A phone call

“John here, who dis?” The man sounds like my father with a heavier accent. His name is not John but it doesn’t matter. There are a lot of people calling him today, out of concern.

“Sachii, I’m so glad to hear your voice uncle.” I slowly stumble into a soft cry. All these natural disasters and finally once hits me: I haven’t talked to him in twelve years but I am talking now.

“Sachii eh, I had a rough day, I’m sure you’ve heard.”

“I had a feeling, I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“How old are you now.”

I say my age.

“It’s been so long. Are you coming home anytime soon?” It’s now that I start to cry. It’s now that I lose all control and become a blubbering mess.

His day was ruined because of a coward. And he’s the one asking me all the important questions. How selfish am I?

And how selfish is the gunman? How dare he. How dare he go into a place of happiness, safety, security and turn it into a nightmare. How dare he expose innocent people to the same noise and movement as my job prepares me for. 

I’m selfish because I don’t have words. He’s selfish because he refused to use them.

Le temps que j’ai rencontré un prince.

J’ai déjà fini ma nage quand j’ai ramené. Aujourd’hui c’est le 18. J’ai besoin d’attendre un entretien avec un prince.

​J’ai entendu son voix en haut-parler. Il parlait lentement et calme, indicatif d’une personne dont la premièr langue n’ s’était pas l’anglais. Il n’avait pas un accent.

Après deux heures, je me suis assis avant lui. Je tenais mon chapeau dans mes mains. Les instructions m’a dit que l’entretien est seulment en Français. C’était impossible. Je ne pourrais pas parler l’Anglais.

Il a dit que l’entretien était seulement en L’Anglais.

Chaque personne dans la chambre a demandé une question de lui. Chaque personne sauf moi.

“Un dernier question s’il vous plaît.” C’était la question le plus difficile.

Nous nous sommes mis debout pour prendre un photo. Car j’étais petite, je prenais position à côté lui.

“Merci beaucoup monsieur, pour amnesty.” Mon voix était doucement.

Il rigolait.

“Tous les questions sont importantes! Mais, votre réponse c’est le plus important!”

Je regardais mes pieds. Pourquoi suis-je si timide

J’ai dit avec mon ami Espagnol et il m’a dit:

“Chaque mes amis Espagnol t’aime! Tu es une personne très gentille.”

“Je n’ai leur jamais parlé.” Je regardais mes pieds encore.

“Tu n’as pas besoin de parler à personne pour savoir qu’ils sont gentille.”

Je rougais. J’essais une sourire.

“Merci Beaucoup.”

The one time I met a prince

I had just gotten out of the pool when I realized today was the 18th. I was supposed to attend an interview with a prince.

I hear his voice on the loud speaker. He speaks slowly and calmly, indicative of a non-native English speaker. He has no accent.

In two hours I sit in front of him. Gripping my hat in my hands. I’m supposed to do this in French but I can’t even speak English right now.

He requests the interview in English. My insides tighten.

Everybody asks him a question but me. I just sit there and regard the situation. It’s so surreal.

“One last question please.” Of course its the most profound.

We stand up to take a photo. Being small, I stand beside him.

“Thank you sir, for amnesty.” My voice shakes.

He laughs heartily.

“All these formal questions and here you are!”

I look at my feet. Sometimes I wonder why I suffer from crippling social anxiety and shyness.

I tell my Spanish friend this and he says:

“All my Spanish friends like you! You are the nicest person.”

“I’ve never talked to them.” I look at my feet again.

“You don’t need to talk to anyone to know that they are kind.” 

I turn red. Social anxiety is creeping back. I hold it at the back of my throat and force a smile.

“Thank you.” 

La voyageuse paresseuse

Et la raison qu’il n’y a pas beaucoup des photos dans cette blog.

Normalement, un voyageur a pris beaucoup des photos pendant ces voyages. Pas moi! Même quand j’ai visité beaucoup des pays.

Rarement, j’ai pris les photos, de moi-même, des monuments et particulièrement: pas des selfies.

Je vive dans chaque moment des mes voyages. Je tiens de toutes mes souvenirs dans ma tête et aussi je ne jamais être une touriste.

J’adore les photos mais je n’ai pas le talent. Aussi, je n’ai pas les appareil-photo ou l’entraînement. 

Je dessin plusieurs fois, mais maintenant je suis mauvaise. Même mes écrits (mon denier blog était deux semaines avant et il n’y a pas une version Française) je suis mal maintenant avec l’inspiration.

Je besoin d’un aventure mais je n’ai pas les temps ou l’argent. Mes cartes-crédit sont pendu et j’attendrais pour les remplacements.

Chaque explication c’est une excuse, je sais, mais quand j’écris je sais les folles.

Je fais les excuses. Je suis la probléme.

The lazy traveler

And the reason why there are so few pictures on this blog.

You’d think that after growing up in so many countries and having so many experiences, I would take more pictures.

I thought so too. But I rarely do, of myself, of landmarks and definitely not selfies.

Instead, I tend to enjoy basking in the moment. Holding onto the memories in my head and not wanting to stand out too much as a tourist.

That, and being an artist you’d think I’d like photography.

I do — but I don’t have the gift. I don’t have the equipment or the training. And I don’t have a good camera.

I sketch often, but right now I’m in a rut. Even writing (my last post was two weeks ago and there’s no french version) I’m in a rut.

I need a little more adventure but I don’t have the time or the funds as both my credit cards have fraud alerts on them and I’m waiting for the replacements.

All of these are excuses, I know, but writing them down I realize how stupid they sound.

I’m making these excuses. I’m the problem.

The one-day trip to Niagara

Because it can totally be done in one day.

I’ve been to Niagara before. I went there about two years ago:

You can tell its me two years ago just because of the way I am. (Note the artificially lightened hair, the odd sunglasses, and the fox purse. I still have th purse and the jacket.)

But before we get to Niagara, we kind of need to talk about how I got there.

So, a few weeks ago, an old friend and I were talking about visiting each other. We both had labor day off. So we decided to spend a weekend in the city. Somehow that indirectly transpired to going to Niagara as well, a bucket-list adventure.

We saw The Phantom of the Opera and it was there I realized my childhood lullabies were creepy and I would have to ask my dad about them.

Dad’s response: “but they’re pretty!”

Then, we started our eight hour movement to Niagara. I would not be driving, as I’m a terrible driver. My friend pulled all the weight on this one and we got to Niagara sometime about 1500.

We wandered around for a bit and took some pictures, some of which may be his because my phone died.

We ended up somehow going to the Cave of The Winds. Having gone to the Canadian side the first time, I was confused. There’s a lot less on the American Side.

We so waited. We waited for two hours for this:

Needless to say, it got a little wet:

And cold. And so many other things. But notice: same jacket and haircut, I don’t deviate much. Of the trips, it was probably the better of my two experiences.

We woke up early today to drive me back. And although it was a much needed get-away, it’s time to hit the books again.

Sans shampooing, je regardais les changes

Je n’utilise pas le shampooing.
Quelque mois avant, je suis revenue chez-moi et ma mère essaie de tordre mes cheveux quand beaucoup d’eux a sont tombé au sol.

“Sachii, qu’est-ce que tu fais?”

Je s’ai dit que je douche… Trois ou qu’à être fois tout les jours.

“Avec shampooing?”

Oui, j’ai regardé mes cheveux sur au sol. C’était le premier fois que je savais mes mauvais habitudes.

Je suis compulsive avec l’hygiène de corps. Particulièrement après je nage et faire d’exercise beaucoup des temps.

“Prends seulement conditioner.” Ma mère a dit. Je prenais les conseils avant j’ai trouvé sans shampooing.

Après qu’à être mois, j’utilise d’eau seulement. Je regarde quelque chose:

Mes cheveux ne tombent plus.

Mes cheveux sont plus doux.

Je n’ai plus à teindre mes cheveux.

Comment?

J’avais l’habitude de teindre mes cheveux chaque mois. Mes cheveux naturellement sont rouge-bruin. Ils semblent noir. Ça depend de les lumières. 

Je suis fainéant. Je n’ai pas coloré mes cheveux pendant huit mois. Aujourd’hui je les regarde et je suis content. Mes cheveux sont naturelle. Le teint rouge-bruin restent indèpendament de les lumières.

Je suis moi maintenant. Une personne naturelle.

No poo! And you can too!

I don’t use Shampoo anymore.

A few months ago, I went home and my mother was trying to braid my hair when it literally fell apart in her hands.

“Sachii, your hair is so brittle. What do you do?”

I told her I shower… Three or four times a day.

“With shampoo?”

I nodded. Clumps of hair straddled my chair. I looked down. It was the first time I realized how terrible my habits were.

I’m compulsive with body hygiene. Particularly now because I swim, and exercise a lot and at random times.

“Just use conditioner.” My mom said. I nodded. I did just that until I found out about No Poo.

Originally, I did it to get into the habit of not showering as much. Or trying to protect my hair. I was going to go back to shampoo.

Flash forward four months later with water-only rinsed and there are a few things I noticed:

My hair doesn’t fall out anymore.

My hair is softer than ever.

I don’t have to dye my hair anymore.

Wait what?

I used to dye my hair a lot. My hair is an awkward color. It looks black, but it’s actually a red-brown. In certain lights it’s obvious. To make it more obvious, I dyed my hair.

I haven’t dyed my hair in eight months and today I was looking at it and noticed that the red-brown naturally appeared. The red-brown is staying, regardless of the light.

I can’t tell you how happy I am with this. I don’t have to dye my hair to be me. I’m naturally me now.

Une fois, j’ai rencontré une mannequin

Simplement, j’étais perdu.

J’ai attendu sur la quay de la train et j’étais perdu. Je portais un sac a dos avec les pantofoules, un shirt bleu et shorts qui ressemblent un skirt. Mes cheveux étaient dans un queue de cheval en désordre, et finalement, je portais mes lunettes de soleil sur ma tête.

Je ressemblais désordre et j’étais surpris avec quelqu’un qui a parlé avec moi.

“A quel car fais-je?” J’ai dit en Français. Tous les gens savent que je suis Amèricaine.

“Enfin, je monterai.” J’étais sur à la quay droite. J’ai regardé ma billet.

Le train s’a arrêté. Les portes a ouvert. Aucune personne ont descendu, et aucune personne ont montré. Sauf une Amèricaine qui portait les lunettes de soleil sur sa tête.

Je me trouvais au millieu de la voiture et tout le monde m’a regardé. Tout les personnes portaient les vêtements plus cher. Je traversai la voiture et je cherchai pour un siège.

Je m’ai assis avant une jeune belle blond avec les verts yeux. Elle regardait moi. Elle portait les vêtements comme les autres, sauf moi.

“Vous avez l’air de confusion.”

“Ça c’est mon expression naturelle.”

“Je pense que vous êtes dans la mauvaise voiture. Puis-je voir?” Elle attrappe ma billet.

‘Vous avez vingt minutes avant la prochaine arrête.”

“D’Accord, j’attends.”

“Vous êtes Amèricaine.” elle a dit avec une sourire. Elle a mis la livre: Appris L’Anglais en Cinq Semaines

“Voulez-vous practiquer l’Anglais avant je sortirai?”

“Je suis Suisse, je parle Français. Mes parents veulent que j’apprends l’Anglais et l’Allemande. Je suis mauvaise avec les deux.”

“Je parle le deux.” J’ai le dit deux fois. Une fois en l’Anglais, l’autre fois en Allemande.

“On commence!”

Après vingt minutes, je n’ai pu rien dire en aucune langue. Ma tête a cassé.

Elle a ajouté elle-même sur mon Instagram.

Je passais quelque temps avant j’ai trouvé le WiFi. Quand je l’ai trouvé, elle a marché avec les vêtements plus cher et les autres mannequins.

The one time I met a model

Simply because I was in the wrong train car.

Let’s start from the beginning of this adventure

I’m standing on the platform, and I have no idea what I’m doing. I have a backpack and slippers on. I’m dressed like an confused boho girl. I wear a light blue tank top and shorts that move like a skirt. My hair is up in a messy ponytail, sunglasses that should be on my face is on my head and I have a backpack.

I look like a mess and I’m surprised anybody is even bothering to talk to me.

“What car do I go to?” I ask fervently in French. I get ignored. It’s so obvious I’m a traveler.

“Fine, I’ll just get on the first one I see.” I triple check the map: I’m on the right gate. I look at my ticket.

The train screeches to a halt and the doors open. Nobody gets out, and nobody gets in. Except for one American, wearing sunglasses on her head when they should be on her face.

I’m standing in the middle of the car and everybody is staring at me. They’re all dressed really well. They look back at their books and papers and I mosey my way down the car, trying to find a seat.

I end up in front of a young, beautiful, blonde haired girl with green eyes. She looks at me curiously. She’s dressed well, like everybody else but me.

“You look lost.”

“That’s just my natural expression.”

“I think you’re in the wrong car. Let me see.” She grabs my ticket.

“You have twenty minutes to the next stop.”

“Okay, well I can’t do anything now.”

“You’re American.” she says with a smile. She puts down the book she’s reading: Learn English in Five Weeks

“You want to practice English while I’m here?”

“I’m Swiss, I speak French. My parents want me to learn English and German. I’m bad at both.”

“I speak both.” I say two times. Once in English, the other in German.

“Let’s start then!”

After twenty minutes I’m unable to form sentences in any language. I feel like my brain broke. She takes my phone and adds herself on my Instagram.

It takes me a little while before I find WiFi. When I do find it, I find her, on a catwalk.