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lesmisloonyI don't know what to say. I don't know how to deal with everything.
I don't think I have any regrets. Well, there was one Wednesday when I wish I'd sent a text message way earlier than I did, but maybe it was for the best. I don't know.
It was amazing. I was amazing. I threw caution and common sense and budgetary concerns out the window and I followed my crazy impulses and I lived my dream. I ignored what reason and normalcy dictated I should do and over and over again I was rewarded by things Just Working Out and everything falling perfectly into place.
Two years and three days ago I clicked a link from the 18century community and I saw a music video. Boys in makeup on the verge of making out, the little guy wearing some kind of crazy headdress and the other more lipstick than I'd ever seen, and suddenly there was a cranky guy in a perfect 18th century wig, a girl in a cage, and a soaring refrain the likes of which I'd never heard. I didn't understand the French then, but that song became my world. A few months later, there was an emo guy in a red chair and a dignified Georgian gentleman with an electric guitar and I knew I had found love.
The next year was the worst of my life. I let myself be changed and manipulated by outside forces until I was hateful and judgemental and narrow-minded and self-absorbed, but on the darkest evening when I thought I'd lost everything and there wasn't any hope or reason for happiness out there, I clicked a link. Those same guys, one with a guitar this time, the other prancing around and being foolish, and for the first time in weeks I laughed. The video was four minutes long, and for four minutes drama and pain didn't matter. For the next few months I fought the person I had become and tried to be happy and good again, and this little show, this CD with sassy rock tunes in a foreign language, was my lifeline. There is more out there. These ruined friendships aren't the whole world. Keep moving forward. Get away.
And I got away. I applied to study abroad. I got the acceptance letter and the paperwork and I was overjoyed--not because I would finally see the country I had spent my life studying, but because I was going to get away.
And then I learned that they would be there too. The guys from those videos. I had never met them, never seen them in person, I had no proof they were even real people, but they meant everything to me.
And one day I skipped class for the first time in France because I thought I might see them.
I was on a staircase, wearing my new leather jacket that was still too small but had been on sale, holding my camera and craning my neck to see over all the shrieking fangirls. Whose arm was that? Were they in the same building as me, breathing the same air? Was it possible they were real and I would be able to see them? How tall would they be? What do they look like when they're normal-sized, not confined to a box in the corner of a youtube page?
They were beautiful. They were real. We were singing Tatoue-moi together, the whole room was singing the song that for over a year had been something only I loved, something I had had to force upon my friends, something I sang in the shower and in the car but had never been able to sing in a group, had never heard anywhere but from the speakers of my laptop... and there I was, singing it with them.
My memories of that day are overwhelmed by my emotions. I remember being light-headed, I remember my hands shaking too hard to take decent pictures, I remember going home immediately afterward, too overwhelmed to even think about getting autographs, and immediately going to sleep though it was still afternoon.
A few weeks later I went to the premier of the show.
A giant poster with the name of the show on it. Fans everywhere, other people who knew these songs and loved this music. What would the show be like? Would the songs be very different live than on the CD I had listened to with such dedication for so long?
This was my first picture.
Now, months later, I see two people who got me free tickets to the show, I see people who know my name and who were sad when I left France. Back then, I only recognised two of the costumes from those music videos I had been watching for so long.
I never intended to become such a notable fan. My first night at the stage door Flo used my pen. My second night at the stage door I was so nervous that I yelled "CAN I GET A FLO-TO WITH YOU?" Then I knitted them gloves. Then I did the subtitles and became ridiculously familiar with every nuance of the show. I fell in love with Da Ponte. I met Joanna and Lara and they taught me how to be an intense fan, how to show up hours before the show and spend my whole weekends getting pictures. I heard fans saying Da Ponte was nobody so I went home, learned his name, and I came back the next night and got up the nerve to ask him for a picture. Florent Mothe read my livejournal. Mikele gave me a hug. I thought I had reached the pinnacle of fangirl existence, and then I went home for Christmas. I thought my world was over.
If you're reading this entry right now, chances are that you know what happened. I went to Lille thinking it would be the last time I would see them. I just wanted to see if Florent Mothe remembered who I was. I wanted to give out the gifts I had made for the five people in the cast who had made the biggest impression on me at the Palais des Sports.
And in doing so, I made an impression on them.
I thought my dolls were kind of creepy, to be honest. I saw these guys get gifts all the time and I never would have thought that there was anything special about what I had done.
And then Merwan heard my accent and asked for a doll. So I came back. And then I didn't want anyone to be excluded. So I came back again. I went to Brussels alone to see Nuno play Mozart. Strasbourg, Dijon, I realised that these weren't just a creepy fan present, that these were a big deal, that I was able to make the people who had meant so much to me happy. They were everything to me, and now I was someone to them. Even the ones who immediately forgot my face knew that there was one girl out there who cared about them. They didn't know why and they didn't know how much, but they knew that for some reason they were important to this American who can knit. I just wanted to thank them.
So I might never see them again. They might forget what I looked like, they might never know that I made it home okay, that I'm moving into an apartment and I'm totally broke, that my future is uncertain, but they know that I care. They know that they touched me somehow. They know that they were important enough for someone on the other side of the ocean to adore them for the work they do.
If I had stayed, I would have only had one more month. I would have gone to Bercy and I would have said goodbye with everyone else, would have been just another broken heart in a stadium full of them. But I said goodbye early. My last weekend was perfect. I cried all day Sunday, Nuno said I was being dramatic, when the curtain fell I just stood and watched the crowd clear out, listened to C'est bientot la fin playing on the loudspeaker and I realised that this was the last time I would ever heard this music coming from a source other than my iTunes. I leaned against the stairs Salieri uses during Victime de ma victoire and I covered my face in my hands and I cried.
But no matter how much I cried then, no matter how much I cried as I saw the bus pull away and knew I would never see them in person again, no matter how much I cried when I heard Patrice Maktav's voice for the last time as he delivered his final line, or when I got back to the hotel room and closed the door, I don't think I'm sad. No piece of me is sad.
In the airport I heard someone say "ain't" and when I stepped out into the parking lot the humidity almost knocked me over. Nothing has changed in North Carolina. It's like I never left.
Today I'm moving into my apartment. I don't know what else I have to look forward to. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with myself. I've barely gotten any facebook notifications since I left, the Florum and my livejournal are slowly being abandoned by everyone but the faithful few. It's like nothing ever happened.
But I'm different. I'm self-confident, I'm independent, I have a new way of living my life, I can make friends easily, I can travel alone, I can talk to famous people without trembling. Today I'm moving out of my parents' house. I might not be living the life of a fandom legend anymore, but they will always have their dolls and I will never forget any of them. No matter what they do after July, I will care about each of them, the actors and the fans. I love them. I love every choice I made. I'm not sad.
Two years and three days ago I heard a song. I didn't understand the words, but I knew from the first refrain that I had found something important. Something perfect. I just didn't know how much it would change my life.
When the end comes
We'll have lived without regret
We keep moving
But we don't forget...
Today I'm moving into my apartment.
I don't think I have any regrets. Well, there was one Wednesday when I wish I'd sent a text message way earlier than I did, but maybe it was for the best. I don't know.
It was amazing. I was amazing. I threw caution and common sense and budgetary concerns out the window and I followed my crazy impulses and I lived my dream. I ignored what reason and normalcy dictated I should do and over and over again I was rewarded by things Just Working Out and everything falling perfectly into place.
Two years and three days ago I clicked a link from the 18century community and I saw a music video. Boys in makeup on the verge of making out, the little guy wearing some kind of crazy headdress and the other more lipstick than I'd ever seen, and suddenly there was a cranky guy in a perfect 18th century wig, a girl in a cage, and a soaring refrain the likes of which I'd never heard. I didn't understand the French then, but that song became my world. A few months later, there was an emo guy in a red chair and a dignified Georgian gentleman with an electric guitar and I knew I had found love.
The next year was the worst of my life. I let myself be changed and manipulated by outside forces until I was hateful and judgemental and narrow-minded and self-absorbed, but on the darkest evening when I thought I'd lost everything and there wasn't any hope or reason for happiness out there, I clicked a link. Those same guys, one with a guitar this time, the other prancing around and being foolish, and for the first time in weeks I laughed. The video was four minutes long, and for four minutes drama and pain didn't matter. For the next few months I fought the person I had become and tried to be happy and good again, and this little show, this CD with sassy rock tunes in a foreign language, was my lifeline. There is more out there. These ruined friendships aren't the whole world. Keep moving forward. Get away.
And I got away. I applied to study abroad. I got the acceptance letter and the paperwork and I was overjoyed--not because I would finally see the country I had spent my life studying, but because I was going to get away.
And then I learned that they would be there too. The guys from those videos. I had never met them, never seen them in person, I had no proof they were even real people, but they meant everything to me.
And one day I skipped class for the first time in France because I thought I might see them.
I was on a staircase, wearing my new leather jacket that was still too small but had been on sale, holding my camera and craning my neck to see over all the shrieking fangirls. Whose arm was that? Were they in the same building as me, breathing the same air? Was it possible they were real and I would be able to see them? How tall would they be? What do they look like when they're normal-sized, not confined to a box in the corner of a youtube page?
They were beautiful. They were real. We were singing Tatoue-moi together, the whole room was singing the song that for over a year had been something only I loved, something I had had to force upon my friends, something I sang in the shower and in the car but had never been able to sing in a group, had never heard anywhere but from the speakers of my laptop... and there I was, singing it with them.
My memories of that day are overwhelmed by my emotions. I remember being light-headed, I remember my hands shaking too hard to take decent pictures, I remember going home immediately afterward, too overwhelmed to even think about getting autographs, and immediately going to sleep though it was still afternoon.
A few weeks later I went to the premier of the show.
A giant poster with the name of the show on it. Fans everywhere, other people who knew these songs and loved this music. What would the show be like? Would the songs be very different live than on the CD I had listened to with such dedication for so long?
This was my first picture.
Now, months later, I see two people who got me free tickets to the show, I see people who know my name and who were sad when I left France. Back then, I only recognised two of the costumes from those music videos I had been watching for so long.
I never intended to become such a notable fan. My first night at the stage door Flo used my pen. My second night at the stage door I was so nervous that I yelled "CAN I GET A FLO-TO WITH YOU?" Then I knitted them gloves. Then I did the subtitles and became ridiculously familiar with every nuance of the show. I fell in love with Da Ponte. I met Joanna and Lara and they taught me how to be an intense fan, how to show up hours before the show and spend my whole weekends getting pictures. I heard fans saying Da Ponte was nobody so I went home, learned his name, and I came back the next night and got up the nerve to ask him for a picture. Florent Mothe read my livejournal. Mikele gave me a hug. I thought I had reached the pinnacle of fangirl existence, and then I went home for Christmas. I thought my world was over.
If you're reading this entry right now, chances are that you know what happened. I went to Lille thinking it would be the last time I would see them. I just wanted to see if Florent Mothe remembered who I was. I wanted to give out the gifts I had made for the five people in the cast who had made the biggest impression on me at the Palais des Sports.
And in doing so, I made an impression on them.
I thought my dolls were kind of creepy, to be honest. I saw these guys get gifts all the time and I never would have thought that there was anything special about what I had done.
And then Merwan heard my accent and asked for a doll. So I came back. And then I didn't want anyone to be excluded. So I came back again. I went to Brussels alone to see Nuno play Mozart. Strasbourg, Dijon, I realised that these weren't just a creepy fan present, that these were a big deal, that I was able to make the people who had meant so much to me happy. They were everything to me, and now I was someone to them. Even the ones who immediately forgot my face knew that there was one girl out there who cared about them. They didn't know why and they didn't know how much, but they knew that for some reason they were important to this American who can knit. I just wanted to thank them.
So I might never see them again. They might forget what I looked like, they might never know that I made it home okay, that I'm moving into an apartment and I'm totally broke, that my future is uncertain, but they know that I care. They know that they touched me somehow. They know that they were important enough for someone on the other side of the ocean to adore them for the work they do.
If I had stayed, I would have only had one more month. I would have gone to Bercy and I would have said goodbye with everyone else, would have been just another broken heart in a stadium full of them. But I said goodbye early. My last weekend was perfect. I cried all day Sunday, Nuno said I was being dramatic, when the curtain fell I just stood and watched the crowd clear out, listened to C'est bientot la fin playing on the loudspeaker and I realised that this was the last time I would ever heard this music coming from a source other than my iTunes. I leaned against the stairs Salieri uses during Victime de ma victoire and I covered my face in my hands and I cried.
But no matter how much I cried then, no matter how much I cried as I saw the bus pull away and knew I would never see them in person again, no matter how much I cried when I heard Patrice Maktav's voice for the last time as he delivered his final line, or when I got back to the hotel room and closed the door, I don't think I'm sad. No piece of me is sad.
In the airport I heard someone say "ain't" and when I stepped out into the parking lot the humidity almost knocked me over. Nothing has changed in North Carolina. It's like I never left.
Today I'm moving into my apartment. I don't know what else I have to look forward to. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with myself. I've barely gotten any facebook notifications since I left, the Florum and my livejournal are slowly being abandoned by everyone but the faithful few. It's like nothing ever happened.
But I'm different. I'm self-confident, I'm independent, I have a new way of living my life, I can make friends easily, I can travel alone, I can talk to famous people without trembling. Today I'm moving out of my parents' house. I might not be living the life of a fandom legend anymore, but they will always have their dolls and I will never forget any of them. No matter what they do after July, I will care about each of them, the actors and the fans. I love them. I love every choice I made. I'm not sad.
Two years and three days ago I heard a song. I didn't understand the words, but I knew from the first refrain that I had found something important. Something perfect. I just didn't know how much it would change my life.
When the end comes
We'll have lived without regret
We keep moving
But we don't forget...
Today I'm moving into my apartment.
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no subject
Date: 2011-06-01 02:48 pm (UTC)Your adventure may be over, but another one is starting for sure :) And in your life you're going to meet some amazing people and things you're going to be obsessed with, just like with MOR :) You have the memories. And if you ask me - these are the best memories EVER. And I can't wait for you to return to France, because I am sure that one day you will.
And this was all some meaningless blabbering from me XD But I hope you get what I wanted to say ... :)
no subject
Date: 2011-06-01 03:00 pm (UTC)Maybe you're going back someday, maybe you're not. Right now, all you need is a new dream to follow. We can't always get what we want but trying to get it can be wonderful, too :)
no subject
Date: 2011-06-01 03:11 pm (UTC)Keep talking, I'll keep listening. Hold your memories close, don't ever say never ever again, and smile. :)
no subject
Date: 2011-06-01 03:48 pm (UTC)Even when the show as we know it ends we know it's stars will continue to exist and we can still show our love and support in their future projects, I'm certainly excited over Adam & Eve. Also MOR will be taken to America and even though it won't be the same it's certain to be something exciting. Will you go see it given the chance?
I've noticed the forum seems quiet recently which is strange but I hope you don't close it... or stop updating your journal!
Anyway All the best with your move today :)
no subject
Date: 2011-06-01 03:57 pm (UTC)I'm glad you'll be able to carry these memories with you and it was fun reading about them. It was nice having some form of access which other fans might not. But, more than that, I'm glad I met you through it. Your journal entries were so much fun to read, an I still look forward to reading the rest of them. Your adventures in France might be over, but you're clearly far from done. You've learned, seen, and experienced so much that I have no doubt you'll be okay.
Good luck with your apartment, keep us updated. :'3
no subject
Date: 2011-06-01 05:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-01 08:23 pm (UTC)You're the girl who stood around a regular old US garage and said, "You know, we could totally turn this into a music video set", and then actually DID just that.
With what you've shown over the past few months, here and on the Florum, I KNOW that you still have plenty of adventures up your sleeve. You see opportunities and take them and that is why you are just so win.
no subject
Date: 2011-06-01 08:47 pm (UTC)I won't be abandoning your lj, I want to see the next chapter of your story, because this is not the end :D
no subject
Date: 2011-06-01 09:45 pm (UTC)(umm also I'm sorry if this comment is super creepy, I know I'm a bit of a lurker on your journal haha :c sorry about that)
no subject
Date: 2011-06-02 08:19 pm (UTC)I don't think this is the end. Come on. You're in America and you wish you were in France while I'm in France wishing I could be in America. France is not that awesome, actually I think MOR is the only awesome thing about it. The rest is loneliness, isolation and a dirty metro. And come on! You're moving out, how awesome is that? Keep up posted with pics from your new apparto!
no subject
Date: 2011-06-03 05:00 pm (UTC)Everyone else has pretty much said the important stuff. I'd just like to thank you though: for sharing your adventures with us. For the many of us who will never get to experience the show like you did, it means a lot. =)
Please keep us updated. I'm sure a lot of us will be sticking around to read more of your adventures! ^_^