I'm Ronery

I'm all alone at home, my sister's gone for the holidays.

For let's say, reasons unknown to me, the dining room table is in the living room at the moment, and when I turn off all the lights and open the curtains, I see all the street's christmas lights hanging outside my windows, same level and all. And since the table is right here, I've opened said curtains and I'm writing in the midst of angelic white and a nice warm christmas red glow coming in through my windows. Big windows and a big living room... work anti-clockwise for just one person.

I'm so lonely I'm writing a lonely post. I thought, when I decided to come to Corsica, that I wanted to be alone, stupidly, I thought I wanted to feel lonely, alienated and away from the world. Oh I'm alienated alright, I'm away from the world for sure, but my loneliness has multiplied, and now I have to deal with myself all alone, in the middle of a fucking snowy hill. And it's beautiful, but I'm more lonely than I ever thought I could be.

 Even if I'm surrounded by the tenths. Imagine a doughnut. With a very, very big hole in the middle.

Loneliness is personal, not circumstantial, I know. For some reason I wanted to know what it felt like to feel lonely in a lonely place. Let me tell you O brothers, it's lonely. How dumb was I, you might wonder. Is there an upside to it?

It's made me think of the people I truly love, I think of them all the time, there's barely a handful of them, but I'm missing them every second of my life here. I breathe them. How sad is that? It's disgusting, I look out my window and I see, not 5 meters away, another old fashioned building with iron clad balconies and wooden doors and windows. All lights off except for good ole Christmas sequences hanging off the buildings. Like I said, beautiful. But man, nothing makes you acknowledge apathy like an abandoned building who people refuse to restore. It's either that or a relentless wish to die untouched.

I've often wondered if I'm a city person or a country person. I love Corsica for reasons I can't explain, I feel absolutely complete here, after my life in China. But whilst I'm here, I'm missing China. I'm a city person who misses the country, and a country persons who needs the city. I'm a tragic tragic bad soap opera. I'm the worst expatriate that's ever walked the earth because I'm debating between countries that aren't even my own. I've forgotten my land and I refuse to return 'home'.

My home is where I choose to be. My home is where I can make my bed and flush my toilet. Can I have two homes so absurdly different to each other? Can I love Corse as much as I love China? What is it that is so fucked up inside of me that I can't decide if I want to die alone or if I want to die in between thousands staring at me?

I have to love myself more to answer my own questions. Otherwise I'm enabling my own misery. It's not Corse, it's not Shanghai, it's not Mexico, it's always been me. Have I realised it? Yes. Have I acted upon it? No. Will I ever? Only time will tell. 

Drunk what?

I'm about to take my first drunk shower. I've got class tomorrow morning and my hair is a big mess, I'm sure I won't be able to wake up early enough to take a shower on time, so I'm going to attempt something impossible...

We'll see how it goes...

Shower soundtrack: Anathema - Weather Systems

Moi, Me and Johnny

Me and my weird relationship with Johnny... the skull. You see, he's a beautah, unfortunately, he's far too close to me to be just a simple beautah. I'll describe an example. I was smoking a cigarette just before calling it a night, I lit my nighty night cigarette and was putting the ashes on a regular  glass and put that same glass on the nightstand, it took me two whole sips of my peroquette to realise I had completely spilled my booze all over my bed in order to avoid placing my ashes glass next to my Johnny, who holds a special spot on my nightstand, so yes, I do keep one glass for my booze and one glass for my vice, vice meaning cigarette ashes of course... separately...

I spilled my peroquette (pastis and mint syrup) all over my mattress... just so I could keep cigarette ashes from dusting my beautah Johnny... and now my mattress is fucking soaked.

Wtf, this is Corsica.

A wet mattress is the least of my problems. I'm really starting to question my choice here...

Time for some P

Inner P's, it's what I call it. Or outer, works both ways for the time being.

And me, myself and I try to stuff ourselves full to the brim with P's. 

Attack on Erasmus students in Corsica.

My sister was beaten up last night by a small posse of Corsican high school kids. 

She was walking out of a bar with some friends, admittedly, they were a bit drunk, when they were ambushed by two girls and three guys that were obviously looking for an excuse to fight. Two of our friends, the Venezuelans, were walking ahead by a small distance and my sister and a Spanish friend were behind. So this Corsican girl starts insulting our Venezuelans, in a very degrading way, ordering them to give her a cigarette, and since they didn't smoke, the Corsicans jumped on the guy first and started beating the crap out of him. They pushed away the only other girl and she couldn't stand up again because of a leg injury that was just starting to heal.

When my sister and our other friend turned the corner, they saw the two girls laughing at our friend who was being pinned down by two guys while the third beat him to a pulp. So my sister and our other friend ran to help him out, but they were clocked from behind before they even got there, the Spanish fell to the ground and the girls then proceeded to stamp on his face. With high heels. My sister tried to pull them away but she was smacked hard by one of the guys and pushed against a wall, she stood up a second time since our friend was starting to bleed like a fucking faucet, no wonder, the heel went through his cheek, and one of the girls punched her on the face. She fell down and they started kicking her. 

I'm not sure how it went afterwards, but apparently they managed to stand up and walk away, it seems like the Corsican kids 'finally let them go', and as they were walking away towards the hospital, they could still hear them scream shit like 'Arabs de merde' and so on... 

Let's say it was about 2 am. They got to the hospital, our Venezuelan beaten hard, face unrecognisable, our Spanish friend bleeding out of his eye and mouth, my sister limping with a fat lip and the other girl writhing in pain from her leg. The doctor took one look at them and said 'those of you who are not bleeding, it's not urgent so go home and come back tomorrow at 11 am'. 

By then of course, they had contacted the other Erasmus students at the dorms and they were all at the hospital. The Spanish, the Brits, the Bulgarians, the Americans, the Russians, all 10 of them, most of who speak French perfectly although with an accent, the 'doctor' was unmoved by their pleas and started being a bit rude as well: 'Do-you-understand-the-words-that-are-coming-out-of-my-mouth?' Which of course led to another uproar in the emergency room, but they were just as easily dismissed. When they asked for some ice for our beaten up friend, the doctor laughed and said 'Hahah, ice? This is no ice cream parlour little girl, this is a HOSPITAL'.... 

In a civilised country, the doctor would have called the police because our friends were obviously attacked, they would have had the obligation to take their statements. Not here. They were all sent home, except for our Spanish friend who actually got some stitches on his face. A goddamn hole on his face made with some slut's high heels. The whole bunch of them, my sister included, marched towards the police station, untreated by the doctor, to press charges. It was closed. 

She then came home at about 6 am. I was sound asleep, to my horror, because I sustain, had I been there, it would have taken all 5 of them to bring me down, and I would have at least made sure one of them got their noses punched back into their goddamn skulls. 

So far I don't have any more news, but of course by this morning, everyone in this goddamn town had heard that some of the Erasmus students had been attacked by a group of Corsicans. There's a lot of speculation to whereas they were from the front or not. I'm writing this beforehand to clarify that it wasn't anyone from the front. It was a bunch of idiotic kids, I'm suspecting high as a kite, with grandeur deliriums and no fucking humanity. 

The saddest part here is that probably, their charges won't be taken seriously, and those kids will go unpunished, because Corsicans here make their own laws, and they don't persecute each other, and our friend will have to live with a scar on his face. 

And WHAT THE FUCK with that hospital! Fuck, fuck, seriously FUCK them. 

I'll go to sleep dreaming I was there, and we all started beating that doctor with our mighty fists of justice, bruising every single part of his exposed face, and once we were done say to him: 'Go on, treat your bruises although you're not bleeding, take one single band-aid, I FUCKING DARE YOU'. 

Stu

I went to the mountains today. What a goddamn awesome sight there was. 

Although I did also see a car upside down, nobody was inside, but it had turned on a curve and it was a nasty flip. Kinda creeped me out for the rest of the trip. 

It's snowing in the mountains, hard. Not so much in Corte though, but it is cold as fuck. Makes you wanna eat stew and pastries all day. Satan! Get thee behind me with your stews and pastries! I love them stews and pastries. 

A picture of the mountains on the route Corte - Ajaccio. 

When in doubt, think of Stew.