Monthly Archives: June 2013

Toutes les voix de l’amour


I stumbled upon this when I was searching for new versions of Santa Lucia on YouTube (yes, canzoni Napoletani are a lifelong weakness of mine, thanks to my Operafest years). Even as someone who’s been classically trained from the age of five, I can’t be entirely certain I had reached their level of awesomeness by the time I hit 18. I’m ashamed to say I’d never heard of Il Volo prior to this, and I was blown away by the unbelievable talent they possess at such young ages — 18, 19 and 20. It’s such an enormous relief to know that in a day, age and culture permeated by the likes of Justin Bieber and Miley Cyrus, this kind of talent still exists.



And just to give an indication of how young they truly were when they started out, this is where it all began, back in 2009:


Just one


I always thought I had a good memory for details. I will never admit it out loud, but I can remember that she was wearing a yellow dress and nonchalantly looking at the menu when she accidentally-on-purpose let slip had met someone new, and I can remember that he was in a suit, standing in his living room and taking my business card at the exact moment that he told me I was pretty. For some strange reason, it’s the little details like that that keep significant memories alive for me.

But today I realized that I can barely remember what my life was like prior to the last three months. What was I doing all those nights when I wasn’t staying up on WhatsApp? How was I able to fall asleep as early as midnight back then, when these days my body doesn’t know it’s tired until it’s practically 4am? Who else besides my girlfriends did I make room for in my life when it wasn’t taken up by someone thousands of miles away?

I don’t remember. Whether it’s because of my sleep deprivation, or because I was in some form of autopilot mode that made me tune out everything in my life, but I really don’t remember. And when I try to remember, it almost feels like an out-of-body experience. It’s as if I’d been in suspended animation all that time — unable to move forward but unwilling to go back — and was woken up by one person — the only person — who knew how.

Or maybe there was just nothing to remember.

Three months. Three months — 13 weeks — it has been. Sometimes it feels like three hours, and other times it feels like three… well, forever. If someone had told me three months ago that I would land myself in a relationship under these bizarre circumstances, I would have scoffed and discounted the possibility entirely. And now here I am, with my principles, my whole belief system, shaken to the core, with absolutely no idea as to what the future holds, but just forced to ride the waves because there is no other option. And the most unforgiving part is that I would be willing to do it over and over again, because of how happy he makes me.

Someone told me years ago that some relationships are self-made, while others are made by God. I don’t know that I ever designed a relationship like this, but I truly thought that God would sit this one out, purely because of the obstacles surrounding it. I suppose He thought it was finally time to put everything I am, and everything I have, to the test — because, you know, it appears I just haven’t been fucking tested enough.

In their eyes

In my profession, I’ve had to learn to be an observer, to watch people and the way they speak, the way they look, they way they move, around themselves and around other people — all without them noticing that I do it. It has taught me to be perceptive to the slightest change in their body language, their tone of voice, and even their facial expressions.

But it always comes as a surprise when people tell me what they notice about me, especially when they get down to a more personal level and say things like, “You’re very good at hiding your feelings, you know.”

So it threw me for a loop when I saw this last week, in the WhatsApp group conversation I share with Zuien, Edea, Lynda and Farah:


This, by the way, is the photo in question:


I suppose I had reason to be happy. The Miner was back in town after nine weeks of WhatsApp and telephone conversations, and I was actually able to see him and talk to him without the usual distractions that constantly occupy his time and mind.

So I thought no more of it, until this extremely random conversation I had with Nora just last night:


And I think this may have been the photo in question:

not fat!

I would have liked the term ‘skinnier’, but I’ll take ‘serene’, ‘happy’ and ‘almost radiant-like’ any day too.