Never enough.

Perfection is not reachable. Yet it's the only way I've ever been afforded.

Every single mistake, every single weakness, every single dip in energy level seems to result in so much outrage.

How dare you be human?

How dare you have needs and struggles?

And if I ever end up in a meltdown - the consequences have often been catastrophic.

I'm so tired of this constant double standard, of what I can expect vs what's expected of me. The discrepancy is so wild it's unbelievable.

I've been groomed since childhood to fulfil this shitty role. Fucking patriarchy.

---

My #1 quality? Being reliable.

I am this over-functioning, self-sufficient, multitasking, hypervigilant quiet woman.

I'm not fun. I'm not entertaining. I'm not loud. I'm not attractive. I'm not even interesting any more. 

I'm just very, very tired.

But reliable.

---

She just fell asleep alone, in a different room, for the very first time ever. 

There's no need for tears, she's 7.

And yet.

It's so much more bitter than sweet right now.

---

Maybe it's not about being reliable. 

Maybe it's about being indispensable so that I don't get forgotten.

---

Maybe it's not about being flawless.

No, fuck that, this one is not on me. 

Groomed.

Fucking patriarchy.

Choose happiness. Or not.

Choose an easy life. Choose fun. Choose local. Choose to not wait for better things to come, choose to not be patient, choose to not accept any struggles, choose to not accept the temporary difficulties.

Because you were never going to choose me. I was never going to be enough.

Confidentiel.

Finalement, c'était peut-être que.

Et c'est assez extraordinaire.

Tellement que je n'y crois pas vraiment. Ou que j'y crois trop.

Je sais déja plus.

20 ans à pleurer en refusant d'écouter cette phrase.

J'avais oublié.

J'étais résignée.

J'étais satisfaite, aussi.

Parce que la vie est faite d'états d'équilibre imparfaits, mais satisfaisants.

Parce que le vent, le vert, les enfants, le quotidien. 

Parce que c'était chouette aussi, cette vie résignée. Cette tranquilité d'esprit, enfin. 

Et puis tout à coup, une discussion, une mise au point, une réalisation, et je tombe à pic.

Sauf que je ne suis plus libre de sauter. Sauf que c'est impossible, une impasse. Et tout à coup, la vie recommence à me piquer les yeux. 

Parce que, finalement, ça risque d'être peut-être pas.

Et c'est juste insupportable.

Secret pet.

It might look cute, a little ball, not furry, not fluffy - more scaly and spiky.
It's hard to touch - impossible to swallow - thankfully somehow.
It might sound strong, a great big shout - or a shriek, even a screech. A strangled throat.
It smells of sweat, of trembling lunchtime, acrid, unhealthy, ungratefully unbeatable.
It tastes bitter, inedible, and that's lucky: you shouldn't eat your own pet, even in my country.
It never answers to its name, always tries to camouflage. It looks like anger, sadness, maybe depression.

But it's just fear.

Nine lives.

Cat life one, the pyromaniac, half cute fluffy ball, half evil dragon
After that, a prisoner's life, karma kicked in, justice followed
The third life was about repairs: they called her Sam, the firewoman.
Cat life four, the eternal teenager, sleeping all day, drinking all night
After that came a life of repentance - in a monastery, quietly praying
The sixth life was about balance, but mummy cat never found it.
Cat life seven, under the spotlight: fame, money, success; public face
After that, the earth was calling, its mice and rabbits now trembling
The ninth life has just begun. It's the best yet - the possibility of freedom.

How to train your Errol?

You can't. You can't train Floras either. It's best to purchase a robot and learn to code - it will fulfill your need for control in a more efficient way.

La vérité.

This morning, I said something to my 6 year-old son that sounded like: "you know, my parents didn't really hear me when I was a child. I really don't think they ever will, even now."
We carried on chit chatting, and after maybe 5 min of unrelated stuff he said: "you know Mummy, I'm pretty sure you parents heard you. They just chose to ignore what they heard."
Oh wow.
My boy.

Moon baking

I've always taught my son: you only need 4 ingredients
It's eggs, flour, sugar and butter for cupcakes
But when it comes to the moon, it's a bit different:
You need a way to chase the clouds away
You need to look up high
You need patience and determination
And a little bit of love for what's far
But the most important,
The essential ingredient,
The one you can never forget,
Whether or not you have a rocket,
Is: moonrocks.
And no, you can't eat them.

It turns out.

Being an emigrant, I take some things for granted.

It turns out that places don't stay the same once you leave them.

It turns out that memories are only memories, even if I sometimes assume they are someone else's current reality.

It turns out that cathedrals can and do  burn, that a walk through Paris in the morning will never be the same, that the city of my teenage years was probably long gone.

Having grown up in Paris, I take some things for granted.

I've been spoilt, let's face it.

The idea of a trip to Paris doesn't excite me. It sounds like taking the bus home: nice, comfy, welcoming. Okay. Nothing much. Could we go to somewhere new and amazing instead?

It turns out that my children will never see Notre Dame. Let me repeat this. They will never see Notre Dame! I didn't take them. Why would I have?

Everlasting buildings don't disappear!

Landmarks are taken for granted. They don't suddenly collapse!

It turns out they do.

Grow (ghazal)

It's always been my job: making things grow.
It used to be plants; today the children grow.

I've spent so many hours in these growthrooms
Potting, planting, watering, harvesting - plants growing.

I'm spending so many hours in this bedroom
Cajoling, cuddling, holding, breastfeeding - children growing.

I used to be a researcher, wearing a labcoat
Hoping for a discovery, a success, a scientific growth.

I've become a mother, wearing a toddler
Hoping for a smile, a happy day, a personal growth.

Lycopersicon, Arabidopsis, the joys of my youth,
Errol, Flora, the gifts that made me grow.