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.