# 28 || chère soi-même,

i.
# enigmatic  # tea vs. lattes  # fairytales  # move up and away  # the luxury of loneliness  # imaginary intolerances # splendi.co  #finishmynovel  # live in your body, not your head (so much)  # 15 seconds of courage # read more # comfort over couture # gratitude # honesty # empathy # compassion # love always and forever    

ii.

 

(wandering through Central Park, in Septembre this year)

If I accomplish nothing else in the next year other than the reality of a suitcase and a girl hand-in-hand on another adventure all around the world, then that's okay. I can't deny the reality that every single year I blossom like the flowerfille I strive to be. So, I won't illustrate 2012 as a disappointment, but rather it has been a start and I have unabashed high hopes for 2013 and beyond. The act of merely existing, is a feat with insufficient recognition and I think we're all doing a really wonderful job. You plummet and you fly, and sometimes the two don't balance out. Sometimes they won't for weeks. I can't forget that, and that is why I damn the whole concept of staying present. Because often when I do, I feel only the ache of nostalgia and forget how beautiful everything was and will be. If I close my eyes, everything is as perfect as I can imagine it.   

This year I dragged my suitcase through eleven countries, got promoted, tripped in love for the first time, went to New York City, drove on the right side of the road, ate McDonald's in the Louvre, and made/kept some of the best friends a girl could dream for.  So, despite my slight aversion to the "you know who you are" additions at the end of some personal paragraphs, I believe that the people, of all ages and all places around the world, who have made this year more special than I ever could have imagined, know who they are and why I love them to the complete capacity of my heart. Thank you so very much. xo

# 27 || comme des diamants dans le ciel *~*~*

Do you ever hear the colours in certain songs? Bon Iver is a comforting kind of blue-grey and I think anything by Fleet Foxes is a forest green and that shade of brown that doesn't bring you down-the-rabbit-hole. Lately I like songs that elucidate midnight blue, like Ane Brun's These Days and anything by James Blake. When things get really sad I need Balam Acab (Welcome will change everything !), Múm, Real Estate, or anything that can both cause and curb a potent pang of nostalgia to reverberate through my body. 



I dream of a trip away from this ( e t e r n a l ) existential crisis. Recently, the ghosts seem so awake and sorrow is strong without a source. Sometimes lonely is an understatement, and sometimes it's a selfish thing to say. When your (freight)train-of-thought offers infinite opinions, you forget which one really belonged to you. My curiosity seems both a brilliance and a burden, when right is wrong and somehow I seem to know best when I don't know anything at all.

Dreams cannot be perpetual, because the permanence we crave will only transpire through movement and erraticism. You're always where you need to be, and every second, every suffering, and every stumble of every day attributes to the incredible being that you are. Do you take risks? The kind that nobody notices or cares about and probably won't even make a good story afterwards. Until now. Because at this precise moment I want to emphasis the significance of the smallest things and the foundations of a thought. I believe good intentions are the most important thing, and are the catalyst for "success" (for lack of a more appropriate, less silly word) - regardless of how wretched it all may seem.











Let the sky-blue, rose-gold, pure-white hope bloom inside your soul and you'll see the meaning in what seems meaningless. Floating is just the preliminary before you fly, before you soar. There's much merit in the movement of drifting, of wandering, of learning, of trying, of seeing ---- imagine the magnitude of your story when you take a step sideways and see what magic you have made.

( With love, A. x )

# 26 || " you're a wallflower, charlie "

un

 

for Victoria Letch, with love.

deux

What sort of legacy do you want to leave behind, how would you like to be remembered? Your career? Your favourite place in the whole world? The song you played when you were almost incurably sad? When I was a little girl, every other day I would ask, "Mummy, am I nice? Do you think the other kids at school think I'm nice?" It's curious that I remember the question but not the response, perhaps that is an allusive suggestion that self-improvement is infinite. Do you think it's really that difficult to live your life in order to be remembered ( if absolutely nothing else ) as the very best kind of person? One compassionate thought, in silence or aloud. One act of charity, be it small or large. One deep breath, you don't need to defend yourself. 

 

   

trois

To be judged for the things you choose not to say, rather than the things you do - that is the perk of being a wallflower. If being the serious, quiet, lonely one means that your head gets to race at the speed of light and you can read the world in retrospect, then hip hip hooray ! For all the moments you couldn't find the courage, for all the opportunities you feel you've let slip through your fingers, for all the the things you wish you could have said -- new moments will manifest and you'll have learned your lesson. Creating and keeping a dream inside your soul is not drifting, it is hope, it is patience and it is a virtue. But whatever the space is before the verge of tears, that is my home and I might be stuck there for a little while longer. It's not quite limbo, it's more like breathing underwater. But for what it's worth, an everlasting quasi-funk seems a whole lot better than a fall down the rabbit hole. Though the Alice in me often lusts for the latter. 

 

"If I go deep into the woods
If I go to this cabin
If I go deep into the woods
If I go will you follow?" 

-- Agalloch, This Old Cabin.

 x