Well, I almost sent a quite compromising snapchat to an ex. That’d have been weird.
Ever since I can remember I have this technique in order to fall asleep: I am creating stories, when I was younger it was in a more romaticized, naive, magical way (childlike mind), it obviously was more about romance around my early teens, then about being cool, powerful. I still do it, the topics change time to time, there are some Which I continue the following days. It’s really like writing a storyline but just not writing it down. It is my way to turn off my neverending thoughts of my mind which is a pretty busy place. Especially during the night when I get these anxiety attacks about what should I have done already with my life what should I do next, how good person I am, etcetc. All those frustrating things which just dont seem to stop. But the stories make my mind a peaceful place, it’s the same as it goes for drawing. It empties me in a good way.
Ok, A guy just walked by with his friends and spotted me sitting outside drinking my coffee and gave me the most dashing smile ever, so I guess its a sign for me countineing being happy and grateful. Crazy parisians.
I am exhausted, this day started as the worst day ever: I even cried cause of anger, then it turned out to be great: my classes were nice, I was complimented on my english accent (again, so guys its official: i have american accent, if any of you have it too raise your hands), drank delish cappucino, managed to buy cigarettes, met with new cool people, a friend of mine is visiting Paris so I am meeting her tomorrow for breakfast (breakfast is my favourite meal but lately I am skipping it), having a very good inspiration-period, and I am going out for a drink with F.
You have no idea how anxious I was meeting all these new all these french people today, like I am the first ‘exchange’ student there ever. My voice was a little bit shaking while the teacher asked my name twice. At least everyone knows my name now.
I am waiting for the latest game of thrones episode, gonna eat real french meal with real french cheese and real french dessert and drink real hungarian tea.
some of yall feel accomplished bc u like drinking bottled water n eating oranges n its weird man
köszi, bár jobban preferálom a mademoiselle megszólítást, elvégre hölgy vagyok vagy mi.
Had a lovely night with R. Sitting under the Notre Dame, we saw the sunset, it was filled with the color pink and I was speechless, like I was talking about pink sunsets just today. It’s like if you focus on one thing you most likely to find it everywhere. Like when I went to fnac and found the sailor moon manga and that day everywhere I went I saw people reading or talking about mangas.
There was this house birthday party not a long time ago. It was one of my flatmates’ party so obviously I was invited. At first i was super nervous, knowing only two people and being the only one not being perfect with french was frustrating and as much as it seemed like fun I was terrified. So I was at first running up and down, I got introduced to some guys who were attracted to me. (Nowadays I’m more sensitive towards this topic because I’m more me-conscious.)
Tu parles francais? - asked one of the guys.
Oui, mais un peu.
Ah, D’accord. Do you want anything to drink?
I showed them my not so full, but not so empty glass that I’m fine. I didn’t get both of their names and I didn’t intend to. Re. was nicer and less aggressive than the other so I managed to remember his name, he had very warm smile with curious eyes with a little sadness hidden in them.
After your second drink, we will continue this in french.
Ah, right. - I smiled as I knew they wouldn’t see me drunk.
I was still feeling a little bit shy towards everyone. I was smoking outside and refilling my glass. (I was surprised how they were like water instead of alcohol.) Then I finally found someone who was willing to talk with me in english for more than 30 minutes, then people started dancing and I felt finally fine and content. I went to dance like I usually do: free, moving every inch of my body because that’s how it supposed to be. Instead of being pretty, sexy I just wanted to feel the rhythm. It’s usually a big mistake, because you will end up being the best dancer and people will start staring. I took a break, went out smoking to the balcony where a guy with a very good voice (I mean actor-good-voice.) started talking to me. He was quite flirtatious as all the men.
So I also teach at an university. - he leaned back to the wall.
Oh, really? And how is it with the twenty something-girls?
He started laughing: Are you twentyone too?
Re. arrived, asked for a cigarette and they started trying impress me together, I stole the cigarette from Re. and smiled at him. I looked around I felt like I was flirting just like the french guys while the french girls were not even doing the femme fatale thing, they were more direct than me and the guys were less direct than the girls.
Are you going to dance?
I’ve already been there.
Oh, I must have missed it. I’d love to see you dance.
Well, it’s unlucky for you then, because I still have a lots of cigarettes left to smoke.
A yellow-haired blonde woman turned to me:
Are you american?
No, why do you think so?
Your accent. Where are you from?
You look nothing like an easterneuropean.
I was just smiling and nodding, like there is this stereotype I don’t fit, like my blood is not mixed with who knows which race, nationality.
This night is indeed fun.
Sorry, I’m not good at English. - said the beautiful guy with deep brown eyes. - Do you want to share a cigarette? I can teach you french words.
How do you say I don’t care in french?
Je m’en fiche.
The next morming, Re. brought me coffee, we had breakfast-lunch together with F. And I learnt why his eyes had this sadness hidden. He didn’t say much but that he has a son of five years, there was nothing about his mother.
Matty Healy (the 1975)
I just had the most fulfilling, delish lunch this week (haha, yes at 4:30 pm): olives, feta, fresh baguette and after that two gaufres and coffee with rice milk. I mostly eat btw this way: lots of cheese (but not from cow milk), tomatoes, fresh and still hot baguette or croissant with strawberry jam. Unfortunately there is still lots of cow milk in my diet which should be reduced to 0%, but here in France it’s not common to deal with lactose-free or vegan products. Or I was unlucky, though I had a lovely discussion with my one of teacher who told me he had no idea where should I go to eat vegan food. Lovely.
The funny thing though there are words which are replaced in my english vocabulary to french: like gaufre.