On Eurovision songs and independent adults

So,

I am writing out of urge today. Yes, it is a craving. Something like the ones you get for chocolate, sex or computer games. And it has been with me the entire day. Tension release to the sound of instrumental Bossa-Nova Brazilian music:


Things have been going much better in my mind for the last few days. Yes, classes are still not perfect (and I started having problems in French!), and people don't reply to my "hi's"... But I go to know really great people.

More than that, at the end of the day, I am becoming exactly what I wanted to be: a strong independent adult (...on the way to?) person.
Each time I come to my messy room and drop my keys on the table, a sense of comfort fills my soul. The only thing it can compare is probably the beautiful sunsets on the top of the Univerisity mountain. I love staring alone at the mountains here.... When I let the last sunrays collide with my body, that is when I feel most free.

I know I expressed very romantic states of mind a couple of posts ago. And, you, dear friends that migth ever acidentally run into this blog, ask: how does this all combine? The strong independent woman and the little girl watching surfers?

As an answer, and initiation of a general comment about human nature, let us take my obsession today with the winner of the 1965 Eurovision competition.

(wait... this might make sense, I promise..)

Poupée de Cire, Poupée de Son, a song sang by a yé-yé blonde France Gall. About how she is only a doll, how she is totally controllable and how her songs show her being like a mirror, how she is afraid of boys and all that... Why, I ask, am I obssessed with it and, at the same time, absolutely hate everything about patronising?

Part of what is like being a human is being creative, seeing the future, imagining another present. And I would like to think that the attraction for the irrational, the conlficting desires we have within us are part of that. We choose to let them be as fantas exactly beacuse they make sus bee alive as human beinmgs.

Being ifascinated by tunexperienceed danger is healthmy, I guess. So is being fascinsated by comfort. I sometimes deeply want to be a Manhattan socialite, with loads of money, random relationships and loads of shoes. I don't know how, but this keeps me going. Not because I will ever get it, not because it makes me be more realistic. Simply, and purely, because it does not make any sense in my life's context!

Being a dreamer and living in fantasy worlds is far from being iddle. It is being more human than anyone else.