Who are you? What do you do? I can say my name, talk about my job, my marital status, my age. I can say that I have children, grandchildren. Maybe I can start by saying where I was born. Anyway, I can talk about a lot of things so I don’t have to really talk about me.
Suddenly I realize the many veils that hide me. Veils? Or characters that live within me? It is really hard to know who I am in a world totally adjectival, in the world of labels and stamps. I guess I'm not who the world thinks I am. Life is actually a search for who I am.
As a child they told me: Be a good girl! I was later told to study, but not to forget about getting married. I only realized how fast time had passed when I heard: be a good mother and, of course, a good wife. And if need be, forget about your job, your family should be your priority. Oh, and remember to be a good lover, or else your husband "will pursue elsewhere what he can not find at home". Argh !!!
Even the mirror manages to pressure me to be quiet, silent, and boy, do I avoid it! But when I take a sneak peek, I can hear: "Hmmmm!! You need to lose a few pounds..".
It's hard to resist. I leave the office, I stop by the supermarket, I pick up the boys at school, I do the laundry, I improvise dinner and while I clean the table dreaming of a time just for me, I feel the shiver of a hand on my thighs followed by a whisper: ”I want you". I do not know whether I get happy, if I faint or if I dream of a bicycle ... The day does not end ...
Who am I? This is a tough question... Maybe I am what they expect me to be. Or what they chose me to be. Surely I am the improbable, the invisible, which is never here.
I collect characters in search of a story. Everyone likes a good story. What am I? A collection of promises. What do I do? Everything and nothing, because I still do not know about myself.
And so I shudder whenever I hear a determined voice say my name, my marital status, job, age. They are voices who believe they know me ...
As I still do not know... silence... and I still try to find me, to meet me, between tears in the movies; in the music that vibrates in my body, that moves me and almost reaches an anonymous place in me; in the fleeting glance that reaches me in the street; in my voice seized by poetry; in the caress that touches the place of the shiver. And I walk ... I walk, I walk in search of me ...