I’m on a trip to Melbourne from France. Living abroad comes with constant learning in almost all you say and think. Visiting home is a return to autopilot. In the supermarket, I don’t read the packaging – I reach for products without thinking. But if the checkout assistant wants to chat, I can’t say, “Je…
It is September and you’re 19 years old. You’re sobbing in an airport terminal – because you’re not sure you want to leave anymore – and filling in a survey about the quality of the facilities – because you just can’t say no to people. You’ll get better at both with time, I promise.
Cry…
Here I am, lying on a stony beach, near the border of Spain and France, my white ass-cheeks being kissed by the golden, mid-summer sun. How did I get here?
I’d been walking for hours along the crystal coast of Cadaques, hopping from perfect beach to perfect beach. My body was encased in salty…
It’s 2am in Paris. We haven’t slept or eaten properly in over 30 hours and the De Bercy bus station greets us with the scent of dank mould and urine. An attempt at using the toilet reveals a homeless man passed out on the cold floor and the end of the bus ride from London…