The Joy of Being Alone

Disclaimer: This was written on Saturday 26th November, on the way back home. A short piece, unedited, that I just felt like sharing. 

***

I’ve forgotten how to be alone.

I’ve forgotten how it feels to appreciate a meal outside of my home with my own company.

I’ve forgotten how to take solo adventures, like little trips to the city, and reflect on myself.

This year has been the least lonely year I have ever lived. From being part of a committee, to a community to a family. I’ve constantly been surrounded by friends. I’ve been left with very little time to myself.

So when the last semester of the year was over, I was left with mixed feelings. I was eager to go back to a tranquil lonely life, yet I was also apprehensive of it.

What Cannot Be Healed

*Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.*

What does it mean to be in love, really? What if having feelings for someone and being in love are actually completely different?

Why do people fall in love several times in a lifetime? Then why make up the concept of ‘soulmates’?

When Dahlia looks at her life, it feels wonderful, almost perfect. One year ago, the world was on the brink of destruction. One year ago, she had almost lost her sister. Today, she can walk outside without the fear of being attacked. Today, humans have accepted and welcomed her race to live on Earth.

One year ago, her mentor, ally and one of the two most powerful Masterminds, sacrificed herself for peace.

A Magnificent Rose Smelling Faintly Of Blood

“Love is the world’s infinite mutability; lies, hatred, murder even, are all knit up in it; it is the inevitable blossoming of its opposites, a magnificent rose smelling faintly of blood.”
– Tony Kushner, THE ILLUSION.

“This is a message to all the young women who have found their one and only.

This is a message to the girls who fell in love for the first time.

This is a message to those who believe in Love, because the reality of Love is far from what it really is.

A long term relationship is what we aspire to, because the myth of ‘soulmates’ have haunted us since we were young and stuffed with mediated representations of Love: two people ‘meant’ for each other. Yet, it is in a long term relationship that we learn, and we learn it the hard way: nothing in Real Love is ever like our Ideal idea of Love.”

Heartbreak From A Stranger

I was looking for more violin players for our end-of-year orchestral shown when you appeared on our doorstep and offered to help.

Being the passionate leader that I was, I treated all my musicians as equally and uniquely important to my eyes. Taught you the arts, seeing you as an individual, not as a pawn.

In the middle of our rehearsals, one day, you came up to me and asked for your leave, because you had other more compulsory obligations and could not cope with everything. I understood, because I am human and you too, and let you go.

A side musical competition came up soon after, one that I did not find important but which my team mates did, thus we gave it much attention too.

On the day of the competition, as my orchestra was setting up, I saw you… on the other side of the stage, armed with your brand new violin, side to side with the opposing team.

You were so proud that you won and we lost.

I focused my orchestra back into the end-of-year show, and the latter was in fact a success. By that time I had forgotten all about you. People leave and people change.

The day you broke my heart was the day you came back to me.

Your orchestra had now a higher position than ours. You came to me to ask for my help for a future musical project. In other words, you needed slaves to do your work, because as the winning team, you would not dare degrade yourself to our standards.

The real truth was that you knew absolutely nothing about being in an orchestra, but you aimed for fame and royalty and here you are on top.

I have no choice but to fake a genuine innocent smile and abide by your wishes. My orchestra is under yours.

If not, I would have taken my orchestra in my own fall. And my orchestra is what I care for the most in life. I had to swallow my pride and my broken heart for the sake of my orchestra, its reputation and mobility. I had to close my eyes and let it go, for my orchestra to float up.

You had given me a unique opportunity for my orchestra, one I could not refuse.

~

An Evil Nymph.

WPC: Threes | A Hidden Murder Mystery

This week’s photo challenge is the theme of ‘Threes‘ in which we have to tell a story using three photos. Here’s what the Daily Post suggested:

To create a three-picture story, gather:

1. An establishing shot: a broad photo of your subject.
2. A relationship: two elements interacting with one another.
3. A detail: a close-up of one part of your subject.

Thus, today I’m going to show you a story about… a hidden murder mystery!

It all happened in my friend’s cosy kitchen, where we were preparing some delicious Mauritian Napolitaine biscuits…

The Story Of My Very First Art Exhibition

Saturday 14th September 2013.

I was really nervous. Especially that they would not only be exhibiting my painting, but also my portfolio and the idea of so many people going through my drawings just freaked me out. I’m very sensible about my art and although I should think about that, I can’t help but wonder whether people like what they see or not.

At the CCEF, there are two categories of art courses: one is the adult one, from 14 years old and up, like the one I got myself into, and the second is for the smaller ones, the children one.

On the day of the exhibition, the works of the younger ones were hung on the wall outside in the common corridor while ours were waiting for us in the exhibition room.

The cocktail party wouldn’t begin before 16.30 but together with my parents I arrived at 16.20. I had more than enough time to admire the children’s drawings, all so filled with talent 🙂 The children’s group was already present and waiting as well, By 16.30 my friends came and soon the director of the Centre let us in the exhibition room. My friends and I waited a little, allowing the children to go first and finally went in…

(I tried the panorama option, so as to get the whole room all together)

And there they were, all of our works, paintings, on the walls, shining in artificial light.

Without wasting a single moment, parents and friends all urged us, the masters of our masterpieces to pose next to our work so that they would capture this moment with their cameras 😉 That moment was actually so funny because we were just… lost in all this jungle of people staring at our work, taking photos… taking space as well. And the room wasn’t that big. But we finally made it to get to the front:

The Mind Of A Boy In The Body Of A Girl

Here’s my contribution to this week’s Picture it & Write 🙂 Enjoy:

My gloves, my pearls… My ballerina shoes. I left them all behind as I lead myself away from the life I had had to endure.

Indeed, it was over…

5 Reasons Why I Prefer Evil Characters

Les « coeurs sur la main » n’ont pas d’histoire ; mais je connais celle des coeurs enfouis et tout mêlés à un corps de boue.

This French quote from François Mauriac very much describes my main motivation for siding with evil characters in my stories. I can’t really translate it though, because in English it won’t have that same impact it had on me, you see… The French language has a particular (charming and poetic) style that I just can’t reproduce in English. But basically, Mauriac tells us that he prefers to write on those who are ‘evil’ and unconventional instead of those who are good and virtuous.

I can totally understand why. (And I totally understand Mauriac thus that’s why I’m in love with his book, Thérèse Desqueyroux).

An Immortal Child

Here’s this week’s Picture it & Write, and my contribution:

 

Dear An Evil Nymph,

I am sick. Sick and tired of this life. A thousand years had passed since I was born as a vampire. No, I was bitten, like everyone else. I was only a baby at that time. Left to myself.

I Hope You Are Not Narrow-Minded

Narrow-mindedness kills, you know?

It prosecutes, with no mercy. It spreads fear and sadness. It divides.

My father once told me not to write controversial, unconventional stories or ‘blasphemous’ ones. I read between the lines: people will judge and condemn – their narrow-mindedness will crush me down.

So I tried. To do as he had said.

But I couldn’t.

The New Year

Here’s this week’s contribution to Picture it & Write:

I stared at the starry night that offered this last day of the year. All my people were in joy, in celebration. It would be soon the end, yet the beginning. No one and nothing would dare miss this day, this hour. All the stars were present. All the colours in the sky as well: blue, purple, red, pink…

Midnight would soon strike.

An Evil Nymph’s 2012 Overview! (Happy New Year 2013!)

Hi everyone! On this New Year’s Eve, I’ll be doing everything that needs to be done for this last day of 2012, mainly, the WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge: My 2012 in Pictures, the WordPress annual report, some ramblings on the 2012-13 transition…

First of all, for this week’s photo challenge, it was suggested that we present 12 photos at least in a gallery to make an overview of 2012, but I’m going to break the rules and thus here’s my contribution:

My 2012 in 1 Picture

So This Is Christmas!

So this is Christmas…

But what have you done?

That night I saw an angel fall from the sky. Her golden hair gradually lost its shine as she reached the ground. Her beautiful white gown was stained with dirt. I could not see her eyes or her face, but I knew that she was the loveliest thing that could ever exist on Earth. She looked so fragile and innocent.

Tempted

I’m a bit late I know, I’m sorry. Anyway, here’s finally this week’s Picture it & Write and the continued ‘Unpredicted’ series!

The loud music beat the walls of the hall and echoed through my ears unintelligibly while the multicoloured lights wobbled around. The scent of food and alcohol swarmed over the place, mingled with sweat. The bodies swayed and jumped all over the dancefloor. There were shouts and sing-along’s.

But I took no notice. None of them caught my attention. I was frozen in the middle of all this strange chaotic party, which had been organised by the drama club in honour of the new semester. I forgot all about my little black sleeveless dress which stuck uncomfortably to my skin and the glass of champagne my hand was holding for hours. Nothing mattered.