Calling dreamers


Wishing and dreaming are described with beauty, but when I look at the clock’ and see the late hour of the night, I do believe that dreams are doomed. Even when everything succeeds around you, they’re feeding your last hopes and illusions. Life is rewarding you but you keep daydreaming with this incredible fever : what if ? You washed apart all these “what if” you left on the road, but you keep hoping for something else.


Yeah. Even when everything is alright, even everything is great, you keep looking for him. You think about this scenario, repeating it endless in your mind. You think about what you would say to him, how you would hug him even if you don’t love him anymore. You think about the sound of your lost laughs – how was this wonderful sound, between the loss of breath and the explosion of joy on your faces ? You can’t remember – the taste of the beer on your lips when you keep talking to him, the warm of his arm. It would not be the same, but it would exist with the same old affection, the one you kept all this time. You would tell him what you became, how you built yourself after him, how proud you are to be what you are now, where you travelled, what you accomplished as human being.

You would show off a little bit, silly you are, but you would deserve it. Because you need to. Because this silly daydream keeps you awake so late, even when you are happy. Because.

Sometimes you forget, but it never lasts. You imagine yourself in front of him, and you see how foolish those hopes are the same, how you still hope it would change a little bit the end of the story. You hope, silly daydreamer, that someone comes to cut the throat of your unceasely wishes.

At that utmost point, where this dream seems to disappear and to loose its heavy blooming colors, you realize how foolish you are. Damned. Damned are you to be hoping these incredible minutes of joy when you will, maybe, see him again.

Wake up, wake up, ’cause tomorow, you will erase those words from your fingers.

Is being open-minded a myth ?


Trying harder to be open-minded, it’s like having a mind stretching on and on and on. It’s way easier when you just have to hear the culture of the other, but what about when you have to accept it in your daily life ? Let’s go back to my personnal context.

I am mixed, and try to find a balance between three different cultures(two different, and an intern one) : african, french, and french-carribean. I am in the middle of a constant struggle that people simply sum up : “it’s the same”. No, it’s not the same. There is something offensive in the way to say “it’s not the same”. Usually, people think that underlining differences is to separate people. For example, when I say I am french, my afro friends are joking about all the things I ignore about Africa.  We were talking about music, and they were testing me about singers I know, until one of them stop their atonishment and say “she’s french, guys !”.

On one hand, it was fair to underline the fact I have a french culture, and that my african origin do not mean I am african. On an other hand, it sounded like “she won’t ever understand”, as if it won’t ever be enough. Somehow, it’s true. My parents don’t understand each other on some facts because they don’t share the same culture, so I can say yes, it cannot be enough. Not that it makes it impossible but, sadly, I think it’s quite idealistic to think about an equal relationship, even with compromises. We can lead to this ideal understanding, we can belive in it, but it will miss something.

However, I barely can conceive my life without foreign friends. During a long time, I felt stuck, incomplete – if you think about Backstreet boys’s song I forgive you, I thought the same haha – I felt I needed something else. It took time before I get what it was about. I need to feed myself of others cultures : some people can build their identity through their own country, fact that I respect because I think patriotism is fascinating in its manner to be enough by itself. They just need their country, and that’s alright. But it’s not my case, I easily felt stuck during a long period, I felt almost claustrophobic to do not experience something else. So I left, I met new people, I built my european identity,  and I came back. Lately, I met imigrant people and it’s thrilling because I break my unconscious prejudices about them, and I learn a lot.

… I finally fell in love with someone who has a culture different from mine. And as thrilling was our discussions, we hurted each other through the incapacity to understand each other sometimes. It was very complexe, but I loved him. I loved him for these differences and also because he teached me to understand his mentality. I discovered, once again, that I had limits and a rest of prejudices, that I could be more understanding. I even have some regrets to have been so stubborn: just because my own personnal life was influenced by what I knew of Africa through my dad, it did not mean that African people are like him. Simple thought, easily forgotten though. Africa contents different countries and cultures. I think I just suffer/I am scared to be considered as an ethnocentric european person, who doesn’t try to go further. I run away from this stereotype, and even sometimes I feel as if my afro friends slightly and unconsciously related me to this at the beginning. Everytime, I broke once more their own prejudices.

Pedagogy is the key.

Madame Vulnerability


I wish I could live without any expectations.

Even if you have this thrilling seconds when you realized that they come true, I would sacrifice these little seconds of transe for a perfect ataraxia. Or holidays of ataraxia. Can you imagine ? Take a break when you think about nothing then “what will I eat for lunch ?”, “which movie will I see tonight ?”. Some people will call that boredom. The others ? happiness. I have nothing against expecting something. I just hate the processus. You know, when you loose yourself in this paranoiac mind, which lives only for an answer ? I hate that. Everytime, there are same symptoms. First, I am confident, then suspicious, then worried, and finally, extremely vulnerable.

I hate feeling vulnerable, it’s like being nude to me. I spent so many years to build my confidence that vulnerability is a monster to me. If I had to depict it, it would be me, naked in front of a canon. Yeah. Just like that, haha. During a long time, I thought vulnerability was independant, but our relationships work on it entirely. Most of the time, when you say that you refuse to act like this because you don’t want to be vulnerable in a situation, people say “you have to”. And there comes everything : if you want to be true to yourself, true to the person you love, true to your convictions. You have to. Like when you are in a relationship, and you need to give up your protections for showing who you are, you have to drop all your fears of being hurt…Etc. You have to be vulnerable for appreciating the essence of things around you. You need to be naked to see how comfortable it is to be dressed/touched/comfortable to be home.

Somehow, it is true. It’s not weakness, but bravour to show up. However, it’s not that easy. I mean, being vulnerable would not be if we did not need to protect ourself, to be tough, and to seem confident. If it would not be necessary, vulnerability would not exist. I would like to not be afraid everytime I begin something with someone that I love. Being a white paper where a new story can be written. I try to, but it is not easy.

So, what ? you will say. What should we do ?


Well, it is simple. First, we should accept to be scared, afraid, hurt, vulnerable… Because it is a fatality. Fatility is not necessarily bad, you know, it can help to go further. I am vulnerable sometimes, so what ? You never know if you can be surprised.

You think she/he doesn’t love you ? You don’t know until you will tell him. FACT.

You think your project won’t come true ? Well it won’t if you are discouraged and spend your time to read this blog instead of working on it. FACT. You think people won’t accept who you are ? Who cares if you accept who you are. At the end…

You think something ? Well, just stop thinking for a while, and do what you want to do. When I said “I wouild like to go to Finland, it is maybe silly like plan”, the girl next to me told me “it’s chimerical !”. I could have thought about why and how she knows, but I just went to take an application and filled up for going to Finland the year after. I did, and I spent the best year of my life.

So yeah, Mrs. Vulnerability is still there when you are not sure. But if it’s there, it means some how that you act and hope something, you believe in something. Isn’t it great ? To have a goal to accomplish ?

If you fail, cry. Cry during a long day. The day after, pick a new goal. ‘Cause at the end, you never know if these little insane seconds of striking happiness will be somewhere else… and longer than you excepted. 😉

Moving on, strength of next days

Weird title, I think. But it seemed to me obvious that “strength” takes place in it. Nothing goes as we expect that it will be. Disappointment is something that I am familiar with, somehow, in love. Some of you appreciated my last article, and I don’t regret my words but since that, disappointment came upon it. God I would like to erase it in order to give some logic to my life and my text, but life is surprising. In an “up and down” way.

However, I refuse to let myself drowning. You already know it, I am optimistic. It’s tough to remain optimistic in love. Specially when it’s soooo complicated !

However, it’s also easy to tell about positive things : feeling good, acting in a good way, being a good person… All of this is easy to relate. It is easier to congratulate an ego and admiting its fault. Few weeks ago, I felt pride and good to have helped a woman in the metro. Nothing heroic, just civil act of helping someone else. I felt good because I did not follow the easy way which is following the crowd, taking the metro, going down to my usual station, going back home and closing the door behind me. I was proud to do not let the routine crashing me in my individual way of life.  Again, proud to have taken a minute to stop my steps and looking back for someone else than my ego who wanted to watch the last episode of Homeland or Mad Men. I was happy because it was me.

How bad is that ? Not that I think it’s bad to be proud of some acts that we do sometimes, some way of action which surprises ourself; but it would have worth it if it was not exceptionnal. Few days after, I spent a bad day after hearing a bad news, I came back home and a woman who needed help in the stairs of the metro was there. I skipped this woman. No matter how hard it is to write it, no matter how I turned back for helping her afterward, no matter how much I realized my mistake… I had been selfish and did what I was scared about. Following the routine, finding an excuse of “I don’t feel well”.

Same for this poor fellow that I saw in my metro just after that, I did not give even a food coupon because “if I give to every poor people I see, I will be myself poor”. Another excuse.

When I came back home for relaxing… I could not. I felt bad. So bad face to the truth of my actions. I was not different.

Then I thought “I will do better tomorow”. Isn’t it what it is about ? Being a better person, isn’t it trying everyday ? Learning of our failures and pursuing our goal ? Feeling so involved that we have this will to change ? I think so. I don’t say it excuses everything, but I sincerely believe that trying harder, instead of being stuck on “I am a bad person”,  is what make us better.

‘Cause being better, it is also reflecting on ourself afterward. No ?

What do you think ?

Roots, what’s that ?


Roots” seems to be a basic word, but I took time before realizing how meaningfull it could be. I could reduce this interest to my origins, but we can having roots in many ways. For example, I travelled a lot in different countries and this year, I lived during 9 months in Finland (I am still living there but it comes to an end in few weeks)… These experiences fed an open-mindness that I consider as essential as breathing.

I need to know more about the world in order to find my place somewhere, to know my cultural and spacial limits. I need to understand the diversity to know who I am.

So, my roots are not only in my blood, they are growing inside the world and try to find a way to extend. By and by. More and more. It’s something which brings a lot of amazing meetings, or persons, or activities. It’s something not easy, and it forces to be “opened”.

Be opened all the time is hard, because it means that you have to wonder about yourself, about your prejudices, your beliefs… Sometimes, it feels good to just be sure, just close itself, locking it and saying ” it’s enough for me”. But then, there is often a narrow-mindness which follows.