Spring

I wake up and the window is open.
"It's spring."
He smiles at me.
"It is. Do you want some tea?"
"No, I want to look at spring."

A.D holds me as I look through the window. I remember being six and my mother explaining to me what pollen was, after my teacher had told us about all the pollen in the air. Cherry blossoms in Normandy. Perfumed wind stroking your face.

I love spring.

I loved spring in Chicago, when the sun would be still be melting the snow on the street. I loved spring in Lyon when I ran in the parc and saw all the animals coming out of hiding, still in their bulky winter coats, shedding liberally. Spring in Berlin is so beautiful it breaks my heart.

And spring in Paris...All the pretty girls are wearing short skirts again.

"Let's go have ice cream for breakfast before you go to class."

And we ate our ice cream in a park, watching sleepily as kids fought over spades and shovels, talking nonsense and being happy.

"I love you."

loving my flaws

I used to think that lying to people would make them love me.

I used to think that I could have anything I wanted, as long as I really wanted it.

I used to think that love was enough.

It's always more complicated than it looks.

What I find most hard about growing up is accepting that things are not always someone's fault. It's not enough to attribute blame, you have to fix the situation regardless of who is guilty.

I believe that one of our biggest fears, in general, is that people will stop loving us because of our flaws. As soon as they get close enough, they will be afraid and leave.

What I am trying to say is this: I'm not thinking so far ahead anymore. Yes, some people will never get past some of my flaws. Our faults are just not compatible. That is perfectly fine. Painful, but fine. I can't live my life waiting for people to be disappointed.

Because I don't spend my time expecting to be disappointed by others.

Travels, tips and nudity

It's good to be back. You know you've been a bad, bad blogger when your sister tells you that you're not updating enough :)

I've been reading everybody's blogs but much too stressed out to write anything. I am very superstitious and am always afraid to jinx my good news until it's a hundred percent sure... But now I'm ready.

Here's my good news: I got an internship in Berlin, working for a BIG COMPANY, and I'll be doing environmental lobbying. In German. Pray for me. I will be there from July to early November, and I am stoked! I love Berlin more than I can tell, and I can't wait to rent a cosy flat and work and read and write my Masters on the weekend and go to concerts and take trains to Leipzig and Dresden, and eat masses of pastry. By the way, I will have in all probability enough room on my couch and in the aforementionned flat for visitors, so if anyone wants to spend time in Berlin, email me!
Ahem.

This brings me to my first request: does anyone have any advice on how to dress corporate in the summer? I am the everlasting student, so while my cupboards groan with the weight of a thousand witty T-shirts and ratty jeans, I do not seem to own anything that screams SERIOUS WORKER HERE! WATCH ME LOBBY, GIRLS AND BOYS!

Here comes my second request: I will be going to America on the 25th of April to visit my sister and family. I will be staying there for a measly 6 days, because my university is a pain. I will be staying in Boston for a couple of days, and then going off to Northampton. My sister will take care of the Northampton bit, but if anyone has a wonderful tip about a place I should see in Boston, send it in.

Life is busy. Apart from writing letters to big companies in Germany hoping they would want me and my passionate belief in wildlife conservation, I have been working and working. After my uni term is finished, I have to write and deliver a paper for my other Masters diploma and it will be gruelling work as well. So I have decided that I will only have one week of real holiday this summer, beginning of June. The boyfriend and I are trying to organize it, but since he is going to Brazil (jealous), Italy (ditto) and probably a million other places as well, it's a bit complicated. So far we want to go to Greece. And yes you will get postcards.

In the past month I have also done a naked reading for a squatters' happening, written my first international law essay and ran a lot.

The naked reading was one of the most bizarre things ever. A girl in my class, M, is currently living in a squat next to my parents' house, a very posh neighbourhood. It's a huge empty building, with architects and students living in each flat. No hot water and they steal the electricity from the un-thrilled neighbours. They are constantly being threatened with eviction, and since the rents in Paris are astronomical and the lodging situation dire, they decided to stage a big happening to raise awareness about their story. M asked me if I would participate in her "naked reading". At first I was curious why she picked me from all the other people in the class. I found the concept intriguing: we would be in one of the bathrooms in the building, and while two of the girls would take a bath, I would read texts out loud. I like reading out loud. So I accepted.
As I arrived in the squat, I realized that there were a lot of people around. Suddenly being naked in front of an audience didn't feel so carefree and easy. And then I met the owner of the bathroom, who would be taking a bath with M, and she smiled at me. She was stunningly beautiful, in a goth way. As I took in her flawless face with its vivid eye makeup, she whispered: "Do you mind if I wash my hair? I'm covered in sperm."

From then on I felt quite comfortable. We made tea, and then took our clothes off. A curtain separated us from the crowd. They could have a glimpse of us, but mostly they could hear my voice, the soft splashing of the water, and the giggles we shared. Anyway, I was fascinated by the reactions our happening provoked. The men were shy, but many women came to talk to us, and sometimes took their clothes off too, sitting on the warm tile floor.

Some women told me they missed a sense of community between other women and themselves. Some women told me that they hadn't felt so peaceful in a long time. It was quite lovely.. We felt free to be who we were: young, old, fat, flawed, thin, muscular. No one was judging. It felt as if we had created an instant community of acceptance just by facing the gaze of others and being brave enough to put ourselves at risk.

It was a bit like blogging.

Sara does skiing

When I was a kid, my mother invested large amounts of money in my skiing education. My sister and I, every year, heavily kitted out, would be sent to the mountains to learn how to ski. I was never very athletic, but I liked skiing. There's an element of fun, of freedom, of swishing glory about going down slopes. And when you go up again in the mechanical chairs, you get to enjoy the beautiful contrasts between the dark rocks and the crisp, smooth layer of snow.

My boyfriend's parents own a lovely apartment next to a skiing resort and he invited me for a few days. I haven't skied seriously in years, but I jumped on the opportunity. I needed a break, and I wanted to spend some time with AD, and even the prospect of meeting seven of his friends was not enough to deter me.

The train station in the mountains was typical of any small French station: empty and gloomy. I waited for the bus that would take me up, and discovered that I was the only passenger in a 200-place bus. Up we go. The driver was a small, bearded man, with clever eyes. When he engaged me into conversation, I answered politely, trying to keep my eyes on the road so I wouldn't be violently sick.
Turns out he was a militant Muslim and obviously quite keen on converting me.
"What does faith mean! Why don't you accept God in your life?"
I was slightly worried by the fact he did not seem to pay any attention to the winding roads ahead, and tried to talk in a placating way. Whenever he got heated up, he waved his hands away from the steering wheel. I was feeling very nauseous by this point. After swerving violently, the bus almost crashed into a rock. I was almost hoping we would have to stop, so I could be quietly sick behind a tree. No such luck: I was theologized at for an hour.

Finally we arrive.

AD was waiting for me at the bus stop and I was so happy to see him. Still very dizzy and unwell, I went to the apartment to Meet the Gang.

It went quite well. I liked his friends and got along well with them. And oh, the skiing. AD is a very good skier, but I'm a very reckless one. I love skiing very fast and jumping off bumps, and taking difficult slopes. I had a lovely time. At the bottom of one of the slopes, AD smiled at me.
"You have a very...aggressive style."
We skied mostly with his ex-girlfriend-turned-best-friend, who was a good skier and great company. She also adores mountain cheese, so we bonded over that.

Skiing all day, cooking huge cheese-based meals in the evening, and then talking all night to AD: pretty much perfect.

Of course, on the way back to Paris, I had to take an (empty) bus back with my theologian driver, who continued to proselytize and piss me off, but this time I didn't feel so queesy, so I could react intelligently, instead of murmuring monosyllables while clutching my seat.

Now it's back to work. But I have a few freckles on my nose to show that I had a holiday.