Osez, rendez grâce à ce fou qui se lève
Jun. 28th, 2011 01:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lesmisloonyIt's that part of the night where I start getting verbose and sappy, but a thing happened on tumblr and I started thinking again about what Mozart l'Opéra Rock means to me.
I talk a lot about how I was having a rough time about a year and a half ago and watching Mikele and Flo be precious through interviews was something that helped me stave off depression, but today I realised that there's even more.
One week ago I was curled up in a ball on my futon, a box of tissues under one arm as I sobbed so hard the whole futon shook. Snot and tears were running down my face and I just felt so lost and hopeless.
Today I started my paperwork to get a new visa. Today we found someone to split the apartment with me and someone who will take over my half of the lease if I leave.
What made me get up off that futon, throw those tissues into the trash, and keep on fighting and googling and emailing? What kept me from giving up and moving home and letting myself be miserable and crushed in an environment that I've totally outgrown?
Place, je passe.
Oser l'impossible.
Vivre à en crever.
Je suis reine de mes rêves. Without even realising it, in this past year I've developed a whole philosophy of bravery and determination and straight-up carpe diem-tasticness, and it's all thanks to this one show. This one silly French show full of glitter and sequins and nonsense and a dancing clown has changed who I am in so many ways. It's only two hours of sappy rock music and questionable acting, but it's so much more. It sounds silly and it sounds melodramatic but this show means absolutely everything to me.
Toulon, then Bercy. There are so few performances left. It hurts to know that soon there won't be new footage, soon everyone will be going their separate ways, but I said my real goodbyes to them one month ago. I cried then, I'm crying right now, but I'm not sad. I'm so happy and so proud and I just feel so much pure, real love. If what I feel when I think about Mozart l'Opéra Rock, about the fans I knew and about the two guys in the show who really took the time to get to know me, about the music and the way that fog smells as it rolls off the stage during curtain call and the way the sun shines on Diane's shoulders in the C'est bientôt la fin video and the way Patrice's mouth became a straight line when he smiled down at me while he uncomfortably clapped during curtain call, if what I feel when I stop and think about Florent Mothe's sassy face or Mikelangelo Loconte's cologne isn't actual love, then nothing in my life is. I love this show. I love the music and the lyrics and the artists involved. I don't care if it wasn't written to change lives, I don't care if most of the fans don't take it seriously as I do, I don't care if there are issues with the storyline and if the whole thing was choreographed to appeal to a child.
Last week I felt utterly crushed beneath the weight of my bleak future. But the image of an Italian flirt no taller than me wearing a coat made of sequins and snarling at the world, posing fiercely, flailing his arms about and telling everyone to back the fuck up and show him some respect inspired me.
Today I started my paperwork for my new visa. One more year in Paris.
But if I still want to, I know I can make it through to two.
And three.
And everything I want.
Je suis reine de mes rêves.
I talk a lot about how I was having a rough time about a year and a half ago and watching Mikele and Flo be precious through interviews was something that helped me stave off depression, but today I realised that there's even more.
One week ago I was curled up in a ball on my futon, a box of tissues under one arm as I sobbed so hard the whole futon shook. Snot and tears were running down my face and I just felt so lost and hopeless.
Today I started my paperwork to get a new visa. Today we found someone to split the apartment with me and someone who will take over my half of the lease if I leave.
What made me get up off that futon, throw those tissues into the trash, and keep on fighting and googling and emailing? What kept me from giving up and moving home and letting myself be miserable and crushed in an environment that I've totally outgrown?
Place, je passe.
Oser l'impossible.
Vivre à en crever.
Je suis reine de mes rêves. Without even realising it, in this past year I've developed a whole philosophy of bravery and determination and straight-up carpe diem-tasticness, and it's all thanks to this one show. This one silly French show full of glitter and sequins and nonsense and a dancing clown has changed who I am in so many ways. It's only two hours of sappy rock music and questionable acting, but it's so much more. It sounds silly and it sounds melodramatic but this show means absolutely everything to me.
Toulon, then Bercy. There are so few performances left. It hurts to know that soon there won't be new footage, soon everyone will be going their separate ways, but I said my real goodbyes to them one month ago. I cried then, I'm crying right now, but I'm not sad. I'm so happy and so proud and I just feel so much pure, real love. If what I feel when I think about Mozart l'Opéra Rock, about the fans I knew and about the two guys in the show who really took the time to get to know me, about the music and the way that fog smells as it rolls off the stage during curtain call and the way the sun shines on Diane's shoulders in the C'est bientôt la fin video and the way Patrice's mouth became a straight line when he smiled down at me while he uncomfortably clapped during curtain call, if what I feel when I stop and think about Florent Mothe's sassy face or Mikelangelo Loconte's cologne isn't actual love, then nothing in my life is. I love this show. I love the music and the lyrics and the artists involved. I don't care if it wasn't written to change lives, I don't care if most of the fans don't take it seriously as I do, I don't care if there are issues with the storyline and if the whole thing was choreographed to appeal to a child.
Last week I felt utterly crushed beneath the weight of my bleak future. But the image of an Italian flirt no taller than me wearing a coat made of sequins and snarling at the world, posing fiercely, flailing his arms about and telling everyone to back the fuck up and show him some respect inspired me.
Today I started my paperwork for my new visa. One more year in Paris.
But if I still want to, I know I can make it through to two.
And three.
And everything I want.
Je suis reine de mes rêves.
