Maybe, the story starts this day of July 2013, on a train ride between Barcelona and Toulouse. Sun is so bright that it could melt your retina. Stomach is weighted with thousand kilos of stones. It’s about his sadness you do not know what to do with. The adulthood barging in at your door. And you, not knowing exactly where you are, or what’s the proper manual for this mess. I’m going to my grandpa’s funerals. I have a notepad. and a pen. And the first thinIs I’m able to write are stories. His stories. The ones about the rabbits getting « undressed » to hide the sad reality of their transformation into stew, the sound of his old motorcycle driving around town, chocolate ice creams eaten in secret, horrors of the wars concealed to give way to the little stories, like the ones where he felt straight into a nuoc mam jar. All these stories. Funny. Insignificant. Important. And writing about it just felt good.
Maybe, the story starts this day of July 2015. Somewhere in an old flat, in the Gothic Quarter of Barcelona. You don’t know what the colour of the sky is. So many thoughts swirling in your head. Some are leaving you with lumps in your throat. Others are bringing a smile on your face. There is a computer. And most important. Time. If the manual of adulthood still looks like an Ikea’s one, there are all these events, all these people you met. It’s just worth telling it. All these stories. Funny. Insignificant. Important. And writing about it just felt good.
Maybe, the story starts this day of December 2020. During this unique time of transition in the south of France. Whatever the weather is. In your hands, so many things to create. And the desire to just do it. Adulthood does not have any manual. We don’t give a fuck any more about manuals. Maybe, all of us are spending precious seconds of our lives trying to define this manual. Just forgetting how to live. How to be. For real. Nothing will ever be ideal. Nothing will ever be perfect. Sometimes everything is fucked up. And in the end, it does not really matter. Because what remains are all these stories. Funny. Insignificant. Important. Making everything alright.
This is your home. Mine. Whatever your manual is. Maybe you will find things helping you to shape it. Or just ways to forget abut it. Articles, audio podcasts, other things depending on the mood of the moment. Everything I like to create. Stories. And I hope that these stories, funny, important or insignificant , will help to make everything alright.
Welcome, make yourself comfortable, and just come here as you are.
(P.s : Please be aware that this journey might include a lot of food references)