Impressionable nerves

While I wasn't sitting and typing when I should have, I read several books the past month. and believe it or not, it's always been one of my favorite hobbies and yet I don't spend time reading books now that I'm in university, because once I start one, I don't want to put it down until I can't keep my eyes open anymore.... You can see how that is incompatible with school work : the addiction's too strong... I simply can't think about something else in my spare time but to go on reading.

So, I've read my first piece of "chick-litt" last month (yeah, I learnt a new term!^^), the first book of the "Shopaholic" series - which promised to be extremely funny or annoying considering the theme - and during the first quarter of it, the novel made me laugh quite a lot, but as the heroine beat her record of craziness and the tension (yes, the tension!) grew higher and higher, I found myself very much tensed up : she was really in deep shit like we say, and I felt too stressed out on her behalf.

The first book : "Confessions of a Shopaholic"

Not that I identify myself to her to this point, like we could think it upon seeing my reaction, but seeing the heroine putting herself in so much trouble and still trying to turn blind eyes on the matter one second, and panic over it the next one, I grew unnerved.. very much unnerved, and I ended up not being able to fall asleep : I really am too shakeable -__-;

Thinking back, I even sometimes can't sleep because a friend confided her troubles to me, and thinking about them, and worrying over her, sleep is driven away for at least a night while the said friend was, it happened a couple a times, not at all troubled anymore about the matter the very next day and forgot about it as fast as she was long in complaining about it. Making me feel that I'm a stupid girl for worrying over her....for nothing? *sigh*

最高の片想い。。。

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いつもすごく自由なあなたは今
You.... Always so full of freedom
Toi qui respires toujours la liberté,
この雨の中どんな夢を追いかけているの
What kind of dream are you now chasing after amidst this rain?
Quel rêve poursuis-tu donc à présent sous cette pluie?
どこかで孤独と戦いながら
Somewhere, you're fighting your loneliness
En combattant cette solitude bien cachée
涙も我慢してんだろう
And your tears are also being held on
Tu retiens jusqu'à tes larmes


一人でも大丈夫とあなたも私も同じ
Saying you're fine by yourself, you're just like myself,
Toi comme moi, nous disons être heureux seuls
遠回りばかりだけど　なぜかこの道が好きで
We may stray on detours but, somehow this path is the one we like
Et bien que nous fassions parfois des détours, cette voie nous convient


幸せだとか嬉しい時は
Because through joy and happy times
Moments de bonheur ou simple joie,
あなたの事を思い出すから
I still think of you then
Parceque tout me fait penser à toi
色鮮やかな季節はきっと
The colorful seasons will surely
Les saisons passent riches en couleurs
この思い届けてくれる
Convey these feelings to you...
Et surement,
Elles m'aideront à te faire parvenir mes sentiments

** This song **
I had this song for a while, and though I liked it somehow, I didn't pay attention to the lyrics and just listened to the melody of the piece, and the melody of the words... Then yesterday, I randomly picked up an old playlist and this one came up : "saikou no kataomoi", which can be translated as "the best unrequited love", by Tainaka Sachi. I was struck by both the melody, the air it bears and the words of the song. They are a lot like what I have in mind concerning the feelings of my heroine, her way of seeing her unrequited love *well, only at some point mind you, these things are fortunately bound to evolve*.
This is only the first verse and the chorus. This alone drawn me into the song's world, and already fit my idea of a way to live this unrequited love", so I only put the first half of the song here.

** My translation **
So yes, I could say they touched me, and I attempted to translate them for anybody who might stumble here, but I don't think my translation bears the beauty of the original japanese words. A language holds its peculiar view and conception on every complicated and simple thing, so as translators we constantly fight between sticking to the given sense, and writing what we feel the original words aim at, and choosing which words in the language of transposition would match those conceptions or feelings. Choosing to transpose what you felt was the closest meaning of the original, can end up in your work having a -seemingly- different meaning, literally speaking, than the original word that one was to be put in an online translator.... and the source of long, tiring discussions. Translating can be both very interesting, passioning, and a very torturing process.

Link : the lyrics from the CD's booklet

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The Virgin Mary is watching us

One winter, I was bored and randomly looked at the new animes that were starting to air. Intrigued by the title of one of them, I decided to watch the first episode. Truth be told, only two things made me watch on after the first episode : the first, was the appearance of one of the main protagonists, a graceful long dark-hair girl, typically the type I admire : good mannered and dignified but capable of terrible fits of anger ^-^ The second was the language: everyone uses keigo, the most formal and difficult level of Japanese, that I'm supposed to know but frankly, I can't use it without making mistakes.

At least for the language part, I decided i had to watch on, because shows using this language are quite rare nowadays, and it wouldn't hurt for me to hear the most of it, and maybe get used to it. Furthermore, even if the show wasn't so far exceptionally addictive, it wasn't bad either : many interesting characters as well as an original concept was the core of the story, which was supported by a nice soundtrack and pretty art, so there wasn't negative points making me reluctant to watch on.

I really didn't think this would become one of my obsessions later. I bought some of the novels after which the anime was made, read some of the mangas that were released alongside the anime, and I'm collecting the drama-cds of the series with eagerness.


This is the kind of story where, every time you'll pick it up again after some time, a different aspect of it will appear as more important to you, according to what you've lived in between, or what your current state of mind is at the moment you read it, a different part of the story or some details will affect you more, or will reveal a different "truth" to you. This makes it interesting to many age. Of course, there is a minimum age required for you to be interested in the primary plot first, and in the kind of characters featured in the story. But you can still grow up quite a bit, re-read it, and get swapped by the story, the protagonists, what they live and how they think, each time seeing it a bit differently, understanding a bit more deeply what is there to see in all of this.

This is the kind of story I'd like to write, though it's difficult. I often notice that these kinds of stories must adopt a writing style that purposefully won't explain too much of the situation, so that some of the feelings and thoughts going on won't appear all at the first reading, and I can't help but put in as much detail I can in important scenes dealing with strong feelings, because I always fear that this very precise thing I want to transmit won't be seen in its entirety, or how I want it to be perceived... Though it might actually be impossible for the readers to see things exactly as we want them to, this makes me all the more worried about giving away enough detail to make the representation of the scene as close to the one I have in mind as possible, leading to possibly very boring passages (we can say all that we want, most people do found Balzac and Zola horribly boring, and that's because of their very long descriptions).

Just dropping thoughts

I've never really had a sense for poetry, even if I like reading some from time to time. seated in a Starbucks Coffee, I had these old feelings resurfacing that I wanted to put into words once again, and it came in the form of a poem, but since I have absolutely no clue on how to write a good poem, and since I had the beat of a song I like in mind making me choose the rhythm of the words, let's say that this is not a poem but a possible song's lyrics ^__~

As an indication, the rhythm I had in mind was from the "Who's gonna stop it?", by Olivia Lufkin. re-reading it, I can see the succession of thoughts and development is a real mess, I'll try to arrange this later... I just wanted to keep this bit safely somewhere, to not forget it ^^

**********

Where are you ?

Even now I can't help Thinking of you
Reminding our days together

I might not think of you as I used to
But my feelings remain strong and true
Other lovers, another life
Keep us apart and afar
Now new thoughts bind me to you
Just as tightly as before
Just like back then
As real, strong and true

My mind's clear now and I can see better
That we were both, young and fragile,
Equally needing
And how we are now, happy yet unfulfilled
Longing for this, which we forever miss

I always felt as a captive,
Imprisoned in a sweet cage,
A dear bittersweet prison
From which I nonetheless wanted to be set free of

I often thought I wished to be rid of You,
Rid of my affection for You,
Of this everlasting addiction
Freed from these buzzing thoughts
That were Numbing me as I pictured You

Now I know I don't wish to forget anything about Us
Nor will I ever forsake these days alongside You again

Innocently,
You've been a part of me
Unconsciously,
You helped me grow into this Me
Unwantingly,
As you rejected me,
You pushed me toward my present self,

Keeping me away from your everyday,
Your thoughts, your mind...
Casting me aside me like an outsider
Watching you from a distance like an unwanted visitor
You forced on me this painful gift

Was I indeed that far from you?

Now i have no idea
Of how far I am standing from You?

Did you really forget? or do you still regret?
I had stopped doubting
I've found a love for myself
You were my stepping stone and I'm grateful to you
But can't we start anew?
Can't we go back the other way?

Can my voice still reach You?
Can my heart still touch you?
Is your mind still willing to shut me out there?
Leaving me begging for you in the cold

Won't you listen to this song?
Would you rather go on with this ling-a-long
You've been humming to yourself for comfort?
Hammering it to my face, slapping me to the ground
Keeping me in a corner,
In the shadows of your heart

We can still love each other
Will you let me taunt You?
Will you let me sit close to You?
There is still a place for this love

Our feelings were true
They're still waiting for you...

[excerpt] "The give away"

This is the first piece I wrote that's part of the story I'm writing. this scene, or rather the image of it has been stuck in my head for a very long time, and one night where I couldn't sleep, I got fed up with turning in my bed and was gradually getting unnerved. I sat down, lit up the light and decided to put into words this scene I had in mind... It was already almost noon when I finished this, and I felt pleasantly empty after this, and slept verrrrry well afterwards ^___^

Notes :
- There are words that my automatic orthography corrector show me as inexistent, though I had seen them several times in books or articles.... and "some" online dictionaries have them registered...
- I'm not even sure the title is right ^^; but i wanted it that way, so I left it even though I don't know if it's correct English *sigh*
- French and English seem to have differences concerning typology, presentation, punctuation rules.. I tried to respect the English ones by what I had remarked in my readings

========= the give away =========

She was entranced. His eyes were closed, all of him was in offering. A pair of hands was cupping up his face. The woman wasn't hurrying, but merely brushing up the surface of his skin with her lips. She saw the handsome face shiver from expectation. It was a sensual scene, but the most remarkable part of it was the contrast of her cold stare on him, set up close to his serene expression. He was the very image of loving devotion, a prisoner of love...she was the caricature of a dictator, uncompassionately reigning over him.

She knew it was unseeming to observe them like she did, for that was a most intimate scene. But the girl could not find it in herself to look away : she was irrepressibly drawn to it, as if it was of the utmost necessity for her to witness it. She felt like she was in one of these dreams, where you can observe in a detached way as if inexistent, and it seems just natural that your gaze wouldn't budge from the scene, as if it had been the sole purpose of your presence here. It seemed to her that this moment would last forever, that she was stuck between the layers of times, for ever condemned to watch this cruel scene of intimacy, this masquerade of nonreciprocating feelings...this was an unfair game of offering and receiving, with no possible changing of the roles.

She watched his expression, serene yet longing for a touch, slightly tensed at the expectation of it. The woman was still coldly looking at him, his closed eyes showing a firm resolve of daring trust in her, and she looked a bit offended, ready to assault She was playing with him, and he was letting her do so. Her mouth was ever so lightly caressing his forehead, sliding along the line of his nose, pausing above his lips, and this instant seemed to rid all three of them of any breath they had, all waiting, not knowing what to think, as if this decision was to seal their destinies.

Was it the steadiness of her stare that shattered it all? Had she unintentionally thrown uneasiness in the air? The pause became a stop as the woman lifted her face away from his, and ever so slowly, as if knowing she had been there watching them all along, the handsome face turned towards her direction, opening its dazed eyes to lay them upon her.

She was struck awake into reality, and flushing from embarrassment, she turned back to her group of friends, still chatting happily by her side.
'What a fool! What was I doing, staring at them like this, how indecent of me!' she then thought that the most indecent part was actually for them to display their intimacy in public, for they were also seated with their social group. If they hadn't wished to be watched, they shouldn't be indulging in such acts here, in the first place!

To hide the shock and distress of her mind, she engaged in cheerful small talk with the girl sitting across the table, allowing herself to look at the complete opposite direction of them... this way, she could hide her cheeks reddened by both shame and dismay. And as she did so, she knew that he hadn't been fooled though, and her attempt to look unaffected by what she just saw made the truth even more obvious to his sharp eyes. She knew that all too well. She was alarmed, but knew that very awkward frenzy was all the more giving her away every passing second.

The bell rang for them to go to Mass; all parties stood up and strolled across the garden, heading for the Cathedral beyond in their usual buzzy chatting. She went along, following absentmindedly the group of light laughter, of swishing satin gowns.
'Well, now he knows', she commented to herself. 'I'm sure he had already felt it before. However doubt is a luxury he can no longer indulge into'. And as she walked next to her closest friend, she did her best to not look their way, and foolishly, for she was aware it was useless, she placed herself in the' middle of her group, so that the other feminine silhouettes could partly hide her from the couple's sight....if they were to look that way.
Yet, as she passed the tall gate of the cathedral she could not resist the masochistic temptation any longer: she turned her head a little, wondering if he was looking at her, fearing to meet disapproval in his eyes, dreading disgust at her person....but he wasn't, he was simply heading to their own dedicated bench, as if nothing had happened. She thought he looked a bit frowned, but she might have merely imagined it: the restless pounding in her bosom was affecting her logics.

She sighed with relief, but as she did, she also sensed sadness growing inside her, riping the remnants of her bleeding heart. She had wondered how he'd react, but he didn't even look her way.... she had dreaded shock or disgust from him, but far had she been to imagine how being ignored would be just as worse. She shrugged and settled down, but she could not act detached or dignified any longer.

That day, Mass couldn't reach her ears, let alone her heart.

Snow in March

The meteo had announced around friday that we'd get some snow on Sunday, March the 23rd. I thought : "no way, even if it got colder lately....". Nice weather was at the rendez-vous all sunday, but when nightfall came, around 22h, white snowflakes started to whirl down in our residence's inner courtyard...

It didn't last long, and all melted away quite fast even though the snow had been falling in much larger flakes and the wind was making them twirl with frenzy at some point. But it snowed a bit more on Monday around 2-3 o'colck in the afternoon. We were out then, and now luck, everybody whose cellphones had a camera on it were out of battery, and none of us had brought a camera.....

Yes, the weather's all messed up, but it still gives off a happy feeling to us, people without any sense of danger regarding all that, and we laugh and smile and appreciate this very belated first snow of the year for the Paris region, on Easter Day.

Ca ressemble à....

Ca ressemble de plus en plus à vrai blog ici, avec photos et gueulantes, et blablah anondins de fille! ^-^ bah, pourquoi pas, faut pas être trop sérieux dans la vie, ça la fait passer trop vite et puis j'ai faim aussi! (vu l'incohérence, on voit que j'ai trèèès faim!) ^__~

At first, I had planned to only post bits of writing, or to talk about writing in general only, but after all, why not post also about everyday life from time to time? A blog is made for this, blabbing and ranting, showing photos and saying when we're happy/unhappy ;)

I love taking pictures and buying pictures books...i don't always buy some (they're expensive! ^^) but I like strolling in bookshops and looking at some. Lately I've been looking at Victoria Frances' books, and I thought a lot of her girls and atmosphere were matching the one I have in mine for my heroine, or some places she'll go through, and thought it might help me keep a keen image of them if I buy the books.... there are days were a specific word or adjective just wouldn't come back to me, and maybe having the image under my eyes instead of just in my head could make the rebels come back faster to mind....?


Victoria Frances' art :

I'm NOT saying my girl looks like this, but sometimes, either the background or the girl's atmosphere resembles the ones I have in mind and wrote about so far, even if just a little (even if these pieces are not posted here yet^^). And above all, I like her arts, I like to have other people's opinions on them ^__^

About the artist now, often the see manga authors and how they're quite the complete opposite of their heroes (both mentally and physically), all the more when they have a peculiar style very much recurrent in every single series they write... but the funny thing is, this artist here quite resembles the heroines she draws, and she is pretty and well "formed" enough to wear the same kind of clothes for photo shootings or signing sessions :

PS: all images are clickable for a bigger size version to view ^__^
(fr): une plus grande version de chaque image est dispo si vous cliquez dessus ;)

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