superstitious. I usually feel weird when there is a Friday 13th around the corner. Not this year. This year, I had planned a date with a wonderful man and that was the only thing that mattered. Nothing could take my mind off this much-awaited rendez-vous. So when my mum told me she was going to the Bataclan to accompany her friend at a hard rock concert, I did not pay much attention. I should have, probably. As much as my mother loves music, hard rock is definitely not her favourite kind.But the only person I was thinking about that day was not my mother. Or anyone else, for that matter. 11pm – I am in a pub. The whole world is in shock. I do not understand what is going on. And then I heard. And then I read. Only two words were reasoning in my head: deaths and Bataclan. My heart skipped a beat, or even two. My throat closed. I tried not to imagine the worst. I …

Falling in and out of love

I am a real romantic. I have always dreamed that I would meet the man of my life in a park, or at a bookstore. Maybe even at a bakery. I fell in love once. And I fell hard. It was romantic, it was love at first sight. Like in many of my favourite movies. But with great love come great expectations, great disappointments. “It’s not you, it’s me”. In that case, it was true. Yet so wrong at the same time. I fought hard. I was strong. I was there. Every day, every night, every second. I gave everything I could possibly give. Love, time, money. All of me was in that relationship. I did not think it was possible to forget myself. To lose myself. But I did. I lost my confidence, my pride, my self-esteem. My soul. At the time, it seemed worth it. In some ways, I still think it was. I realised that loving someone that much was the most altruistic gift I could offer. Yet the most destructive for …