Unfolding Hearts

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I turned 31 on Saturday in my beloved Brighton, where I lived a short but intense snap of my youth years ago.

I came south to hang out with my hot friends and attend a 5 Rhythms dance workshop called “Unfolding Heart Matters”. I metaphorically massaged my heart chakra all weekend, which I haven’t really been bothered to do over the last 30 years.

I don’t really like emotions, apart from violent happiness. Everything else bothers/bores me. I am an extremely harsh and violent person. In the sense of: ambitious, passionate, devouring, demanding, perfectionist, intolerant to weakness, intransigent, impatient, restless and sleepless. I’m told I’m tough all the time. ∆ used to tell me that on the scale of harshness, only Madonna is above me – which I took for a great compliment at the time (now I know it wasn’t).

At the other end of my pride, I’m also the most desperate person that I know, borderline self hater suicidal when I have to wait or things don’t go my way. One certainly goes with the other. I never really tried to bridge that split.

I started my birthday with a love message from my dad. I was in bed, half awake, when I read the unbelievable words JE T’AIME on my iPhone screen. Huh. 31 years later. From the bottom of my dysfunctional heart, I felt that my life would have been different if I had got more of this.

Later in the dance studio, I spotted Í right away. He was my first “gay husband”, those super intense love relationships I cultivate with gay men without even trying for it. Hadn’t heard of him or seen him in 7 years but as I carry him with me, it was just like I left him yesterday.

Í is one of those few humans touched by grace that I’m irrationally drawn to. He is pure beauty, on the inside and on the outside. I love his body, his colour, his eyes, and above all, his empathy. He never had it easy and would have solid reasons to hate the world, but his dancing is absolute radiant energy. Watching him dance fills me with joy. In class, every time someone was crying or bad tripping, he was near them to support or touch them. I can’t do that.

How serendipitous that I ran into Í after so many years just as I am standing at the crossroads of my life, seeking for my own empathy. Leaving/losing my great love could have harshened me even more, but it taught me empathy and the fact that not everyone can be as strong or determined as me. I am finally softening, getting off my fucking pedestal and unzipping my “I am little bit better than you cause I’m a self made woman” attitude. Material struggle, disillusion, homophobia-that-bitch and feeling alone against the world turned me into a warrior and certainly impregnated each one of my body cells for ever.

But I’m safe and fine now, and I start opening my eyes on the fact that between pedestal and suicide, there is love & life.

Yesterday, after a day of dance, a bunch of us walked all the way down to the beach for an improvised swim. We stripped on the rocks and danced in the waves like unstoppable maniac movers, filled with joy & gratitude. The tide was so low that we could walk meters away from the shore, pursuing the illusion that the burnt Pier was ours. Felt like Jesus walking on the water.

Life sucks at times, but when it rocks it really does.

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Montréal Amazing Chicks

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I arrived in Montréal on a Monday morning at 7.20, after a night on the Greyhound bus from the Big Apple.

I walked a few steps in the central bus station and all of a sudden, after letting go of New York and its restless excitement, I felt unable to move or even stand. I almost collapsed and slept for a couple of hours on a public bench like a homeless. I was opening my eyes once in a while and I could feel the rhythm of people’s feet, their coming and going, sensing the different heartbeat of the city. Most of them were rushing to start their week of work, while I was starting my vacation in the most peculiar manner.

After my power nap, I went to the bathroom of the station to try to look like something. Next to me at the sink, washing her hands, was a girl that I met 13 years ago when I had just moved to Québec City. I recognised her right away, although our encounter was brief at the time. I even remembered her name. I am psycho with names and faces. That’s how I get to randomly come across so many people I know throughout the world. It is only that I have a borderline paranormal memory for faces. She didn’t recognise me, and I didn’t try to talk to her. I just thought that my Québec time had kicked off and that I had received a warm welcome sign from the francophone metropolis.

At 11, my dear old friend μπ picked me up from the subway on the south bank and greeted me with a warm: “ça c’est de la pelure de clown!” (“what a clown coat!”) at the sight of my rainbow fur coat. It sounds way funnier in the original version though. Canadian French doesn’t translate. 

μπ is one of my most spectacular and bubbly friends. She should be featured in the Quebecer version of “Sex & The City” because she has the best boy stories ever. She often puts herself in improbable love situations, which she feels sorry for, but as we catch up every 2 years at the best, she always has a shit ton of funky stories to tell me. She is very theatrical so it is like going to a stand up comedy show you’ve been looking forward to. As I am not the last one for good stories either, we had to drink an equally shit ton of Amaretto Sours to catch up about our mutual drama since 2012. The day after, we literally spent all day in watching the last winter snow flakes fall lazily, getting food delivered and drinking booze. We also pronounced a magic formula that her fortune-teller gave her in order to get what we want from life. We had to write it down on a paper, repeat it 3 times and burn it from the top left corner. She asked to be happily coupled, I asked to be working in New York in this outstanding job I applied for. Oh my God! This thing is so going to work. 

We went for drinks and poutine with μC and her girlfriend, a power couple who inspired the shit out of me. μC is a schoolteacher/comedian/stand up comedy girl who recently came out to her dad on stage. She used to date a French Femen activist but she paid her flight back to France just to get rid of her. She is now happy with a super cute girl who is fighting cancer and has the intention to blog about it to share her experience. Go Girls! I think my biggest assets in life are none of my relative qualities, but are the people I know. 

On Wednesday, I brunched with another amazing woman, CC. We met in 2001 when we were both living with nuns in a convent of Québec City (no kidding. I lived with the nuns for 2 years in a Catholic residence. I got my first lez experience between those walls. Wonderful memories.) CC is a bisexual writer, traveler, artist, questioning human being who gets inspired by queer women artists and eventually sees herself in some kind of love/creative relationship with a girl. I went with her to the job centre where she had an appointment because she wants to become a self-employed digital story-telling workshops giver. She told me that her sister is now her brother cause he is transitioning from female to male and she actively supports him. I was super interested by his story, because I hang out so much with queers and creatures but strangely enough, I am not close with any trans people, which is a big miss.

CC came with a surprise for me. At the time when we were living with the nuns, I was studying contemporary dance and she was studying fine arts in a building called La Fabrique – a former corset factory. She once dragged me to a fine arts students party and I was amazed by the freedom and relax style of the people, coming from a world where we were told off if we didn’t wear pink tights and uptight hairstyles. Everyone was wearing Birkenstock shoes with winter socks inside them. CC introduced me to a very tall girl called V., who was passably drunk. Tall girl looked at me from up there and said: “Good eveninglittle thing!” Before I understood anything, she was petting my hair and gave me a kiss on the top of my head. I was stunned for a second and then cracked up and later on told this anecdote to everyone as a very cult moment of my life. Well, V. came over to the café the other day, and it was the first time we met again after our unforgettable introduction. She hadn’t changed much. She told me: “I think of you often.” I replied: “Same here. You pop up in my head very unexpectedly.” What an incongruous reunion.

All those beautiful and fabulous Montréal ladies made me laugh and made my heart swing with joy, curiosity, excitement, admiration. I love them all dearly.

By the way. The skull shirt from my blog cover picture died tonight. It is sitting lifeless in my bin. It followed a lot of my adventures since 2007 and had an AWESOME life. Like me.