Narrative 4

Letter from Jehan, eight, to Jehan, thirty-eight.

Dear, thirty-eight years old Jehan,

How far away! Drat! That’s so far away being thirty-eight years old!

Do you still have fun, or you’re too old? Do you still know all our friends? Do you have a family? What a lot of things you must have done since now! You’re thirty years older than me; it’s as old as dad and mom. You must have become somebody important.

Do you still play outside? I hope that you have good friends. I look forward to being your age; then the big ones will listen to me … But it’s good to be young and with my friends. I won’t be afraid anymore of others at your age; I’ll be older.

You must be very busy! I hope I’ll still know lots of people at your age and to feel good, too. I’d love to organize, create games and all that and to be paid for that. That would be good, isn’t it? Does that kind of work exist? Will I have new friends? Will I have a friend like C. later?

That seems so very far away thirty years …

Am I going to play games, do things, in the meantime, or what! I look forward to all this, but I am o.k. right now: I don’t want to be suddenly very old tomorrow morning! I’ll be thirty years older, but I want to go there slowly, OK?

I hope you’re a big guy, and you’re nice. Is mom very old? And dad? I have nephews and nieces? I hope I’ll still have plenty of fun at your age. It is hard for me cause the big ones don’t listen to me. Nevertheless I’m on good terms with my friends.

School’s nice sometimes, but other times I’m bored. I like the drawing course, visual art course and all the things like that.

I may tell you that I love you, right? Even, if you’re a boy? I love you, be kind, and I wish you many, many friends.

See you soon,

Jehan, eight.

 

This n’ that 4

To prevent me from being beaten in the schoolyard one day, Mrs. Laurendeau, my 6th grade teacher, kept me with her in the classroom. I then cleaned the cupboards where I found a picture frame of Marguerite Bourgeois. Mrs. Laurendeau gave it to me. I kept this picture frame with me for years and years.

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When I was a child, I learned that sex and money were “big sins,” and I had to be very careful not to "commit" them.

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I’m sunset yellow, light of life and joy creator.
(Really??)

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Not changing, secures me. My mold then remains unchanged, intact. I am safe, because nobody hurts me.

Changing = depression = failure.

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I shared my bed, one evening, with my cousin J. who was on a visit. We spoke about the Universe, which was infinite.  J. told me that the Universe didn’t have either beginning or end. I incredibly panicked all night long and I couldn't sleep at all!

I was nine or ten.

(My inner secure design of the whole world collapsed. I felt like suddenly I didn’t have any grip on anything anymore.)

This n' that 2
 

I have more pain not doing things because, besides the regrets, I add the disappointment. And my energy and my motivation decrease and decrease because of this non-action.

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My children within me are still alive, but frightened and hidden in a cave in the depths of the world in total darkness. They are starved and became hysteric they are afraid and they've been waiting for me they've been waiting for me for so long.

They've never stopped believing that I would come looking for them one day...

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Every attempt becomes a practice, a rehearsal for the one who will become a reality.

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When I act, I feel at peace.

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My values/qualities:
1) Open-mindedness 2) Respect 3) Altruism 4) Empathy
5) Intelligence 6) Generosity 7) Frankness 8) Loyalty 9) Honesty 10) Integrity

11) Forgiveness 12) Diversity 

(Yeah, yeah...)

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"When we die, is it for life?"

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My eulogy, short & sweet: we loved him!

   

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One of the most fascinating things in life, for me, is observing others.

This n' that

What's the strangest about this "re-conquest," it's that I change while being the same.

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At first, the person whom I made responsible for my blocking was my father. 

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Younger, I dreamed to be a professor or an archaeologist, and somebody important.

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I think that my creativity is the source of my soul.

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When I was a child, my father thought that my art, my creativity were useless. It triggered in me a feeling of anger. 

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I remember when he said to me, towards the end of my adolescence, that I would never be able to make a living as a artist. I felt very sad and angry. I have never forgotten this moment. (Ironically, this recollection is more and more vague today...)

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When I was a child, my mother taught me that dreams were impracticable. I remember that she always told me to snap out of it for my own good.