Farewell, 2009

End of the year, resolutions, blablabla, as we say in French. I don't think I want to commit myself to anything for 2010. I have wishes, sure (health people! I wish everyone good health this year) and hopes (living in Berlin for 6 months) but these aren't resolutions.

In 2009 I....

-lived in the Heidiloft, a small and charming apartment in Lyon, and then moved back to Paris.
-passed a very difficult state exam to become a university teacher specialized in American civilization.
-got accepted in the Lyon music conservatory.
-decided to spend two years getting a Masters in environmental science instead of having a job, thanks to my scholarship.
-made new friends, more than I ever had before in so short a time.
-spent a month using shovels, hammers, and electric saws in Germany, and discovered I could do things.
-Visited Barcelona.
-ran a 20 K.
-had a bad, bad case of heartbreak.
-got over it.
-started blogging and internet-met a bunch of incredibly diverse and interesting people.
-became best friends with my sister after years of conflict.
-went to 42 concerts, 32 movies and 6 plays.

A good year, I think.

No resolutions then. Maybe just to keep my eyes open so I can help others.

Happy New Year, world!

I like to watch

There's the faint trace of purple lipstick on the narrow strip of skin between his spike-studded cuff and his leather gloves. He stares at the bartender. She leans towards him, her short green hair gleaming under the poor lighting. She grabs his cell phone, using the camera application as a mirror to reapply some lipstick. She looks at him provocatively. He's grinning at her. Her backless dress shows off the huge tattoo etched on her shoulders: "ONLY GOD CAN JUDGE ME". She throws a quick glance at me: "Wanna drink?"
"A lemonade please."

You know, because my jeans and cardigan weren't conspicuous enough.

I love this Goth bar. I come here when I can't sleep and feel like people watching. There's always a couple making out in front of the entrance door, alternately taking puffs from a cigarette and kissing. There's always a guy in his fifties hungrily staring at the young girls wearing bunny ears, and at the lesbian couples slow-dancing. And there's me, with my book and my owlish glasses, perched on a armchair, using the book as an alibi to watch the scene.

There's the two guys who always argue about nü metal, and the other guy who texts all the time.

There's the other bartender, with his spiky pink hair, who conjures up pastel coloured cocktails with one whisk, and who flirts with the indie guys who turn up already drunk.

I'm fascinated by the courtship ritual.Theway bodies find a way around each other, moving slowly, surely towards their goal. The way it always ends in the same way.

When I lived with X, I hoped his gift for living would rub off on me. One day, I would wake up, and I would no longer feel desolation rushing up to my heart, crashing like a wave against an obstacle. Depression would no longer follow me stealthily, robbing me of what was rightfully mine. I would bounce out of bed and everything would sparkle at me like a promise like passion like love like lust like faith like you.


I watch them as if they will entrust me with their secret.

As I leave the bar, rain pelting down on my bare head, I espy a couple under the bus stop. His hands move passionately down her back, and her arms are wrapped around him. As she breaks off the kiss, I notice the tattoo snaking around her white neck: CARPE DIEM. Seize the day.

I like to watch, because I want to like to live.

In the meantime, I'll fight this bitch off with everything I have.

Taking a break

I need a break from myself these days. I mean, I went to pick up my cell phone from the lost and found place at the opera house this morning and I managed to lose my wallet on the way.

Great. Maybe I'm trying to tell myself something? (or as my sister says I should just close my handbag better).


It hits sometimes: this need to change, to take on big tasks, big events, momentous things. It can be expressed in physical alterations: the red hair came after the break-up, and I like it, so it's stayed, even though the meaning of it has evolved. It used to be a big Leave me alone sign. Now I just think it suits me.

I feel it coming, this new wave of change. I'm looking forward to new music listening (thanks for the recommendations by the way), and to new authors. I started wearing dresses in September.I never used to.

So when I knew I would have to take a three-week break from training because of asthma, I decided I was going to do it.

Most people don't like it.

Funny how I don't care. Funny how I like it, and how it's my own promise to myself.

I wonder where I'm going, but I'm shedding old memories and dreams, and my newness is startling and wonderful.

All I need to do now is stop losing all my frakking stuff!

Merry Christmas (Snippets)

There's something magical about Christmas; and I'm not talking about the way my stomach magically expands to fit in all the food it does. You arrive at that point in the year when you're supposed to exude good grace, mellow delight and happiness, effortlessly. Christmas isn't really a choice for most of us. We may sometimes fantasize about skipping everything and just go drink some beers with our friends, but in the end, cultural pressures make us give in. Family tensions always resurface, making us dread the usual tiffs and spats.

But sometimes it just works really well. It's the silliness of wearing paper hats, or the joyful snap of a cracker, or finding out that a gift you chose with love is really appreciated. It's playing with the cousins and laughing at the funny anecdotes and singing Cole Porter with your grandfather.

I was really happy to be with my family and reunited with my sister (who makes a special appearance today).

Hugs from France and happy holidays!

HOLIDAY

Visiting the wax museum, I enjoyed a leisurely drink with a fellow soprano.


I'm on holiday! I'm so giddy this will be nonsensical. I had a wonderful weekend. X came to Paris to see a few friends, and although one of them got stuck in England because of the snow, we had a great time. We practised duets and went to the wax museum, and just relaxed together. He was in wonderful shape, looking handsome and contented. He's started seeing someone he likes and is enjoying the research he's doing for his PhD. Anyway, life is good for him. And I liked singing some Fauré with him. He still hates Purcell though. Oh well.

So now I have a few days before I start studying again and I need recommendations: any music I should listen to, any good books, any good movies? I want to catch up.

I'm so happy to get my sister back from the US of A, I'm so happy to be spending an afternoon wrapping gifts and I'm so happy I can waste hours on the internet again.

Eternal Sunshine of the...

What are your memories worth if you are the only one to have them? Often my sister and I bicker about remembrances, and I know how grateful I am to have her as a sounding board. Did this really happen or was it an illusion? We'll replay some of the funniest or worst times of our childhood, and we'll giggle or shudder in unison.

What is your past relationship worth if you are the only one to remember it?

My biggest fear, strangely enough, when X and I were together, was that he would forget everything. Because he does. He can't remember names or faces, or events or anything. I would cuddle against him at night and wonder if he would remember how nice the meal had been, or how much we had laughed during the concert of A Hundred Gypsy Violins. And then I would realize that of course he would not.

In a way my fears have been realized. Sometimes I'll ask him "Do you remember that weird time we had..." and he'll shake his head. I suspect he'll only remember the bad times. Or maybe not even. He'll ultimately remember that we were together at one point, and not much beyond.

I am very good friends with my first ex, we've known each other since we were 16. The friendship we've built goes beyond what we shared as a couple, but it's so very comforting to know that when I make a joke about the time we went wine-tasting around Alsace and got hopelessly lost and rather drunk, he'll know what I'm talking about and smile.

With X, I know our friendship will be completely different if we remain friends. I don't mind that two years of my life have been erased from his memory, because I never expected him to remember anyway, and I've had time to grow accustomed to the idea that I will only have my side of the story.

I guess I'm forgettable, but at least I get custody of all the great memories.

Special Snowflake

(The sign said originally "Road works closed to the public"-Chantier interdit au public- but some nihilist soul transformed it into "Happiness and opportunities denied to the public"-Chance interdite au public)


It's snowing here in Paris! It hasn't happened in years. In France we react to snow in a way that amuses my now American sister: "What, a couple of inches and you can't deal?"
No, we can't. As soon as the smallest flake arrives, salt trucks arrive. Accidents multiply. People complain. (Well, even more than usual). I'm sitting in the library, looking at the snow from the window. I love watching it. I remember when someone first told me that each snowflake is different. I didn't believe them. I went to look it up and then I tried to examine flakes under my father's big lense, but they always melted too fast.

In America, I learned the expression "Special Snowflake". At first I thought it was redundant, since every snowflake is special, then I realized it was an insult. I think it's a very poetic insult.

And the worse of it is I do think everyone is a Special Snowflake. I don't mean that anyone deserves special treatment, but that we are all different. We may behave in predictable patterns, but then so does snow. And to me snowflakes are so poignant in their sad descent, their perfection beyond my grasp or my lense. I know that many wonderful people cross my path too briefly for me to know just how special they are, and all the alternative lives I could live are as short-lived as a handful of snow.

So I'm reclaiming the expression. It sounds like an endearment to me.

"Come here, my Special Snowflake!"