je suis un bébé requin,
and this is a photo journal of a previous life.
mardi 23 décembre 2014
When my snot turns into tears I will bottle it and make cheese.
 Tear production acts as a protective layer over your eyes. Normally, when there isn’t an overload of tears, the tears run down your lacrimal drainage system and they pass out your nose as mucus, but when there is an overload of tears they start to fall out of your eyelids and run down your cheeks.

Last week I tuned into the BBC and read an article entitled ‘My grandfather’s true love’. It was a tearjerker; a short article revealing how a grand daughter found that her grandfather was madly in love with a woman in Europe, before fleeing to America to start a new life after the war.

It reminded me of you. I think about you years on. It isn’t the sort of selfish love you read about, but it is an unrequited love. Each morning I wake myself up, and have to tell myself that I hate you. I don’t, but perhaps one day I will. At least that way, I will be able to move on properly, and not go about ruining other people’s lives because of my selfishness. Perhaps I will finally be able to sit comfortably with someone new, without thinking about what was.

Perhaps I have begun to relish heartbreak. Each time, it is like a natural disaster within my body, and battling on and prevailing in times of heartache perhaps makes me feel like my very own heroine. The longer the heartbreak drains on, the bigger the hero I put myself out to be. However enough is enough, and I am finally putting you out to die… I mean dry.

No more snot will be wasted thinking of you, and you will never get the place of my true love. Perhaps I loved you long, and deeply, but you were, and never will be my lover.

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samedi 20 décembre 2014
Seeing the blessing in a Blizzard
This afternoon, like every Monday and Wednesday, I had German class. Like every afternoon, there are two buses to the station, the first leaving at 5:55, and a second at 6:01. Although the second has a faster route, everyone seems to take the earlier one. I, like many others, have a short term thinking, and as a result, I took the first bus. However, like many a time before, I arrived at the station just as the train was pulling up.  This called for a spring to the train, which I subsequently missed. At the time I thought it was frustrated beyond belief. This would mean I would arrive at German class an hour late,  and I would only make it for the last 30 minutes.

I felt the frustration in me rise, I wanted to kick down the stairs, but on the outside I tried to remain calm. The art of long term thinking is something that I have yet to acquire, and this situation has shown me the necessity of this skill. However, it will probably take a life time to attain, all in good time, all in good time. Yet I was blessed with the other experiences I was able to gather whilst waiting at the station. A manager-type, about 50 secretly inhaling a whiff of coke, two old friends who use sign language to communicate with each other, and of course the Volkswagen factory lit up in all its glory for the Christmas season.

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