The stories that happen between trips—because life rarely follows the itinerary.
“You’re French? What the hell are you doing here, then?”
This is how an Australian backpacker reacted upon meeting in a dorm in Toronto, in 2002. “What are you doing there?” I replied. “It’s summer in Australia, and you come all the way to Canada to freeze your ass off?”
A couple of years ago, I decided to give radio another chance. Not the annoying radio stations with their pre-formatted playlists and ten-minute commercial breaks—I turned to podcasts.
French are epicurean, joyous pessimistic and self-conscious hedonist. North Americans, on the other hand, strive for perfection and constantly want to better themselves and those around them.
There are only so many hours in the day and they are always booked by two main tasks—work and Mark. In between, a myriad of small duties, a series of minor events and a plethora of incidents will incapacitate me here and there, as if I was in a videogame.
There was no party, no engagement period, no white dress—we did have rings but only because we bought them on the way to the ceremony.
What’s relevant to me—and this is how I keep track of the years going by—is the sum of all the experiences, feelings and emotions that make up life and make us humans.
