Collecting stories

I think I told you not too long ago that I spent my life collecting stories, or better to say, I am creating stories. Almost like I am a sort of fictional character placed on earth just to experience things, then to write them down and send them back home. A little like uncle traveling Matt.

This may have something to do with the fact that I have been journaling since I was 9, and still do, which means that whatever I experience, I can always put some use into it. Happy or sad, there is always a story. This also means that I have a knack for ending up in strange situations. God knows how many «funny coincidences» and «twists and turns» I have gathered through the years. Sometimes when I talk about my life, I feel as if I come across as pretty daft. Like they secretly think «Doesn’t she ever learn?». And no… I don’t. I’m learning the same lessons now as I did at 16. (As you recently discovered.)

But I guess as you grow older, you lose interest in the drama. It’s a little like Hollywood movies. Even though the plot is different from movie to movie, the main structure is pretty much the same, and in the end it starts to become predictable. «Oooh, there’s a dramatic turn of events, but yay, it’s all good in the end.»

What I’ve been thinking about lately, is that even though I enjoy all the coincidences and all the good in the stories, I may not need all the twists and turns anymore. Oh, life is generally unpredictable, and that’s fine. But I don’t have to put myself through more of it than I feel like I can handle. It’s time to put on the break and slow down.

– Agathe


Re: Blues

I actually used to love winters when I was younger. It was as if I could finally close the door and dabble with my own stuff for a while. Hit the snooze button on life outside. The darkness seemed to wrap around me in a comforting way. It’s only the past few years that I’ve started to dread winter, and it has probably got something to do about where I have been living. When it’s so windy you can’t keep it warm inside the house, when none of the boats are getting across shore, when your ears start buzzing in the end due to endless storms. Already in summer, I would start to worry about how I’d get through it another year.

For the first time I love summers more than winters. I love how they make me come alive again. How there’s all this magic in the air and there are fun happenings and strange coincidences and how you just laugh all the time. How the night never seems to end and how I wish it never would.
But… This time I’m thinking next winter may not be so bad. Perhaps because I have more people around me now. Oh, I know, as soon as darkness come, people will hide away again, and I’ll be a lot more alone, but it is as if I am anticipating something else too. Something more than settling for less, and something else than suffering from all those existential crisis’.
To me, it has something to do with the fact that I feel like I’ve blossomed, and I don’t think it’s just the warmth and the sunlight, it is as if I am different. I am expressing myself more freely and connecting with people more easily. Like I’ve come past a real heavy bump, and now I’m able to breathe again. I think this… Expressing yourself, being creative, keeping friendships alive, being silly and doing stupid things (that are fun), saying no when it’s not good enough and saying yes to all the rest. The past few winters have been rough. But I think the next one will be fine, for both of us! I just have a feeling it will.
– Agathe