Heartbreak in The City of Love

(I wrote this late last night)

Over the last two weeks, I’ve cried more than I have over the last two months. That makes me sad, except the knowledge that for most of these crying episodes, I was around people that could help me. I’m proud of myself for that.

When you’ve been cheated on, no matter if you don’t blame the person, no matter how happy you are for them – it still feels like you’re getting repeatedly smashed in the heart by a broken do-not-disturb sign, which obviously failed at keeping uou the shitty emotions. Perhaps I should be grateful for it, because if I’d have blocked it out like I did my last heartbreak, I know it would have been ten times worse.

In case you didn’t know, I went to Paris in the half term – read this post for more details. Although there were many good times, there were also some horrendous times, and I’m going to explain them to you because it wasn’t all laughter and happiness, at all.

I made a promise to S, when we spoke before Paris, that if I felt miserable I’d find someone. Whether that be him, someone like L or Violet, or even a staff member – just that I’d find someone so that I wasn’t alone. He knows how I get, that sometimes I’ll shut away and not talk because I don’t want to be a drain on anyone. For the most part, I kept that promise, remembering it when my heart hurt so badly that I wanted to break all of my fingers.

I cannot describe to you just how much emotional pain I was in when I saw – heard – them together. Though I was expecting it, preparing myself for it, nothing can prepare you for the sting, the gut-wrenching fear when you realise it’s entirely over. I felt second, terrible, because they spoke with such ease and laughed and I asked myself, “Could you EVER be like that? Could you speak like that, no, because you’re not funny and you’re just trying too hard.” And I dealt with it, until I literally couldn’t.

Crying on people makes me feel bad for them, even though I find it easier to get the tears out. I’ve always had a problem with putting myself first, because I’m just not able to do anything without asking how the other person feels, if THEY are okay, and apologising. Constantly. I said sorry when I lost my cane and cried on S, and for all the other times. I said sorry – or thought it over and over – whenever I accidentally made a pointed/despairing remark.

He has been so lovely, like you wouldn’t imagine. Because he knows me so well, he can predict how I’ll be, how much of a wreck I am. He didn’t make me feel stupid for crying, and oh for fuck’s sake here come the tears again. When I remember we’ve broken up, that nothing can be the same like THAT again, tears come spilling out of my eyes like they’re waterfalls; I know he’ll always be there for me in a friend capacity but god I just can’t.

On the first night, I cried a little on Violet, when we stayed in the first hotel. She was my constant support through all of it, and when we were actually IN Paris, we were in the boys’ room. She went out, I followed a few minutes later, and she found me. After that, I cried so much that my eyes hurt, and I told her exactly how broken I feel, my voice echoing too loud in the corridor. It had got too much, with the constant reminders, me feeling trapped and lonely and SO damn awful because I’ve been replaced, utterly, and what can I do?

That Thursday was when we went to the Eiffel Tower. Over 100 metres up, on the second floor, we stopped. S and Pansy were on the section below, I stared down at the nothingness I could see and let one tear fall. I knew that they would be having a good time, that it would be special for them because it’s Paris and it’s romantic, and all I could think about was the world away from that which I felt: I whispered to Violet, “It’s funny that Paris is the city of love, and yet my heart’s completely broken.” Others went as they came up, going to the other side of the tower – not on purpose – and that was when I sobbed my eyes out on the bloody Eiffel Tower.

That was also when John, a volunteer, found me. My tears were falling over the edge, in an oddly poetic way, and I could feel my heart bruising and shattering all over again: when I think about it, it makes me feel cold. Just remembering me standing, whispering “Mon cœur est brisée” and emitting these broken-sounding gasps that I didn’t know I could produce. They, I was pretty sure, would remember that day as something so happy, for them, when I would remember it as the day where I felt the most separated from anything. John came up to me and I told him something of what I was feeling – the obvious, that you could see in how they close they were, and the expression on my face. Nothing he couldn’t work out on his own, if he tried, and I cried whilst leaning on his shoulder and non-staring out at the air because that was all I could do. He walked with me in the tower, talking, telling me that one day I’d be okay even if that day wasn’t today.

I think that the worst crying episode I had, not counting one of the ones with S, was with Violet, her boyfriend and L. It properly hit me then what had happened, gripping L’s hand so hard I thought I’d break it, as I whispered “I’ve been cheated on, I’ve been CHEATED ON, fuck it hurts.” Because it did, and does, and sometimes I want to scream from it. I couldn’t get many words out through my tears, as I told them how empty I felt.

When it boils down to it, I’m not okay. Today, it kept on sinking in: that they’d be at school together and I wouldn’t be, that I was there helpless. I can do NOTHING. You can’t help someone’s feelings, and if they’re happy then I’m going to be happy: they deserve it. I don’t know how long it’ll take, and I’m half-crying again because I just want the pain to fucking STOP. I hate feeling like this, like my heart’s folding in on itself, like my throat’s choking me, and it makes it worse because all I want is for people to smile with each other.

I spoke to Pansy a lot. Though we don’t see each other often, I view her as a close friend, because she’s never been awful to me and she’s such a good person. The second night, we stayed up until 1:30 and talked. The next night, we stayed up until 3: I told her about Ash and remembered just why I value her. Originally, I wasn’t going to speak to her because I was much too scared, but by the second day I knew I needed to – for both her and my sake. She may not understand my pain, but she tried and that’s all that matters.

Then again, I don’t think anybody can truly understand anyone else’s pain. At the moment, the following has built up into a howling crescendo, so that in my last lesson today I felt weak and so sad that I wanted to freeze.

• I feel like I’m not good enough
• That I was NEVER good enough
• I can’t think about anyone else without wanting to disappear
• I’m asking myself why, just WHY
• You never know you’re capable of doing something until you do it, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing
• This may not be a definitive END but it’s the end of one thing and the start of another, for him
• People keep saying things that are seriously toxic to me
• I can’t forget my feelings for him
• His feelings for me are fading, and those for her are growing and I’m so glad of that, because right now he doesn’t need confusion
• He DID like me but it’s all ended now and I have to deal with it
• I’m crying again, little tears

I have strong feelings for him and that kills me. I feel as if I’m breaking, one brick at a time, and that I’m going to be left in the dust, scrabbling like a needy fuck. I don’t want to be the clingy one, but I don’t want to lose him either. I don’t want to lose him like I did Ash, where I couldn’t do anything, but where I STILL blamed myself. I can’t keep going back, but it’s not going back. He’s one of my best friends and yes, he’ll always be in the back of my mind in that capacity, but I hope it can fade. At some point. I’m not kidding myself – it won’t be quick at all – but that’s alright.

There’s too much, too many unresolved tears and feelings. I’m scared people will get sick of me, of my constant not-okay-ness, when how the fuck am I supposed to get up from this now? I’m expected to jump up, smile, tell the world I’m good in a moment but I’m not in the slightest and I can’t pretend. My work ethic has gone down the drain and I can’t exactly tell my teachers, “Sorry Miss, I’m recently single, I felt too shit to do my homework!” because that is such a bad “excuse” and they don’t care anyway.

All my fears are swarming me here, late at night, in the dark where I’m hunched over as if I’m in physical pain. It feels like I am, sometimes, the coldness of rejection and heartbreak and loneliness leaving me breathless. Where am I supposed to go? Why does it hurt THIS badly and what am I doing?

Yeah, I’ll be okay. Bright now, I’m so incredibly scared of letting go, that my tears are falling faster and it’s good that I can’t see because I wouldn’t be able to read because of it. I’ll be alright, but they are and will be before me with each other and fuuuuuck why was it me that this had to happen too?

I wish it could have lasted longer. I wish I was happier for longer, that I didn’t feel guilty for crying. He respects me though, and I respect him because he has ALWAYS told me the truth, and been the amazing boyfriend and then friend that I knew he would be.

I think I’m going to get some sleep. Paris made me feel equal parts happy and sad, and today is reserved for sadness. That’s okay.

From Elm 🙂

The Beauty in Paris

When I wade through all of the other stuff that happened, I really enjoyed going to Paris. How could I not? It’s an amazing city, filled with so many things, and walking down the streets and listening to people talking gave me the enjoyment I needed.

I’ll dwell on the pain tomorrow. Today is reserved for the amazing things that happened, the light and smiles and almost magic. So, I’ll run through what happened, snapshot by snapshot, to show you a little of what it was like.

S, my ex-boyfriend, came to stay with us on Sunday, as you saw by my last post. That involved talking things out, dealing with emotions and other things I really don’t want to talk about, and surprisingly a lot of happiness. You don’t realise just how much you miss someone until they’re there again, even if not in the way you’d like them to be, but that’s a whole other bucket of shit.

On Tuesday, we took a train and a cab up to a travel lodge in King’s Cross. After we met up with people, I screamed for about ten minutes when I reunited with Violet and the girl who now has an unofficial “thing” with S, I’ll call her… Pansy, because she’s someone who means a lot to me. I hadn’t seen her in a year, and so when we met up again, we laughed until we howled, walked around the hotel trying to find a toilet, got lost when we attempted to find our room and so much more. It’s easy to be around her, and a lot of the sadness melted away because I KNOW she’s a great person.

We spent the night there, singing in the communal area, doing a lot of shouting and just making new friends or reuniting with old ones. I shared a room with Pansy and another girl that night, and we stayed up until 1 as we couldn’t sleep, speaking about deep shit but also laughing until our sides ached.

The morning was kind of hectic. We ate breakfast early, listening to the classic bustle of London, as I sat with L and Violet and ate a croissant (I was getting into the French swing of things). We were taking the Eurostar, and so we went into St. Pancras (NOT Pancreas) but not before S and Pansy got a photo at Platform 9 and 3/4 at King’s Cross. Border control was easy, but it did involve me holding the hands of three strangers. Then, we boarded the Eurostar – I’d never been on it before and IT WAS SO COOL – which was uneventful as fuck, except for L finding chargers beneath the seats and Violet crying with laughter over a song on her boyfriend’s phone.

When we got there, we got on the Metro which was about the best thing ever for the whole trip. I’ll whizz through all of the days, what we did and how fun it was, so as not to bore anyone. For anyone that doesn’t know, the Metro is a train system in the City: think of the London tubes, but they run on wheels and have tyres; you’re much more likely to stumble and fall over, but the people don’t mind if you grab onto them.

On the Metro, I almost strangled S because I fell over, screamed and laughed. We arrived at the hotel (involving getting lost and being tired), relaxed for a little, but then went on a little tour of the surrounding area. I shared a room with Pansy and two other girls (one lovely, one not so). I also had to share a bed with Pansy, but because I’ve known her for 6 years, I didn’t feel uncomfortable.

A french woman, I think called Marie, took us to Montmartre. On the way, we tried a baguette from the bakery (French baguettes are beautiful), splashed water at each other, nearly got run over, almost got high off the smell of paint, and did so much walking that my feet hurt (then again, I’m VERY unfit as it is). Going to the Church, Sacré Cœur, was a great experience – it was quiet, echoing and majestic, and though I’m not religious at all, I loved it. Walking through it filled me with a horrendous sadness, but I won’t dwell on that: we walked out of the church and it mostly faded.

After that, we said bye to Marie (I spoke French to her or tried to), walked down the street singing hymns with Violet, and then went to relax. That day was bloody emotional as I spoke to both Violet and Pamsy, and tried to help Violet as much as I could. For dinner, we went to this adorable little Crêperie because the restaurant we’d planned to go to hadn’t received our booking. I think that was better, because it was just us there – about 15 of us including kids +volunteers, all laughing. I sat next to Pansy, and between eating, we whispered that we’d talk later, and I overheard some pretty weird conversations with Violet, her boyfriend and L. After my conversation with Violet, we all went up to the boys’ room – all 9 of us – and didn’t leave until about 11. I nearly lost my cane, and just sat on the floor like a rebel.

On Thursday, we went to the Eiffel Tower, and that day was simultaneously the best and worst – the latter, I’ll explain tomorrow. Being classic terrists, everyone was excited, exclaiming over the Eiffel tower-shaped EVERYTHING (Pansy bought pasta, L bought about six models of them, and others bought keyrings). For both Violet and I, there were some horrendously low points, but also high ones too. Standing near the edge of the tower’s second floor, I looked out. I couldn’t see a thing – S and Pansy could, on the bit of floor slightly below us, but I couldn’t. All I could see was sky, a bit that wasn’s sky where there was a boundary, and some darker things below that was an unbroken line of… Nothingness. How do I explain it?

There was a volunteer there, and I’ll use his real name – John. John understood me, because he found me standing there, and took me to walk around. He described it all, from the river to the buildings, and said that there was always something he noticed when he came back to look, that he hadn’t seen before. I opened up to him and another volunteer, and we went into the gift shop to see everything. I’d say that the people who made my week were him and the other volunteers, for just being so relaxed: when we stayed up until 1 that night, they didn’t bat an eyelid, and told us that it was our decision and that they wouldn’t stop us. Their thoughts were that we were responsible enough to make our own decisions, and because they were so relaxed, we could freely swear and yell in front of them (I called Jamie, another amazing volunteer, an utter fucking bastard once and he choked on his laughter).

On the Tower, L screamed “QUI VEUT ME MARRIER?!” (a phrase Violet and I repeated under a bridge the next day, whilst 5 french boys walked towards us). It means “Who wants to marry me?” and he got no response, except for screaming laughter from me. In the afternoon, we went on a river cruise down the Seine, in which I saw the sunlight glancing and shimmering off the water. We screamed various phrases as we went under bridges, and there’s a video of us chanting under one of them. I sang to myself a little, and talked at length to the girl who I shared a room with that first night; we’ve grown much closer now, which is great. Some drama also happened which wasn’t too pleasant, but for a little while over dinner, it was mostly forgotten. I ate snails – which are actually really nice – Pansy and Jamie sobbed whilst laughing (still don’t know why) and whilst we were walking to the the place, Violet and her boyfriend got lost. We thought they’d gone to the numerous sex shops which frequented the streets, because they promised me they would if I let them cheer me up, but psh they didn’t.

As I mentioned, we went to “bed” at 1: again, we hung out in the boys’ room. That involved S “falling asleep” though he was actually awake, which made me cackle like a witch. In case you didn’t know, L had his blogiversary on Friday, and so at exactly midnight I ran over to him and bugged him, squealing “I’m SO PROUD, you’re so old now eyyy!” and that probably scared him. After going back downstairs, I spoke with Pansy until 3. The rest of them didn’t sleep much at all – S only got about an hour and so was delirious with tiredness, something that still makes me laugh. There’s a photo of both Pansy and I hugging him, and he could barely put a sentence together because he was so exhausted. To be fair, our adventures on the Metro and the rest of the day woke him up.

Speaking of that, Friday was definitely my best day, before we went home. In the morning we went to the Louvre, to an amazing art gallery with sculptures. Translating into French braille is surprisingly difficult, and took me a while, but then I felt the recreation of every single sculture. The attention to detail was exquisite, the lines of the flowing robes, fingers and sweeping features giving you such a good impression of what it looked like. Then, I could appreciate art, standing in the silence of my little section of beauty, marvelling at how beautiful everything was: Venus, Mercury, the Three Graces, each figure standing tall despite its size. I loved it all, even the maps of castles, even when we walked through rooms with cobbles and rough walls. Jogn explained it all to me, staying by my side with all the statues, helping me when I got stuck on what something was.

He did the same too, when we went to the Notre Dame: I couldn’t see the decorations, the purple on the stained-glass windows, the high ceilings and model of it with all its spires, or the floor worn down by thousands of feet, but I got a good picture of it from him. We spoke about the Pope, Saints, religion and everything in between: it was nice to be there in the hushed quiet, feet clicking on stones and just walking, not reflecting on any pain, and just existing.

Now, it wasn’t all like that. Throughout the day, before and after going to the hotel to pick up our bags, things happeng that made me almost vomit with laughter:
• We had a leaf fight, where I got leaves in my hair and Jamie chucked leaves at the leader of our group
• We went to a chocolate shop: I fangirled over the selection, eventually buying the most beautiful hot chocolate (it was literally like LIQUID chocolate)
• I drank it, and then immediately ate ice cream. Don’t try that at home, kids.
• Jamie made me sit on a freezing, metal lounge chair, screamed “OI WATCH OUT THERE’s A PIGEON!” and poked me with a leaf. I screamed very loudly, jumped up and then proceeded to yell at him. L fell for it, too, and everyone laughed at us.
• We danced the Cha Cha Slide in the middle of the Notre Dame square. I wasn’t embarrassed, and eventualhy we fell on the floor. So many people stared at us, but to be honest, I dinn’t care.
• On the way to the Metro, Jamie made joke sexist comments, and I’ve never yelled “Right FUCK OFF!” in public before that day.

Four of us had to go on a separate train, because the previous one was so full. It was me, Chef Boob (e’s actually called Bob and isn’t a chef but that’s a long story), Jamie andthe girl I shared with that first night. Jamie tried to say a stop in French, to which the French couple next to us burst out laughing. The girl said, “Jamie, they’re all laughing at you, shut up!”
“We most certainly are,” replied a random french man. I started talking to him, unable to speak because Jamie was so embarrassing. When we left the train, Jamie shouted “Mercy buckets!” and I couldn’t stop laughing for the next 20 minutes.

On the Eurostar on the way back, Jamie, S, Pansy and I walked down to get food. That resulted in Pansy’s dolphin laugh, me falling into people’s arms who were sitting down, me accidentally groping a man’s stomach and the slowest food line ever. When we got back, we were all talking, which caused two to LEAVE the train carriage because we were being so loud. By the end, I was so tired that I couldn’t walk properly.

Saying goodbye was the hardest part: S was coming home with us, but I knew I wouldn’t be seeing Pansy for a while, or Violet. I promised to come and visit Pansy some time in her school, and I hugged John and Jamie because they were fabulous. It feels weird to be back in England, almost unreal, and I miss the laughter, Jamie’s awful French and everything else.

There were little snippets of things that I’ll always remember. I’ll never be able to think about the word “pulsating” in the same way; whenever I cough violently I screech, and there are too many inside jokes to count. I feel like I’ve grown closer to a lot and people now, something that I needed to do. I got more than I wanted out of Paris, in some ways.

Oh my GOD, that was a long post. I hope I’ve done Paris justice, and that you could see what I felt and what I experienced there. It was funny, insane, and I made friends with French people for about 5 seconds.

From Elm 🙂

As Long as There Are People

I don’t want to write today. My heart’s heavy and I’m…

Angry. I’m furious. I’m heartbroken.

In case you didn’t know, in Nice, 84 people died yesterday whilst celebrating Bastille Day. That included children, and all kinds of people, none of whom deserved to die. A lorry crashed into the crowd, purposefully zigzagging to injure more people. As of now, we don’t know if the man was acting alone, or if he was acting with a terrorist organisation like ISIS.

I am disgusted. Over the last year, so many attacks have happened. Paris, Bagdad, Iraq, and so many more – everywhere it seems, and so many that people lose track. The death tolls just become numbers, but the horror still remains. 20 dead. 180 dead. 36 dead. Dead, dead, dead. People still care. Do they care? Dead.

It’s like a punch to the stomach, every time. Why would they do this? What have people done – nothing. They’ve done nothing to deserve to be caught in the crossfire of something that’s not their war, but that’s what war is now. Killing when you don’t expect it. Hiding behind guns, a wheel, a group that apparently fights for a religion when we know that terrorism has no religion.

Don’t blame Islam. I’ve already seen one person on my personal twitter write something so horrible, akin to “Islam isn’t a religion of peace”, “The left will try to defend Islam now” and my blood boiled. How dare you? How dare you say something like that, when it’s only a small percentage of Muslims who agree with this shit, and hardly any would agree to the innocent people being killed. In every religion, you get good and bad people so to say that many Muslims are in support of this makes me more disgusted than I can fathom. That just spreads the hate even more widely, and what the world and what the people who’s families have been torn apart need now is love.

Yes, I’m making little sense, but I don’t need to. It’s perfectly clear. Innocent lives were lost, and the blame should not be put on a religion. It should be put on the people who organised the killings.

I ask myself, will it ever stop? Because I’m scared. We have no idea of the thoughts and feelings of the people in Syria right now, who fear for their lives. We don’t know. They haven’t attacked the UK yet, and if they do, it’ll be when we least expect it. I wish it wasn’t so terrifying.

My head is clouded, and I can barely think. Attack after attack, bomb after bomb after gun after screams. It’s important to be real with you, not sugar-coat it, because to say it will all be fine is stupid. Listen, and take notice, because ignoring this is tantamount to pulling the wool over your eyes. There are families without a mother, daughter, son, father, granddaughter, sister, brother. That happens all the time, but when it’s closer to home, it hits you in the face. This is REAL.

As long as there are people on this Earth, this will always happen. People will always be killed, because of terrorism, murder, accidents, anything. People will always scream, “WHY?!” and no one can give an answer that’s right.

As long as people are here, though, someone will always fight it. Not me, maybe not you reading this, but someone. Through a haze of fear, that I’m trying to dissipate, we need to remember that not everything is hopeless. I haven’t been personally affected by a terrorist attack yet – no one I know has died – but there is always a possibility.

I may not be able to do anything. But I – we – can spread the word, that en ce moment nous sommes avec Nice, peut-être toujours.

We don’t have guns to fight with, we aren’t powerful and maybe no one will listen, but we still have our voices. Stand up against hate, intollerance, and maybe something will happen. It might not stop the attacks, but at least we can say that one less person’s heart is filled with loathing.

If you are personally affected by the tragedy, I am so sorry. Words are not enough, and I’m just one girl, but I want to reach out and help. Words can only do so much, but they’re all we have right now.

From Elm 🙂

Getting Obsessed with France because I’m Cool

Technically speaking, I’ve been learning French for 10 years – since I was 6 – but I can’t speak it without stuttering, my sentence structure is horrendous and I can’t formulate words properly. So, I’m NOT ELOQUENT and I sound like a Martian when I try and speak it, and must look like a moron when I write. Trying to do “de la” when it’s du, or screwing up the gender agreements and verbs. WAHEYY!

Because of that, I’m insane for picking it at A-level. I did it for GCSE and had a love-hate relationship with it, but I decided to change my options about two weeks ago because I got it into my head that it would be better for me.

Well, it WILL be. French has always come naturally to me, and I just love the language because it’s beautiful and it flows REALLY well. I know you might be rolling your eyes at my nerd fest at a foreign language but selon moi, c’est vraiment fantastique bien que je ne le parle pas!

Over the past two weeks, I’ve decided it’s a great idea for me to NOT ACTUALLY give myself a free summer (mainly because they do give us holiday homework at school). Me? Nahh, I’m doing the homework, but I’m doing stuff for my own enjoyment. What’s that, you might ask? VOLUNTARILY doing more French than is necessary.

Okay, so it IS useful. I want to be able to be reasonably confident when I go into A-Levels; I’ll be doing it for the other subjects too but French (and also English) is my priority because I enjoy it. I literally will GO OUT OF MY WAY to do extra french; I know other people will be doing the same because it’s what you SHOULD do, so at least I’m not alone.

I’ve downloaded the app for the newspaper, Le Monde, and started to read articles in French even though I don’t understand most of it. That’s how I found out David Cameron was resigning, actually, and it was WEIRD to find it out from a French newspaper (whilst trying to piece together what it was saying).

And the worst and best thing? I’ve got obsessed with French songs. MAINSTREAM french songs, that are popular, but shhh I’m not original. I just can’t stop listening to them they’re SO GOOD!

Some of my favourites which you should totally listen to:
Dernière Danse by Indila
On Écrit Sur Les Murs by Kids United
Formidable by Stromae

And there are loads more. Honestly I don’t know why, but I LOVE French songs. It’s partly because I can understand them, but it’s also because I like the language itself.

Speaking and listening are still a huge problem for me when it comes to French. I can understand it when I’m reading it, and I can kind of write, but I’m absolutely TERRIBLE with speaking because I can’t get the words out and I can barely construct sentences. The A-Level course recommends doing LOADS of things outside school, so I’ll do that.

Maybe I can listen to french news broadcasts, or find someone – like Willow or Hazel – to speak to in French (Hazel is fluent). Who knows? Even though I won’t do French at university, I still love learning a modern language. People in other countries seem to know two or more, and I want to be able to say coeur and heart, and for it to MEAN the same thing in my head.

I’m thinking reading a book in French as well – I got this thing for my Induction Day next Tuesday for Sixth Form (no one else has the material I’m such a rebel) and it suggests setting up a Twitter account in French. Y’know what? I might actually do that.

I’m so sorry for boring you with all that! Are there any languages you love learning (or that you hate)?

From Elm 🙂

Nous Sommes Avec Vous

I have no words.

I can’t write about this. It would just be wrong, because I’m not directly affected by what happened in Paris last night. I’m disgusted and horrified, but I’m trying to get through it by remembering the amazing day I had today.

Honestly, though? I don’t know what’s wrong with the world. Some people are fucked up. SO fucked up.

These were innocent people.

I can’t write about this. The best I can do is – well, nothing. I’d say I would pray, but I believe in no God. I won’t say things to make people feel better. So, the least I can do is to not be scared, and to not give in, and to stand – at least in my heart – with those who HAVE been affected.

France, et la monde, je suis avec vous. Toujours, je suis avec vous, parce que nous sommes tous ensemble.

I Am the Stereotype

Alright – I can officially say that I am NOT fond of having a crush on a straight girl.

If you don’t know who Cassia is, read this first, because I like being helpful and linking posts 😀

I am almost 100 percent sure that she only likes guys. Last night, we walked down to the beach with my friend (I NEED a name for her!) and a Scottish girl to find our other friends from BASE (that’s the teen camp). They weren’t there, so we walked for a VERY long time up and down until we eventually gave up and went to the foam party.

Whilst we were walking on the beach, we were talking about our boyfriends or girlfriends or whatever. And me, being the… Weirdo that I am, did a little digging and found out that she’s KIND of with someone? She’s a “side-bae”, as she calls it. Eheh. YEAH woohoo!

I AM bothered. More bothered than I was with Farmer. I’ll get over it, though; the problem is that she’s so, so lovely.

The foam party was amazing, though. I got COVERED in foam (mainly because we all threw foam at each other) and we stayed for about an hour. I just let go of all my “urgh what am I doing?!” and jumped around and danced and held her hands. I haven’t got that close to a girl before when I’ve been aware that I had a “crush” on them.

After we got out, we walked back to our caravans (I took advantage of the fact that I can’t see to hold her hand heh pervert much).

She wasn’t at BASE today (this morning] but hopefully we’ll see her at the pool. I haven’t got ANY chance with her, but it doesn’t really matter because I’m going to enjoy the time I’ve got with her.

Anyway – how have you guys been doing? I haven’t been talking to people much recently but it’s hectic over in France.

From Elm 🙂

Just a Little Update

Eyyy!

So I got wifi, but it’s a bit inconsistent at times. For those of you who DON’T know, I’m in France at the moment on holiday with one of my best friends (need to make a name for her).

It’s AMAZING! Boiling, but amazing. Like last year, there’s a sort of club for teens called BASE, which is fab. We went to a different campsite last year, and one of our friends (let’s call him the Farmer) we met there has come here. Completely by chance, we booked the same place at the same time.

In other news, I haven’t:
A. Read any blogs
B. Talked to many bloggers
C. Answered ANY emails
D. Been on Kik much
E. Been able to post on the Feministas next Wednesday

Whoops?

Like I’ve said before: if you guys need me, drop me an email or Kik message, or comment on one of my posts. I still HAVE wifi, but I don’t have much time to read things, as I’m relaxing (like a pro).

Anyway – I hope you guys are having a great holiday. I got sunburnt and it hurts.

From Elm