Thanks for following my adventures and supporting my blog in 2012
All the best to you in2013 all over the world!
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and on twitter @frogrenouille
A french girl discovering ze world, other cultures, people and herself...
Monday, 31 December 2012
Friday, 16 November 2012
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.
Friday, 9 November 2012
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_
Sunday, 4 November 2012
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...
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...
Thursday, 25 October 2012
Stranger in a strange land ...
What a bloody weird place. I m standing here in a tiny airport , it s pissing down with rain , most people speak English , the rest are either staring or complaining and I m waiting for a girl I ve never met in my whole life. I call it strange land. Other people might refer it as France.
This place , Ryan air calls it "Toorz"in an Irish accent ( if anyone could politely tell them that we don t pronounce the final s , that would probably help some French people to not miss their flight) , we call it Tours.
I realise I cannot even locate this place on the map and France is the country I know the least in the whole world.
Why would you come here if it was not to meet the guy who is publishing your book about your travels around the world anyway? Unless you re English and u want a cheap house or Aussie and u like bloody castles ...
So I m meeting this girl I ve never met but who designed the awesome cover of the book and who can t wait to meet me. She probably does not believe that a person is capable of that many fuck ups in only 158 pages.
Try me.
I m now staring at all young French women I m seeing around . With the a " have we met before ? " smile.
Ok I m freaking everyone out now .
I clearly feel out of place in this country.
" do you speak French ?" The guy at the counter says.
" reasonably " I answer randomly.
Fuck where am I from already ?
Ah right , yeah. It says on my neck .made in France .
I say good bye to the Brit I met on the plane . He lives in France and can t remember England much . I live in England and can t remember France much. We had a lot in common .
For some random reason we both wanted to buy the naked staff calendar from Ryan air . But we didn t. He promised to buy my book instead.
Wise decision .
Everyone is smoking around me. I only think of one thing to say : bloody French.
The girl who made my cover comes at last.
We chat like we re old friends already . I always have that relationship with strangers . It gets more complicated later . When I chat to old friends like we re strangers . Anyway , here we are in traffic chatting about travelling , going away but weirdly , not about coming back.
" so where do u feel at home " she finally asks me.
" I feel at home with people " i answer randomly , just realising how bloody true it was .
Well as long as it is not in France i thought but i shut up. For once.
Driving on the right side freaks me out. Everything about this country freaks me out actually.
We keep chatting about our creation . aka ze book . I soon feel like we just had a baby together. Mmm strange new feelings in this strange land ...
Anyway,
I was going to meet the guy i worked with for the last 8 months , the guy I always trusted with my money and words . I talked to him on the phone once last week. And ze book .
" come on then " she says to me as we were about to enter the guy s house .
Mmm let me think .... No . Actually it s better to not think. Rule number one for ze traveller.
I suddenly felt like I was coming home again but with the huge urge to get the hell out of here.
Bloody travellers . U never know what u travel for. Escaping , learning , creating , letting go ....
And the strangest of all is when you re about to reach your destination ....
This place , Ryan air calls it "Toorz"in an Irish accent ( if anyone could politely tell them that we don t pronounce the final s , that would probably help some French people to not miss their flight) , we call it Tours.
I realise I cannot even locate this place on the map and France is the country I know the least in the whole world.
Why would you come here if it was not to meet the guy who is publishing your book about your travels around the world anyway? Unless you re English and u want a cheap house or Aussie and u like bloody castles ...
So I m meeting this girl I ve never met but who designed the awesome cover of the book and who can t wait to meet me. She probably does not believe that a person is capable of that many fuck ups in only 158 pages.
Try me.
I m now staring at all young French women I m seeing around . With the a " have we met before ? " smile.
Ok I m freaking everyone out now .
I clearly feel out of place in this country.
" do you speak French ?" The guy at the counter says.
" reasonably " I answer randomly.
Fuck where am I from already ?
Ah right , yeah. It says on my neck .made in France .
I say good bye to the Brit I met on the plane . He lives in France and can t remember England much . I live in England and can t remember France much. We had a lot in common .
For some random reason we both wanted to buy the naked staff calendar from Ryan air . But we didn t. He promised to buy my book instead.
Wise decision .
Everyone is smoking around me. I only think of one thing to say : bloody French.
The girl who made my cover comes at last.
We chat like we re old friends already . I always have that relationship with strangers . It gets more complicated later . When I chat to old friends like we re strangers . Anyway , here we are in traffic chatting about travelling , going away but weirdly , not about coming back.
" so where do u feel at home " she finally asks me.
" I feel at home with people " i answer randomly , just realising how bloody true it was .
Well as long as it is not in France i thought but i shut up. For once.
Driving on the right side freaks me out. Everything about this country freaks me out actually.
We keep chatting about our creation . aka ze book . I soon feel like we just had a baby together. Mmm strange new feelings in this strange land ...
Anyway,
I was going to meet the guy i worked with for the last 8 months , the guy I always trusted with my money and words . I talked to him on the phone once last week. And ze book .
" come on then " she says to me as we were about to enter the guy s house .
Mmm let me think .... No . Actually it s better to not think. Rule number one for ze traveller.
I suddenly felt like I was coming home again but with the huge urge to get the hell out of here.
Bloody travellers . U never know what u travel for. Escaping , learning , creating , letting go ....
And the strangest of all is when you re about to reach your destination ....
Friday, 19 October 2012
The book of my life
" so what do you write about in your book Annabelle , is there sex and everything " asks me my Italian friend the last Napolitan obviously pondering whether or not he should go through the trouble of buying it and google translate it.
" it s about my life darling , so obviously no , it s not about sex"" I answer naturally although I m a but lying and a little embarrassed by the number of men I actually meet / hang out with / in the damn book.
What was I thinking? My chances of a long healthy relationship were already quite slim. Now that my whole country can read my fuck ups , I am destined to be the crazy old lady with cats.
I had to read the book again and give my consent to the publisher . That was my final step.
Mmmm let me think . No.
I wanted to lie and go " yep , perfect go ahead " but I can t lie and I would have written the truth sooner or later.
After a couple of day reading other books about spiritual awakening ( you d think that I d be fully awake by now but no) I decided to give a go to my own book. The one I wrote about my life traveling from January 11 to December 11. 158 pages of my life.
Of course I decided that the chick on the book was not me. You don t expect to face my own crap and move on by reading that book do you ?
That d be too easy.
So it s that chick who leaves her manager job to find answers about life and she comes back to Brighton with more questions . Awesome.
Next book?
Come on , let s be nice to this chick
So she ends up in the jungle in Malaysia first , working close to nature ie fearing for her own life checking her bed for deadly scorpions every night . Was supposed to stop smoking but had to keep her lighter to check her bed because she had no electricity so se decided to not stop smoking I the end . Then she got bitten by a rooster named sarkozy. A French chick who got bitten by a rooster named sarkozy in Malaysia what a fucking good book huh .
Then she goes to Australia. She thinks she a super traveller and is planning to see the whole country in a year , like everyone else. She ends buying a car living in a house get friends a job that she was desperately useless at but they kept her as the waitress because she had a French accent and it sounded cool. And she was sort of fun too. She travels 40km in 6 months and then sells her car to go to live in .... A Thai monastery ?????
Wtf ?
After 1 month of living in silence on A concrete mattress she realises she was probably not made for spiritual life as such.
She then lives in Bangkok for a couple of weeks with a friend of a friend he just met and became good friends , goes clubbing and go hit on by a Brazilian guy whom she did not go home with . Thank god for that because that would have definitely ruined what was coming...
She then decides to go back to England in her old life . After living all this ? Dream on girl... I could have told her. I probably did but she did not listen.
In her old life everything had changed but she got on with it , not realising that she was the one who changed d oh. she meets friends who can relate to her experience but she keeps thinking she can fit back into who she was .
She meets 1 guy . Doesn t work then 2 then another one . What ???? In one month ?
I m so embarrassed for this girl. And the fact that my mum and dad bought the book yesterday .
"You know there s a bit of fiction in it mum , it s not all true , otherwise it would not sell you see "
#embarassinglifethateveryonecanread
Best of all , she then decides to go back to Australia because she needed another change. I m now Screaming at the damn book. That s you who changed crazy cow ?
Oh shit. I should have read that book before ... Right ???
Well anyway the second book is going to be even more awesome . More fuck ups more men and still less money .
Annabelle or how to feel good about your life reading hers.
I m currently on my way to the airport going to France to meet my publisher and this first book of my life and I l m laughing.
When i finished reading it i thought : This life is a good book innit . Because it s funny and authentic. I love it, actually , no matter what !
In the end , your life is as good as you want it to be.
What story would the book of your life tell?
" it s about my life darling , so obviously no , it s not about sex"" I answer naturally although I m a but lying and a little embarrassed by the number of men I actually meet / hang out with / in the damn book.
What was I thinking? My chances of a long healthy relationship were already quite slim. Now that my whole country can read my fuck ups , I am destined to be the crazy old lady with cats.
I had to read the book again and give my consent to the publisher . That was my final step.
Mmmm let me think . No.
I wanted to lie and go " yep , perfect go ahead " but I can t lie and I would have written the truth sooner or later.
After a couple of day reading other books about spiritual awakening ( you d think that I d be fully awake by now but no) I decided to give a go to my own book. The one I wrote about my life traveling from January 11 to December 11. 158 pages of my life.
Of course I decided that the chick on the book was not me. You don t expect to face my own crap and move on by reading that book do you ?
That d be too easy.
So it s that chick who leaves her manager job to find answers about life and she comes back to Brighton with more questions . Awesome.
Next book?
Come on , let s be nice to this chick
So she ends up in the jungle in Malaysia first , working close to nature ie fearing for her own life checking her bed for deadly scorpions every night . Was supposed to stop smoking but had to keep her lighter to check her bed because she had no electricity so se decided to not stop smoking I the end . Then she got bitten by a rooster named sarkozy. A French chick who got bitten by a rooster named sarkozy in Malaysia what a fucking good book huh .
Then she goes to Australia. She thinks she a super traveller and is planning to see the whole country in a year , like everyone else. She ends buying a car living in a house get friends a job that she was desperately useless at but they kept her as the waitress because she had a French accent and it sounded cool. And she was sort of fun too. She travels 40km in 6 months and then sells her car to go to live in .... A Thai monastery ?????
Wtf ?
After 1 month of living in silence on A concrete mattress she realises she was probably not made for spiritual life as such.
She then lives in Bangkok for a couple of weeks with a friend of a friend he just met and became good friends , goes clubbing and go hit on by a Brazilian guy whom she did not go home with . Thank god for that because that would have definitely ruined what was coming...
She then decides to go back to England in her old life . After living all this ? Dream on girl... I could have told her. I probably did but she did not listen.
In her old life everything had changed but she got on with it , not realising that she was the one who changed d oh. she meets friends who can relate to her experience but she keeps thinking she can fit back into who she was .
She meets 1 guy . Doesn t work then 2 then another one . What ???? In one month ?
I m so embarrassed for this girl. And the fact that my mum and dad bought the book yesterday .
"You know there s a bit of fiction in it mum , it s not all true , otherwise it would not sell you see "
#embarassinglifethateveryonecanread
Best of all , she then decides to go back to Australia because she needed another change. I m now Screaming at the damn book. That s you who changed crazy cow ?
Oh shit. I should have read that book before ... Right ???
Well anyway the second book is going to be even more awesome . More fuck ups more men and still less money .
Annabelle or how to feel good about your life reading hers.
I m currently on my way to the airport going to France to meet my publisher and this first book of my life and I l m laughing.
When i finished reading it i thought : This life is a good book innit . Because it s funny and authentic. I love it, actually , no matter what !
In the end , your life is as good as you want it to be.
What story would the book of your life tell?
Tuesday, 25 September 2012
Anyone can do it
'' Annabelle why don't you write your blog anymore?'' asked Mama and Big Sister obviously missing reading about their own lives every morning on the internet.
'' Don't know I guess my life is desperatly normal. Nothing exciting to write about. Ordinary life . '' I answer naturally.
They both give me the '' are we talking about the same life?'' look
Get a life Annabelle.
Turning the ordinary into extraordinnary. That's why I do best as a writer.
So I did what I usually do when I lose my way. I decide to write the book of my life like the chick in it is not really me. And only focusing on good things in this life. ( it does help a lot )
Oh so much fun.
So It's that chick who lives in a backpackers hostel and who also works there....
She s doing it because she absolutely loves it. Most of the time she forgets what day of the week it is because it's no longer important. There's no longer counting days to the week end.
Because 1/ she loves what she s doing
2/ at the week end, we work more anyway.
What that chick loves the most is the diversity of her daily life. There is not one day like the other although the structure looks the same.
Just the single act of going to the bathroom from her bedroom in is an adventure ...
'' Applauso for Annabeeeeeeelle'' shouts the Last Napolitan as I run through the kitchen to reach the bathroom in my nighties.
( Sound of 10 men clapping and cheering )
Reaching the bathroom at last I have a random chat with a guy from Uzbekistan I had ckecked in a few hours before .Now you've got him trying his best to forget he left me a smelly bathroom and me trying my best to forget I 'm holding my clean undies in my right hand.
'' So ... are you here for studies?''
Normal.
When she's in the shower a young muscular Romanian guy knocks on the door saying
'' Dinner has arrived, Annabelle''
Normal.
Dinner was ordered by Big Sister and Mamma. It's my favourite chinese food. Next to us the Chinese backpackers are eating our free English Chocolate cake.
Normal.
'' Wear it NOW'' Big sister had bought some other clothes to add up to the mountain I have in my room. When I first got here from Australia in March I had 2 dresses 1 pair of jeans and about 2 tee shirts. That s all I had left after I got rid of all my Winter clothes in Melbourne on a hot day. When it's 40 degrees and you re wearing a heavy backpack you are NOT thinking about next Winter.
But next Winter does come. Shit. What do I do now?
Now / I 'm running out of space to fit all the branded clothes she gets me for a ridiculous cheap price.
Normal.
My most favourite '' normal day'' is Sunday. I work from 8 to 4. Reception + cleaning+ reception. You can either see it like this ( normal) or actually look for what you love in it. What I love is diversity. So diversity it is!
In the lounge 2 kids are watching Sponge Bob in their pyjamas holding their teddies. In the kitchen some french hikers are looking for more hot water to put in their bowl of coffee. Yes, the French are the only people in the world who have their morning coffee in a bowl. One of them opens the fridge and it now smells of dirty feet. Yes the french are the only people in the world who travel with their smelly cheese.
Upstairs , 20 hungover British dudes are slowly waking up trying to remember what they did last night .One of them is still wearing Sponge Bob clothes. The Brits call it a Stag do.
in the breakfast room the rest of the french hikers and their bowl of coffee pausing for the picture I am taking. I tell them I m also a writer, that my book is coming out in ''our''country sometime in the following weeks.
you can order it online ........
( selfish bitch)
Normal.
I also tell them that they will now be part of my new project : creating a new blog about '' normal'' people who have extraordinnary projects and who are going for it...thinking it's normal.
These ones want to walk to Rome in.... 10 years. A group of friends meeting 5 to 6 times a year to hike 20 to 40km on the Via Francigena.
The weird thing is , when you have something you feel passionate for and believe in it, it's like Life conspires to give you what you desire. It's like it's giving the ink for my next book!
in 2 weeks I met a guy who cycled 8 countries in 2 weeks, 2 blokes who were following their drunken pub talk cycling to Germany in 3 weeks , a retired american lady who jumped on the plane with her bike THE DAY she retired with no plan of coming back. And my french friend who managed to get to South America to teach tennis in schools in just 3 months.
They all tell me the same thing :
'' Anyone can do it''
Normal ( for them)
'' So you're a writer??????'' they're now looking at me with big eyes like I deserve a medal for it.
'' Yeah what's the big deal? Anyone can be a writer. It's not about talent it's about being stubborn enough. '' I answer naturally. I do mean it. And I can tell you that I see famous writers in a different light .
( Shakespeare : I know your secret now )
Normal.
The secret? It s mainly to have a goal, a purpose you feel strongly for. And be stubborn enough to Stick to it, believe in it, wake up for it every morning. And never take anything or anyone for granted. Never forget how lucky you are to live this life, every single day, be grateful for everyone around you for they are here to help you achieve what '' anyone can do''
Then watch your daily life closely .
It will be anything but........ Normal
'' Don't know I guess my life is desperatly normal. Nothing exciting to write about. Ordinary life . '' I answer naturally.
They both give me the '' are we talking about the same life?'' look
Get a life Annabelle.
Turning the ordinary into extraordinnary. That's why I do best as a writer.
So I did what I usually do when I lose my way. I decide to write the book of my life like the chick in it is not really me. And only focusing on good things in this life. ( it does help a lot )
Oh so much fun.
So It's that chick who lives in a backpackers hostel and who also works there....
She s doing it because she absolutely loves it. Most of the time she forgets what day of the week it is because it's no longer important. There's no longer counting days to the week end.
Because 1/ she loves what she s doing
2/ at the week end, we work more anyway.
What that chick loves the most is the diversity of her daily life. There is not one day like the other although the structure looks the same.
Just the single act of going to the bathroom from her bedroom in is an adventure ...
'' Applauso for Annabeeeeeeelle'' shouts the Last Napolitan as I run through the kitchen to reach the bathroom in my nighties.
( Sound of 10 men clapping and cheering )
Reaching the bathroom at last I have a random chat with a guy from Uzbekistan I had ckecked in a few hours before .Now you've got him trying his best to forget he left me a smelly bathroom and me trying my best to forget I 'm holding my clean undies in my right hand.
'' So ... are you here for studies?''
Normal.
When she's in the shower a young muscular Romanian guy knocks on the door saying
'' Dinner has arrived, Annabelle''
Normal.
Dinner was ordered by Big Sister and Mamma. It's my favourite chinese food. Next to us the Chinese backpackers are eating our free English Chocolate cake.
Normal.
'' Wear it NOW'' Big sister had bought some other clothes to add up to the mountain I have in my room. When I first got here from Australia in March I had 2 dresses 1 pair of jeans and about 2 tee shirts. That s all I had left after I got rid of all my Winter clothes in Melbourne on a hot day. When it's 40 degrees and you re wearing a heavy backpack you are NOT thinking about next Winter.
But next Winter does come. Shit. What do I do now?
Now / I 'm running out of space to fit all the branded clothes she gets me for a ridiculous cheap price.
Normal.
My most favourite '' normal day'' is Sunday. I work from 8 to 4. Reception + cleaning+ reception. You can either see it like this ( normal) or actually look for what you love in it. What I love is diversity. So diversity it is!
In the lounge 2 kids are watching Sponge Bob in their pyjamas holding their teddies. In the kitchen some french hikers are looking for more hot water to put in their bowl of coffee. Yes, the French are the only people in the world who have their morning coffee in a bowl. One of them opens the fridge and it now smells of dirty feet. Yes the french are the only people in the world who travel with their smelly cheese.
Upstairs , 20 hungover British dudes are slowly waking up trying to remember what they did last night .One of them is still wearing Sponge Bob clothes. The Brits call it a Stag do.
in the breakfast room the rest of the french hikers and their bowl of coffee pausing for the picture I am taking. I tell them I m also a writer, that my book is coming out in ''our''country sometime in the following weeks.
you can order it online ........
( selfish bitch)
Normal.
I also tell them that they will now be part of my new project : creating a new blog about '' normal'' people who have extraordinnary projects and who are going for it...thinking it's normal.
These ones want to walk to Rome in.... 10 years. A group of friends meeting 5 to 6 times a year to hike 20 to 40km on the Via Francigena.
The weird thing is , when you have something you feel passionate for and believe in it, it's like Life conspires to give you what you desire. It's like it's giving the ink for my next book!
in 2 weeks I met a guy who cycled 8 countries in 2 weeks, 2 blokes who were following their drunken pub talk cycling to Germany in 3 weeks , a retired american lady who jumped on the plane with her bike THE DAY she retired with no plan of coming back. And my french friend who managed to get to South America to teach tennis in schools in just 3 months.
They all tell me the same thing :
'' Anyone can do it''
Normal ( for them)
'' So you're a writer??????'' they're now looking at me with big eyes like I deserve a medal for it.
'' Yeah what's the big deal? Anyone can be a writer. It's not about talent it's about being stubborn enough. '' I answer naturally. I do mean it. And I can tell you that I see famous writers in a different light .
( Shakespeare : I know your secret now )
Normal.
The secret? It s mainly to have a goal, a purpose you feel strongly for. And be stubborn enough to Stick to it, believe in it, wake up for it every morning. And never take anything or anyone for granted. Never forget how lucky you are to live this life, every single day, be grateful for everyone around you for they are here to help you achieve what '' anyone can do''
Then watch your daily life closely .
It will be anything but........ Normal
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