20 et un

As I stare at the newly formed fat on my otherwise perfectly acceptable thighs, my friend's words come ringing back in my ears : "your body changes every seven years anyway". Laughing it off at the time I now remember. Seven years ago, I was twenty and by what appeared a strange miracle, I had gotten some hips. Not noticeable to the average passer-by but important enough that I had written a little blog entry. I had felt different the way I feel different now. It must be true then! I am stuck with fat. Hello there. How dreadful to finally meet you in the flesh.

New Year's Resolutions:

- Write more. Dare more. Lose that fat.

Wine/Vin/Vingt

Top 5 rubbish things about living on your own:

1. No one to talk to about your day.

2. No one to share a joke, an anecdote, some food, etc.

3. You're the one doing all the chores. 

4. Every random noise scares you.

5. Feeling lonely in general.

 Top 5 great things about living on your own:

1. Singing as much as you want (I am doing lots of vocal exercises in the kitchen while making tea)

2. Spreading your stuff (as a teacher, I really appreciate having the dining room table to myself)

3. Wearing only your underwear in the house if you want.

4. Don't have to wait your turn for laundry. It's always your turn.

5. Naked dance? (enough said)

Anything to add? What would be yours? 

Comment below!

nineteen

Hair  

(not the musical) has (unfortunately) a lot to do with how I feel about myself. Anybody can relate? 

If I feel my hair looks bad, I do not feel ready to face the day in the best way. How vain. It did not use to be that way for me until fairly recently though. As a little girl, I would not even understand the concept of washing my hair until one of my friends' parents made a comment to my mum about it. I vividly remember being forced to splash water and shampoo on it and witnessing in shock some black dirt coming from the result... I was ten and I never did not wash my hair ever again!

I am currently letting my hair grow which can be the most frustrating thing. See, I used to have it short. My golden time for hair. I LOVED IT. I never felt my hair looked bad. Do you know how amazing that is? I never looked at myself in the mirror and thought I was ugly. I used to take pictures of me and thought I was a gorgeous model. Also, I never felt more feminine than when sporting short hair. I felt like a pretty woman. And more importantly, a confident woman. 

I miss it, especially now that I am in the 'passing over the shoulders' phase. The worst phase ever. Flick, flick, flicky hair all around.  Furthermore, the longer the hair, the more care it needs! All I think about is hair (slight over statement)! Pony tails? Braids? Bobby pins? Freeze, mouse, hairspray - get me out of here.  I can't get away with just washing it and let it dry on its beautiful own (also, I have a job now! So double no no turning up with crazy hair to school!) I was always rubbish at using products on my hair (hence short hair) and, at 26, I am learning about it. Thank youtube tutorials!  

I have started to let it grow though and I can't stop now. I want to wait until it is very long again. To prove a point almost. I can't wait to say: 'I have tried long hair again and it definitely does not suit me'.

 Ha. Let's meet again in a year or so.

dix huit

I was recently (meaning just now) thinking (which I should stop doing) about how I (for some reason) cannot stop reflecting on the past year. There is a cure for people who think too much. It's called being active. Having friends, being busy. Which I feel like I have been. Busy. Yet, I keep rumaging on the past, things I should have done, things I should have said. Even saying them out loud on my way home (lame? yes.) 

Stop and look at the future. New leaf.

To be fair though, (my new 'over used in all the conversations I have' expression), it takes time to get over some emotional turmoil (that's right I can use sophisticated words) because it is with time that you realize things you could not before. Wise people say it and wise people are right (unlike regular people).

So yes, in time, my friends, in time. 

Let's wait another five years until something exciting happens, shall we?

(please no)

dis: sept

I am about to finish my year in the north of England to move to my new job in the south. I have very mixed feelings about the whole experience. Because, see, I did not have a good time here. Not because of the place itself, I actually think north of England is lovely, but because of intense work and lack of friends.

People don't like to hear that you spent ten miserable months on your own and that, yes, even looking back, even with some distance, you'll still feel the same way about it. Miserable. People want to hear that you had some bad times but they were overruled by great ones. Well, sometimes it doesn't work that way (and sometimes people suck).

To be honest, I will probably look back at it later on and see how it was not that bad. But the feeling of loneliness and out-of-placeness are unsettling. Adding intense work none stop did not help.  

It is a strange situation to only have collegues and no friends. You meet people for professional reasons and yes, you can be friendly with them but it has its limits. After ten months, I feel my collegues do not know me at all and showed no interest in knowing me. We had the staff summer ball yesterday and it was only more flagrant. 

And out of all the sad things, I think this is the saddest. 

seize

This is something I started in my head while walking to Morrison's. 

I passed a couple in their late 50s holding hands and an old (and odd) question came back to the the surface of my brain:

Am I too complicated?

Do I know too much?

Would I not appreciate the simple touch

of your hand in mine?

Am I too brainy?

Am I too pretty?

Let me know I prithee

Let me know what I am.

Am I too sad?

Or too hopeful?

Am I too dreamy, a fool, 

a good old fool am I?

Too old?

Not enough satisfied? 

Is it me or you oh how I'd

like to know.

quinze

Today, something quite different.

I am eating my dessert in front of the computer in search of a good series that I haven't watched yet. I suddenly remember an ad on telly about this young female doctor in town that looked quite light-hearted. Not even six minutes into the first episode that I have to stop and write a blog about it. It's not bad, don't get me wrong. It's just full of clichés & tonight, for some reason, I don't go along with it. This girl had a plan. She wants to be a heart doctor in NYC. The plan falls apart. Her boyfriend breaks up with her and she does not get the scholarship of her dreams. Then, she remembers an old man who offered her a job in the middle of nowhere and she decides to go for it. We meet her travelling to this place on a bus, 'a Newyorker in a chanel suit' - obviously not matching the other passengers. First question: why not drive? Second question: why not wear something more comfortable? I am sure not all New Yorkers have a great sense of style or lots of money. Then, the bus stops. IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE. Since when buses stop three miles from a town? I have taken lots of buses in the most random locations and yet, I never had to carry my suitcase behind me in heels through the dusty countryside like the protagonist does. But you all may have already guess why the writers made her do that. That's right. Enter the prince charming character. The oh noble (good-looking, friendly, funny, rich - all this information in 30 secs) young man who, just by a strange coincidence, happens to pass by in his car & is nice enough to offer her a ride. Awww. Sweet, you might think. All I think is: GIVE ME A BREAK people.............

quatorze

The "Five things that make me less girly than I thought I was" article

I consider myself to be a girly girl. It might have taken me longer than some other females (I only bought my hair straightener when I was 23!) but here I am: I love lace, I love skirts, I love hearts and pink and cupcakes. Yet, I lack many aspects of the...princess girly girl. I can name five.

Number 1

 I don't like French manicure and fake nails. I don't like fake in general. Tan, hair and eyelashes that don't belong to me are a no-no & a disgusting look thrown at anyone wearing them. (too harsh?)

Number 2

When I wear high heels, my feet hurt so I don't. Does it make sense? I think high heels are very feminine and  that there is nothing like a beautiful pair of shoes BUT the reality of life comes knocking on my door (not literally, that would be funny) every time I wear some. Sigh. High heels are not everyday shoes. If you're not a model and wear them for a living, there is no use to torture your feet. Also, I am tall and I as attractive as a giant can be, I'll pass.

Number 3

I don't own bling. No sir. Expect for an engagement ring (hint to anyone who wants to marry me), I think it always looks tacky and quite frankly, wrong if you're over 20.

Number 4

I don't wear make-up everyday. Not that I don't need it, it's just nice sometimes to be naturelle. Non? Also, it has taken me time to accept myself the way I am, so why ruin it with make-up? I even sometimes don't wear make-up [insert dramatic music here] to work. Oh no. She didn't. Well, yes I did. When you get up with only 20 mins to go, priority is getting dressed and eating a breakfast.

Number 5

I still don't understand how to have cool hair every day & it annoys me to spend too much time figuring it out. Even though talking about hair is probably one of my favorite subjects of conversation ever (slight exaggeration spotted), all the talking obviously doesn't help the practical side of things! If I have cool hair in the morning - it probably happened by chance.

So here they are. Five things that makes me less girly than I thought I was.

What about youuu?

treize

Somehow at the back of my mind, the idea of writing what's happening in my life keeps me sane. I keep thinking, I need to write, I need to write, I only have one life and if I write it down, it's there, a proof, a small one, that it happened, that I existed for that moment. Writing is always something I enjoyed doing. From as far as I can remember. I dreamt of one day having the guts (and the time!) to write either a novel, a short story, poems, children's tales and having it published. But look at me. I am struggling to find time to eat properly and to keep my life happy and balanced at the moment. Talk about spending time writing. 
That's a bonus, I am telling you that. Yet, I won't give up. It might take time and it might not happen when I want it but it will.

Here is a video one of my colleagues sent me. She thought of me watching it and you will see, it's a compliment. Enjoy.

Ira Glass on Storytelling from David Shiyang Liu on Vimeo.

douze

My new little song! It had been a while!

eleven

Hooray!
Emeline's got a first for the new year: a random comment by a stranger! Yeahh! Was her comeback ready? Nope. When the man casually exclaimed: "that's some long legs you've got there", all she was able to compute was the following & all together lame answer: "well, yeah..." (because, after all, it is true...) while carrying on walking. Was she wearing something that could have encouraged such a comment? Nope. Good old jeans. What else can she add then?

Nothing. Random. c'est la vie. In doubt, smile!

dix

Today I got stuck between two locked doors.

If this kind of beginning doesn't catch your attention, I don't know what will!
I am on placement in a new school and today, we had a staff meeting that finished quite late. In most schools, there are two entrances. One at the front called the main reception where anybody who needs to sign in before entering the school go through and is buzzed in by someone and one at the back of the building used mainly by the teachers. I - being a teacher there for only three weeks - always came through the main reception where I received a visitor badge. Someone always had to press a button to let me through. When I left the building today, I went back from the same route than usual to sign out. Big mistake. No one was at the reception. To my complete horror, the door to freedom was locked. Not only nobody could let me come back inside but I couldn't find any way of going out either. For a second, I panicked. The idea of being stuck for the night suddenly dawned on me. I then realized that not only did I not have any useful contact numbers to call but also, I didn't even know which number was the police - see how my mind jumped into emergency mode! Luckily, I could still hear some noise far away from people talking so I decided to knock repeatedly on the inside door. Next to it stood a glass frame with trophies inside it which made quite a lot of noise when you banged on it. After what it seems like forever (five minutes in reality), I got delivered by a nice cleaning lady. The most embarrassing part of the whole story is that I actually cried when she opened the door. I wouldn't usually. But I am on my period and even the smallest thing affects me. Ridiculous but there it is....

if only real life could be this way...

nein oder nine

Something happened to me today that was totally weird, so obviously I will share it with you. Today was back to school day and I caught up with one of my lovely colleagues. We talked about the holidays and anything related and the subject of the staff Christmas party came up. I had missed it because I had to leave early to catch my flight so I just asked her how it was. Some staff members had participated in the secret Santa woopla  : they were going to open their five-pounds presents during the party -without ever knowing who got them what. 

My colleague - looking around suspiciously for no one to hear- told me that she was really disappointed in her gift as it was obvious to her that the person offering it did it at last minute without putting much thought into it. It was a bar of soap and some chocolate coins. Really nothing special. She went on saying that the chocolate coins tasted like soap because of their close contact with it & at the end, she threw everything in the bin. 

Ok, until now you might think there is nothing weird to my story. Expect that the person who got it for her was...yep...me. I felt mortified. There is nothing like the feeling of hidden shame. My cheeks were burning & I kept trying to react naturally to her words.

To act normal when you are really really embarrassed is a tough job. I am no actress. Oh my goodness, I really struggled to stay casual. My brain was working full capacity telling me repeatetly: don't mess it up, don't mess it up, what would you act like if you weren't the one that got her that present? come on, come on."

I really thought I was doing a poor job but she didn't suspect anything luckily (maybe I am a bit of an actress  after all- or a good liar, hummmm). Being insulted in such a way is a new experience for me. To my defense, I did put thought into her gift. The bar of soap was no ordinary soap! It was from a Cath Kidson shop with a lovely label and package. It costed 5 pounds too! Ok, I guess it's not the most glamourous of gift but even though she's a lovely girl, I don't know her that well & I didn't want to take a chance by buying her a pair of earrings she would hate. I think I should have. 

Gutted.

huit (not weet)

Home is where the heart is. 

Such an old saying used repeatedly in many different situations. Yet it is still powerful and also very true. Home is where the heart is. I wonder where is mine. My home, my heart. This new year has me thinking as I came back to England in a house full of stuff that I don't own, that I don't even really like and that I would change, exchange, arrange (tick as you go) if it was actually my home. Renting a room in a house can have that effect on people. I am surprised not to have realized it before. I long to have my own little flat. I don't have to own it per se but at least, decorate it as I wish and put things in it that makes it a home. 

Know what I mean? 

For now, I am considering the option of maybe moving out of my rented room and rent a whole flat by myself. (freaky, exciting thought)

OR

I am also thinking of just closing my eyes on awful taste & endure it for the next six months of my training here & then find something for myself when I know I can stay a bit longer where I will work.

I am really looking forward to having my space. I already know what I want to buy! A huge bookcase. Storage space especially for my colour-coded folders. Because yes, when you're a teacher, you are bound to piled up stuff from work into your house. Something that my landlady -bless her- didn't think about.

There you go, little frustration - you should see the sight of my desk. 

Appalling. 

Oh well.

One day, bookcase, you will be mine.