Everywhere you go, there YOU are !

''You're from where? Vozool?''

'' No , VE-SOUL''

'' Where the hell is that? By the sea? ''

'' No, it's in the East''

The french lady I'm talking to is staring at me like I'm a bloody foreigner. Let me think. That's about HOW I FEEL anyway.

'' I 've never heard about Vee-zool'' she replies naturally.

Yes, it's way easier to be French in a foreign country ( even in England) than being from VESOUL in your own country. At least , everyone knows where France is.

Try Vesoul....

Yes, I did move back to my country, FRANCE. How many of you thought I would not do it?

You know I like challenges. But this one was about as hard as working an a farm with scorpions and wild pigs in the Malaysian jungle with no electricity for 10 days.

10 days in France....

I've done about everything a foreign tourist would have done at my place. Except that I AM NOT a foreign tourist.

I'm a totally stupid blonde who seems to have never taken the train , bought a baguette with Euro coins or sit in a restaurant eating for more than 10 minutes.

Yes, I did have to read the menu in English because I did not understand the words in French. ( I was drunk too )

Why so complicated ?

'' delicat Poisson et sa  legere sauce aux marrons' ( delicate fish and its light chestnut sauce) ' is still just bloody fish in your plate, innit .

And they did not even have snails or frogs.And they call themselves F**** French.

When you ask what the point of all this fuss is to the guy who kindly invited you to one of the best restaurants in town , you look like a total bitch.

Best excuse : '' Sorry , I ve lived in England for so long''

( Appologies almost accepted . That was close)

And how many kinds of bread do they have anyway. So you basically need 10 minutes to go buy your bread in this country.

They even ask you how long you want your baguette baked for.

Helloooooo I just want BREAD.

Let's face it, I have totally lost my Frenchness.

The worst thing is? I can't even watch a political debate for more than 2 minutes without getting totally freaked out.

'' Why are these people so angry?'' I ask the same poor guy , whom I happen to live with . ( I'll give him a medal one day , he does deserve it but don't tell him that , he could take it seriously , he's french, you see)

'' WE ARE NOT ANGRY , WE ARE EXPRESSING OUR EMOTIONS''

Mmmm even that sentence was too much for me .

'' OUR WHAT?''

This is not really something we mention much in England you see... These emotions thingy.

I told you once that there was such a thing as '' National Energy'' . That I get sucked in to it wherever I go ( '' The citizen of the world '' syndrom)

It results in either a '' wow, Annabelle, how do you capture the Spirit and understand the culture of a country so well?''

OR that :

England

'' Annabelle, you are WAY too emotional, you should see someone about it''

France :

'' Annabelle, You have big problems expressing your emotions , you should see someone about it''

The prefect balanced place should then be....... SOMEWHERE BETWEEN FRANCE AND ENGLAND

Or....

Australia :

'' Chill out mate , let's go to the beach''

When people ask me where I want to live , I DON T KNOW WHAT TO SAY !

Seriously I was totally lost for 10 days.

It's like I was not totally in a foreign country as I was able to speak the language ( although I ordered my sushi in English in the local japanese restaurant , which probably made the guy 's like so much simpler) but I totally missed the point of it all.

I felt like I lost my memory and I pretended ( very badly) to remember it all.

No, I did not care about good food, good wine or politics. I was still a Brit in the inside.

When you go abroad, you always compare your own country to the country you're in ( Something about insecurity) . Normal.

But when you catch yourself saying '' You french people are weird because in my country....''  and you still have MADE IN FRANCE tattooed on your neck, you simply look like you're going mad ( As a writer , everyone knows how mad I already am anyway, so it's cool)

What country was I talking about? Depends on my mood.... England..... Australia..... No , I did not miss the past in those 2 countries, one of my strong point is in the moving on but  I just totally lost my landmarks... in my own country.

Believe me or not, I finally settled back in. ( until I had to go to Paris for one whole hour but that'll be another story) I went back to being my good old French self .

Hang on a minute. That's the same one as in England. Or Australia. Or anywhere. I m exactly the same person.... 

Damn. 

Everywhere you go, here YOU are........... 

Learn French , buy my book :)

My first book " Strolling Frog"  is finally available to buy online. So I'm doing what I do best when something important happens . I go travelling. This time, in my own country. Maybe I will eat those frogs eventually. Anyway if you speak and like french or knows someone who knows someone who knows someone who does, order it online wherever you live . Cheers :) 

http://www.voronwe.com/fiche_une-grenouille-en-balade_71.html

Reality, check.

I have to make a good impression with that guy , I keep repeating myself before I enter the publisher's house. One week end to make a good impression. Then I'm going home in England.

Oh and how do you make a good impression again? Mmmm I don't know I never tried.

Smile and pretend you know what you re doing.
　
A few hours .... and a few glasses (bottles?) of french wine later
Him : Great , you can also go live with your mother, that's fine.
Me : How do you dare use this agaisnt me?

Now , how the fuck did I end up having this conversation with a total stranger ?????
　
A few days before , at work, in England :
'' Annabelle, we think that you need a little break from this job....'' My 2 managers/friends are looking at me like I'm on the verge of a massive breakdown .

I thought they had booked me a bed in the nearest mental hospital but they probably cancelled it when I received the news quite sanely . I was given 2 weeks notice.

Sure. I will book the bed myself then.

My name is Annabelle, I lost my job and home for the 6th time this year.

Welcome Annabelle.

Back to Tours, France, at the publisher's house
Him: You're so irrational Annabelle, How can you go live in a Thai monastry or take a single ticket to Australia alone , with no money and no plan and you are scared to be in your own country?

Me, pointing at the book : Now who's making money out of my irrationality huh ?

Annabelle 's lame argument 1- Publisher zero .

Me : I'm not going back to the start , I'm NOT fucking going back. And stop acting like you know me, you have no idea who I am .

Him : darling , you hardly write fiction.
( NB : He also works in a mental hospital he told me earlier. I feel very sane now)

Publisher 1 - Annabelle who writes as she thinks 0

Him : Why are you so scared of your own country? What's so great in your little traveler's world?

I know the answer. I'm not telling him. Only the french outside of France can understand this.

Him : You are free in France TOO.

Oh shit. How the hell does he know that. Hang on. He read my book. He bloody PUBLISHED it!
How do I ALWAYS put myself in an awkward mess?

Me, under huge threat now and feeling that lack of freedom that I can only feel in this country : '' Look , I don't know you . And I'm not going back to the start. Now leave me alone''

I did not do all this to move back to France with a fucking french man AGAIN. I failed last time. France fucking failed me.

Did I say that out loud.

Hell yeah.

Mental hospital this way.

Give me another wine, please.

Him : Have you heard of the concept of facing your fears? This is your success Annabelle , he says pointing at the book.
You take it or you leave it. But you've got to face REALITY, for once. MAKE A CHOICE. Your dream is to be a writer right? I'm offering you to come work with me here , in your own home country and work to become a writer.

Bloody french men, what do they know. ( this one? A LOT)

Breathe , Annabelle, breathe.

I did not come here to face reality , I came here to sign books , record a video , feel famous for a week end and go back to my backpackers' hostel in England looking for waitresses jobs in Canada and how to spend Christmas in Australia with another credit card .

On the plane back home to England
I started to read my own book on the plane . I ve always dreamt to do that.
Imagine me, with a silly grin openly displaying the back of the book so my neighbour sees the picture and says
'' Oh , it's you who wrote this book, wow congratulations''
And I would say
'' Oh yeah , you know it's just a book''
Hell Yeah .

I turn to my left and the guy next to me is snoring away , with not a care in the world.

Damn reality.

Coffee is coming , thank God. For a minute I forget coffee is 4 pounds ( and I only have a Euro on me) , I'm squeezed in between 2 people and I'm wearing 2 jackets to not pay for excess bagage .

Damn reality ( aka Ryan Air)

I'm back to England, the Land of the Free.

And I do feel so free here.

This morning , in the breakfast room at the hostel

I'm talking about travelling with a french guy I just met and I ve been trying to sell him my book. Let s face it : I SUCK AT SELLING.

Anyway , we start talking about important things : how free we feel outside of our own country. Like me , he lived in Australia, and away from France for years.

Bloody french we both say, always complaining and moaning, We feel so trapped there....

Travelling opens our mind and we can do whatever we want, no one cares , no one judges, no family pressure.... We become citizens of the world, nobodies...

FREE.

'' Travelling can also become your prison though, if you're not careful '' he announces , obviously knowing what he was talking about.

I smile. I did too.

My Spanish friend comes with his phone on google map and tells me

'' Look , Annabelle, that's where you're going to live ! ''

REALLY? Oh shit, I always thought it was more South.

I realise, like always , that I cannot place the place where I was going to live on a map.

'' Good luck for tomorrow '' other backpackers come and hug me good bye.

'' Good luck with the French '' say all the french expats I met recently ( panicking for me)

What they really meant was , '' good luck with your freedom''

Yes, I do feel free outside of my country. I then look at my book. and wondered '' What's the point of being free if you have nothing to fight for? ''

You can either fight for other people 's dreams or.... Fight for your own.

No matter what YOUR reality is ,  you are ALWAYS free to choose...