one of these days

Few weeks ago I was asked to write an artist statement for my drama classes. I struggled. I was lost, without a clue where to start hence my first words were 'I have never considered myself an artist'. That's entirely true. I have never considered myself one as I haven't achieved anything yet and I'm not as good enough to call myself one. At the very moment I am completely lost. I have no idea how I am going to achieve what I want to achieve. I'm angry at the fact that I've still more than six months left until I graduate. I feel as if I was trapped in a world that I no longer belong to. French lectures are annoying me and I see no point in attending translation classes even though they're with the nicest tutor I have ever had. I was interested in translation at some point of my life but then I realised that I'm not really good at it, so I gave up. I do that often though, I give up when it starts getting serious, when I have to put in an extra effort and start to care. You know why? ... because when it's finally over I feel lost and helpless, like an abandoned animal. I don't know what to do with myself and then I start to think, and think, and think. I tell myself that I'm not good enough and I have never been and that I will probably end up having a shitty job that I will hate (or worse - stay in McDonald's forever). And most of all that my parents will be right... They have never believed in me when it came to drama, no one did. It was always considered a whim. I was supposed to get over it at some point. Well I didn't, did I?

There's a million ideas per second going on in my head right now. I'm a poor student though. I need to find a hidden treasure in my backyard or something to accomplish them all.

I need a cigarette. Wait I quit... Putain!

...

People tend to think the worst in the hard times. Am I ever going to be alright? Will I get cancer? What’s going to happen to me? How am I going to enjoy life when I perfectly know that I’m screwed up? We try to put a smile on our faces, but in fact it’s only a shadow of a smile. We put our masks on and pretend everything’s alright. However, deep down we know nothing’s alright anymore. Even a nice dress or an amazing pair of shoes won’t make us feel better. I've put it wrongly. It would help but only for a moment; later on it would be just another pair of nice shoes that takes space in our overstuffed wardrobe.

How to get on with life then? Is it even possible? There might be moments when we get so occupied with other problems that the big ones seem to fade or even disappear. How long for though? We perfectly know that they are never going to go away even if we try running away from them for as long as we can. What should we do then?

If I ever get the answer, I’ll make sure to let you know… 

Paris oh la la...

17.04.2013

I’m so glad I’ve lived in France for almost 8 months now. Hmm I’m glad because when we first came to Paris there wasn’t any of the big ‘wow it’s Paris!’ thing. I felt normal, familiar with everything and didn’t behave like a Japanese tourist. I guess only the plan guide gave away the fact that we were tourists. The journey to Paris was exhausting. Carrying a huge backpack, small suitcase and a medium size travel bag was NOT fun at all. My back is hurting so much. The same is waiting for me on my way to the UK… God why?! I’d really use a man carrying the entire luggage for me. But wait, I can do it! I’ve done it so many times before. I’ll be fine. I’m sure I will.

First day in Paris was the day of our arrival. We started the journey at about 6am, arrived in Paris at noon and then it took us an hour or so to find the bloody hotel. When we finally arrived there we decided to have a power nap to get our strength back and maybe try to visit some places in the evening. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, it ended up quite a long one as we got up after 7 or 8pm. Already being too late for visiting we decided it was time to try some of the French cuisine, so we went on restaurant-hunting. Beside the food being delicious and me breaking almost every rule of my diet (fortunately there wasn’t any side effects… ouff), the weirdest thing was the behaviour of the French. I’d already noticed it back in Besancon but I believe in Paris it was visible on much bigger level. The French are absolutely weird (I know I’ve said it so many times now and I guess I’ll be saying it until the end of my life unless I find a really nice French guy who will accept all my disadvantages). I don’t know why but when they meet a foreigner they get either completely paralysed and just ignore you as if you weren’t there at all (literally not even looking at you) or speak to you in English even though you have started the conversation in French and you’re replying to all their questions in French. The other ones are the over-excited ones who just try finding in their memory any people they know of your nationality or jump around you all the time (bear in mind that they’re the minority). I find it quite amusing but at the same time so disturbing and weird. I guess it only happens in France as I haven’t experienced it anywhere else.

Day two was a much nicer one. We went to see most of the tourist attractions. Yes, I went up the Eiffel tower and I have a picture with it (I know how tacky it is). I must say that it was nice, even though I have a little fear of heights, but in general I guess I expected more. Don’t get me wrong, the view was amazing and all that stuff but still the magic of the place somehow disappeared. However, the place that astonished me the most was Montmartre. It looked the exact way as I imagined France would be, although without all those tacky souvenirs, but I guess it has to exist in every tourist town. On our way to the actual place we passed by few galleries. I need to go back there one day and have a closer look as the paintings were incredible! I especially liked one artist who painted faces as a compilation of human bodies; I can’t really explain it you would have to see it on your own, anyway for me they were interesting enough and I hope in few years’ time they’ll still be there. I would have forgotten about the Sacre Coeur church which is also situated in the same district and when you get inside its beauty hits you right away. In my opinion it was even better than the famous Notre Dame. I guess in my case I had too great expectations if it came to Paris (after all it was my first time properly visiting the city and not only going to Porte Maillot to catch the bus to the airport). The most annoying thing during the whole journey was American tourists. For God’s sake! Not all the fucking world speaks English. Show some respect and learn at least ‘Bonjour’, ‘merci’ and ‘au revoir’. Either you’re so terribly lazy or just dumb as fuck. Although I might not be totally objective, I do know that not all Americans are like that and I even met some who speak quite good French but the ones in Paris were extremely annoying and so overconfident, just as they thought that the world lies upon their feet.  

Day three which at the same time was the last day of our visit to Paris started very early in the morning. We wanted to visit Musee du Louvre but un/fortunately it was closed – on Tuesday. Anyway I’m not surprised, it’s France, the country where everything closes down on Sundays or is open until noon because the French need some time to rest. I don’t have a clue why they’re so tired as they make themselves an extra day off almost every week due to a strike. In my opinion they should work a full-time shift on Sunday, every week they have a strike. Anyway after the Louvre we decided to see Notre Dame, the Jewish district called Le Marais and we walked down quite a busy street called Rue de Ravoli in order to find vintage shops. In fact we only found two or three, of which the first one was expensive as hell but I saw amazing dark brown Prada heels (my size!) studded at the back. I really wanted to try them on but after seeing the prices of other shoes (btw they not only had Prada but YSL, Louis Vuitton, Dior, etc.) which was about 200 euro I walked out with a broken smile on my face. I guess I’ll have to wait to afford a brand new pair then.  Anyway in the last one I found black Levis’ shorts which are going to be amazing for a night out ;) We then walked back to our hotel, had a nap and started preparing for the long and exhausting journeys ahead of us. Mine is about to end while I finish my little writing.

My little Paris’ trip has gone to an end. I’m so happy about the easiness of the subway in Paris. I guess it’s the only thing the French has ever done properly. It was a nice spent of both time and money with an amazing company of the meanest of them all ;p I only wish we had some more time to visit the places we didn’t manage to and perhaps go out clubbing. Anyway it’s time to begin chapter 2 of these holidays – Aberystwyth, Wales.

A bientot! 

Love/Death

I must confess.. I was trying to write something but every time I made an attempt I realized it was either bad or just complete bullshit. So I'm leaving you with two monologues I wrote last year for theatre classes. They were written on the themes of love and death using different speech patterns.

Enjoy!

MONOLOGUE 1 – LOVE

People say love is the cure for everything. Is it really? Isn’t it more like an eternal struggle to please the other person? Or perhaps trying to get to know them without putting enough effort to know ourselves first?  What about making mistakes? Should they be forgiven? Or maybe just forgotten? They should definitely give us a lesson. But do they always do that? Why do we listen to other people so much, instead of listening to our own hearts? Don’t they know what’s best for us? Don’t they give us signs when we actually meet the right person? Why do we ignore them? Why do we seek advice from others whilst we could get the answers ourselves? Wouldn’t it be easier to just follow our hearts once? Without unnecessary thinking, prejudices and dependence on others? Perhaps we would stop hurting people this way?

MONOLOGUE 2 – DEATH

I wasn’t really sad when my cat died. He was old and getting grumpy. I think it was his time already. My family wasn’t in grief for long either. We bought a new lovely kitten a week later. It just didn’t move me at all. A month later my granddad died. He was in pain for a long time. I didn’t cry. I thought it was the best for him. My family was in grief. My mum was in a total mess. At the funeral I was holding her, so she wouldn’t fall on the ground. I didn’t feel anything. Just the same kind of emptiness I’ve always had. I just lived my life after that. Two months later I went to the doctor. They run some tests. A week later they told me I had a brain tumour. Untreatable one. Something crushed in me. I couldn’t stop crying. I realized that I am going to die…

day like... always?

I wake up at 6am, turn off my alarm clock and try finding a little box with medicines I need to take. Found it, yay! I drink some water and accidentally spill it on the bed, merde! I put the mug back and try falling asleep again, which to be honest is not hard at all. I wake up two hours later, finding it difficult to open my eyes and discovering that I’m going to miss my bus. I dress in a hurry. There’s no time for breakfast but I can still put at least some make-up on. The bag is already packed, that’s a good thing. I take my phone, plug the headphones in and run to the bus stop. I have 5 more minutes until the bus comes, a cigarette then. The bus arrives in the city centre. I run to my classes just to discover that there’s no one there. Awesome. I wait about 20 minutes. Still no one. I decide to go back to my uni halls, have some breakfast and watch one of the many TV series I follow. After 20 minutes I get there, have some breakfast, decaf coffee and afterwards another cigarette. I hope the other class is going to take place according to the schedule. An hour and a half later I get to the city centre. There’s still no one. I finally decide to go to ‘l’acceuil’ to ask what’s going on. They say the tutor has changed the room the day before and I have to go somewhere I have no idea how to get to. Nice. I fucking love how this country is organised… I finally get there and it occurs it’s a practical class, wtf… I’ve thought they only do the boring theory here. The best is still ahead of me. After an hour I discover there’s an exam… the next day. I have to sing, which I truly hate because I’m extremely bad at it, and do some performance together with it. I panic. What the hell am I going to sing? I finally find quite an easy song but there’s still the performance left to do. ‘Je suis dans la merde’. Eventually I manage to think of something but it’s far from my brightest ideas. I watch some other people’s stuff. It’s good. Why didn’t I think of any of that? I go back to my little piece. My brain is going to explode from that much thinking. We finally finish at 6 pm. I’m tired and the only thing I can think of now is sleep. I get home, eat some ‘petit beurre’ and fall asleep. I wake up at midnight. Fuck, I still have to think of some ideas for the exam. I ask a friend for some help and walk her through my ideas and my plan. I go to sleep again, only to find myself experiencing a sleep paralysis. I wake up terrified. What the hell is wrong with me? Somehow I manage to fall asleep again. I get up few hours later, drink my decaf coffee and prepare for the class. As I soon discover the 3 hours break has been replaced with an hour one and we’re having another class straight after the exam. Exactly what I needed.  I pass the exam despite being completely ignored by the tutor. Saying ‘It looks nice’ isn’t really helping, you know? It’s not like I don’t have a clue what theatre is, but apparently the Erasmus students are not even worth trying to be cared for. Thanks very much for being so supportive. I talk to the other students; I smoke, and talk again. It’s nice to finally connect at least a bit with them. I go to the other class and try not to fall asleep as it’s boring as hell. I go home and fall asleep immediately. I wake up and eat something as I need to be careful with my eating habits. I check Facebook and some other silly stuff in the Internet. I fall asleep only to meet my sleep paralysis friend again. I wake up wet and scared as hell. It really is far from funny. I try going back to sleep but I can’t, I’m too terrified of this thing happening again. Finally I manage to do so but it’s not enough to finish my translation homework and go to the classes. I wake up at 6am to take my medicine and fall asleep again. It’s 1 o’clock. I’m still feeling tired. I go back to sleep and find myself waking up in the evening. It’s like the last three days have been taken out from the calendar without me even noticing that… Can I go back to sleep again though? Spring hasn’t arrived yet so I can still enjoy my winter sleep ;)

Quand j’étais petite...

So I have to say that I got my inspiration for this post from a French video on youtube, made by a French comedian called Cyprien. Basically he talks about what he used to believe in when he was a child. I thought why not doing the same, but in a written version? So to start with:

1. When I was little I used to think that when you pee in public swimming pool, the water around you would change colour. Ridiculous I know, but I guess I'm still sort of afraid that it might be actually true

2. When I was little my great-grandma used to tell me that if I sang or talked too much during lunchtime I'd have stupid children.

I was a very lively child and really loved singing, and I used to talk way too much so I guess she just wanted a peaceful moment ;p  un/fortunately (for some people) the talking stayed this way until the adulthood ;) 

3. When I was little I used to think children grew on cabbage fields and when they were ready the stork would drop them from the sky into theirs parents arms. 

4. When I was little I used to spend a lot of time at my grandma's from my mum's side. Sometimes, when I had troubles sleeping, I used to be scared to death by looking through the window as I believed that there was a witch sitting on the roof of the opposite building. I used to be utterly scared that she would fly to my grandma's flat and kidnap me.

5. When I was little I used to think that if you ate apple pips, the apple tree would grow in your stomach... So I always avoided them until I accidentaly ate one and discovered that it wasn't true at all :)

6. When I was little I used to think a lot why some things were named the way they were and not differently. I know too much thinking ;p

And as a bonus - little pic of little Patty ;) Enjoy ;p

'Au revoir'

I've been back in France for almost two weeks now. Soon to find out that my bank account was closed and a cleaning lady wanted to pay a visit to my room as she thought I had already moved out.. What a stupid country.. On the contrary I came back to people who make my stay in France a truly amazing experience. They never disappoint :) Missing my lovely Marina though who I couldn't even say goodbye to, but I'll hopefully see her very, very soon :) From Saturday we're short of another awesome member of our 'Chocolat groupe', Francesca. I truly hate goodbyes... You promise yourself you won't cry, but you always do. You smile and cry alternately. The kisses and hugs are not sad at all. The worst part of farewells is the thought that you might never see this person again, and it's heart-breaking. I hope we will all continue to keep in touch after finishing our Erasmus year. We even made a contact list for marriage invitations hahah. I guess I'm never going to get married, but still everyone can come for my baby cat's christening, baby shower or whatever lol ;p The most important thing is not to lose contact and visit each other as often as possible, and I hope we'll never stop doing that :)

Getting off the topic I've got a week off at the moment and to my luck I had to get ill. I'm so scatty that I forgot to take cold/flu medicines from back home and I knew perfectly well that I was going to get ill very easily. So I've been spending almost 4 days not being able to leave my bed, coughing like and old lady, sneezing like an allergic person, and using tons of tissues to blow my nose with. Horrible times but fortunately I'm feeling better today and hopefully I'll be able to leave my room tomorrow and do some food shopping and finally buy a BICYCLE :D yes, a bicycle so I'll meet my beautiful Jean-Pierre, fall in love and then get run by a truck lol :D hopefully without the truck at the end ;p haha

Plus I wanted to do something productive like going to the theatre, but to my luck, there's no shows until the beginning of March... Why, oh why? I still have the Museum of Fine Arts left which I might finally pay a visit to as I've been trying to get there since September but always had better things to do. Hopefully it's worth a visit :)

Time to head back to 'Sex and the City' :)

Bonne soirée ;)

Friend-ship

So few days ago I've started wondering about friendship. Everyone claims that they have 'friends' but honestly how many of these friends are the real, trustworthy ones? I began to wonder whether I've ever had ones like that and to be honest it's extremely hard to assess. You think you have them and can truly rely on them but then the worst part comes, the part of letting down either from your or your friend's side. Like with any relationship, letting down the other person might be destructive although it might make the friendship stronger than it has ever been before. But let's be honest, how often does it really happen? Especially nowadays? Almost never... Once you let someone down, you can try to re-build everything but it's like with re-building a ruined house that's about to fall into pieces. You try, you put your time and engagement into it but the end is inevitable. Unfortunately... but perhaps not? Who'd like to live in a ruined house?

The point is that I'm not sure if I actually have 'real' friends. There are people that I'd love to call that but I guess I'm too afraid of truly believing that real friendship exists. I've been let down few times and I've let down few times myself too. I'm afraid of screwing things up again, that's why I try to maintain a distance. Not a huge one. Just the one that'll let me step back if there's a need to, so I won't hurt or get hurt by anyone.

People can be cruel and hurtful even without knowing that themselves. Is it friendship when you're afraid of telling the other person about your true feelings, beliefs or likes? Or when you're afraid to be laughed at or criticised about the choices you've made? Sure friendship doesn't mean being insincere or double-faced, but you have to be a bit supportive. Even though you don't agree with your friends' choices, you can still express your opinions and doubts, no matter what they are. I just don't think that criticising and mocking is the right approach, but that's only my personal opinion.

Jealousy.. another problem. The kind of friendship I praise is devoid of jealousy. That's the worst ever factor in any relationship. It might kill everything.. absolutely everything. It's so unhealthy and always leads to problems and arguments.

I think I've sort of gone off the topic but still I do believe that finding a real, falsehood-free and loyal friend is a challenge. It doesn't happen very often. And if we do find one we should treat her/him like she/he was as precious as a diamond. Let's just hope they'd treat us the same way ;)

Best wishes guys!

'Les hommes ont oublié cette vérité, dit le renard. Mais tu ne dois pas l’oublier. Tu deviens responsable pour toujours de ce que tu as apprivoisé'.

("Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.")

Antoine de Saint-Exupery  "Le Petit Prince"

She...

I started it last summer and got back to it few days ago. Enjoy!

'And what does she think she’s going to achieve? Does she think I’m going to speak with her like she’s my bff? If I’ve ever had one… She knows nothing about me, my life and most of my problems, and yet she still thinks she’s able to fix me? Right! FIX me? Is this even possible? Am I ever going to be normal? What’s normal, by the way? Smiling insincerely to everyone? Saying ‘I’m fine, thanks’ even if I feel like I’m going to burst out either of anger or sadness? I’m not even sure if I want to be ‘normal’. Everyone’s putting so much pressure on me. They think that something’s wrong me. ‘Look at your sister’, they say, ‘she’s happily engaged, soon to be married, she’s just graduated from university and is going to have an amazing life, and you?’. ‘I’m not her’ that’s my regular response. I know I’m different and difficult to deal with. I hate people who talk all the time. My problems are my problems; I don’t want anyone else to know about them.

So I’m lying here on this really comfy couch, the only good thing from my Monday’s visits in this land of lavender hell. God! I cannot possibly imagine why did she think this colour and this horrid smell are going to calm down and relax the patients. I hate the smell the most. It makes me feel nauseous and dizzy. I can hear some mumbling but it’s so unclear and I feel amazing being so high in the air, almost like I was a bird. Free. Careless. Not bound to any conventions. I feel the sun shining on my face and water splashing on my cheeks while I approach the water surface. It feels so real. Wait, the water is too real. Suddenly the magic disappears. I flied away once again and now I’m back in this ugly lavender room with my therapist standing over me, checking if I’m conscious. I’m back. But does it make any difference? I’m sitting silently. Unwilling to say anything else except from ‘I’m fine’, ‘No, you don’t have to call the doctor’, ‘Yes’… I like that she’s not pushing me to talk like everyone else does. She knows that I’m able to speak and I do when I feel like it. It just doesn’t happen very often, but she got used to it, unlike my previous doctors. They wish they could have read my thoughts. I got used to yelling, shock therapy. Nothing’s helped. It just left me number that I was before. She’s nothing like them, but still I hate these Monday’s visits. My parents expect some sort of miracle every time I leave her office. They don’t understand that I just don’t want to talk, don’t want to be like my sister.

I used to have a boyfriend once when I was about 16, but as soon as he realised that I’m not all cheerful and talkative, he left me. I wasn’t surprised and didn’t cry like all the girls in my class would’ve done. I just didn’t care enough to be bothered. I remember the feeling when I first went to school, surrounded by all those children and their parents. So many of them cried and wouldn’t like to let go of their mothers’ hands. I found it pathetic. I was 7 but I felt older and wanted to be left alone being able to live in my own world. No one understood it back then, and no one understands it now. It was my mum who dragged me to the therapy for the first time. I was 14. I didn’t talk and didn’t seem to care about anything. My grades were fine but I only did what I had to do. I think that my mum just wanted me to be like my sister. Normal. She thought that therapy would change me into another version of Sarah. I could have seen the look of disappointment every time she looked at me. As for my dad, he wouldn’t even look at me. I was the ‘freak’ in the family, a bloody freak in this lovely, normal and wealthy family. They wanted to change me so much that they even made some sort of project out of it. They wanted to cure their little Katie. They wanted to make her normal, like everyone else. But I wasn’t a project. I wasn’t ill. I was just different. They couldn’t understand so they sent me away. They thought it would help. It didn’t. I was still the same, fucked up Katie.'