I have been dreaming to write a book for an eternity. Maybe it goes back to the time when I had a personal diary but only its title was personal. I am personally and rightly convinced that many people went through it (my sister admitted reading it and knowing everything about all the crushes that haunted my thoughts from the time I was ten to fourteen). In addition to my imaginary suitors, I would describe all my emotions, already with great intensity – these emotions were totally related to the fact that I was still a young girl, about to enter my teenage years: love, hate, rebellion against my parents and the rest of the world, some desire to die and so on.
However, my affection for my diary was short-lived. At fourteen, I stopped opening it. After quite a few tumultuous incidents, I turned to poetry. Of course, I described there my despair, my loathing of injustice, the cruelty of life. In short, nothing really exciting. I leave it up to the eternal desperate ones to redeem themselves in verses...
After that I went through an empty phase, where my only goal was to understand algebra! My mind was way too busy dreaming about integrals that it could only wander and be free for more exciting subjects: German vocabulary, World War II, Russia's energy resources...
Then followed a more successful year where my imagination was able to make up short stories. To be honest, I have no clue where these are now! I believe that someone may have carefully saved them, for posterity. But I personally did not keep anything at all...
I have started so many stories, by the dozen. About my life, my troubled teenage years, my parents, my marriage. Of course, I was totally inspired, but after the first two pages, these stories were inevitably and irretrievably forgotten. I would have been absolutely unable to catch up where I had left. The euphoria fell through quite quickly!
So I have to be realistic. I certainly don't want to sound pessimistic, but I will probably never publish a book. Here comes the blog. The benefit is that I don't necessarily try to tell a story. I just want to express my thoughts on everything and anything, some serious and others way much less; tell about instants of life in Paris or New York, or my relationships with some. I can do that perfectly well. Let's not forget, by the way, that I am blond, and therefore, madcap. But more about that later!
In fact, I may not have a clear idea on geopolitics, economics, finance and peace in the world (although...); but there are plenty of other topics that I can discuss. I have seen a lot in my short life, more or less funny; met a lot (too many) people, more or less funny; crossed deserts, climbed tops of mountains, swum in warm oceans... and cold ones; burned bridges; burst into laughing, tears; fallen in despair. I have learned so much and still have so much to learn. But I don't want to forget all these impressions. So I write.
I have also decided to tackle the task to translate my thoughts in English. I will certainly not thank my English teachers who bored me to death (I hated English for a very long time); laughed at my accent (that may explain why some – who, by the way, only speak one language, ie English – get on my nerves when they mock my accent again and again. PS: everybody has an accent, especially in New York); or had totally given up on me. I repeat what I just wrote: I hated English. To be exact, my teachers never taught me to love it (like maths, physics, French or even German, that I loved!).
I have no doubt that some won't like it. However I am happy to pretend that I can go beyond prejudice and critics that human beings are so fond of and to let my imagination and emotions wander freely. So don't expect anything politically correct. This blog is free, there is no involvement and no censorship (except my own, that is pretty limited). That is the best therapy ever!