Trump makes Amélie write again

The 11^th of November is visible at the not-so-starry sky, coming in to land for a long sleep to metamorphose in a 12^th of November. For morning birds like me, at this hour the day already carries a lullaby with it, covered in woolly blankets.

The sound of this lullaby should be the clattering of arms touching the asphalt or the mud-caked ground as their soldiers throw them away, today being the bloody 11^th of November, Remembrance Day, in which we ought to celebrate the end of the hostilities of the First World War. But there seems something wrong with the tone of this lullaby of peace. There’s a crack in it. Through this crack another tone has crept in, a tone which has been slumbering in the corners of America, the corners of our world, for a very long time, a tone which has exploded two days ago. The tone of hate. The tone of Donald Trump.

You have to be careful in the land of the free

Thursday afternoon, dating the sixteenth of a June in bloom, blood trickled over the streets of Birstall in northern England. A woman was lying on the asphalt, her skin torn by bullets and the sharp-edged blade of a knife. Although her hair had a chocolate-coloured touch rather than one as black as ebony, this Snow White also had a taste of the ruby-red apple dipped in poison. Jo Cox, on the up and up of Britain’s political ladder, ate of humanity.

Kids these days

 “…with their selfies and their texting.” If you’re between the ages of 15 and 29 I’m sure you’ve heard some variation of these words before. Usually spoken by someone born in the 60’s or 70’s. ‘Don’t trust anyone over 30’, Jack Weinberg said. And while this is a gross generalization, he sure was up to something. It’s like adults are so happy to finally be able to say what their parents said about them, and their grandparents in turn said about their parents, they forget how unfair it was to them then, and to us now. As if we are somehow responsible for everything wrong with the world. But what is going on with kids these days?

A feminist on the streets, a stereotype housewife between the sheets

Sex: a topic my friends and I discuss on a daily basis when we’re having dinner, in the queue, on the toilet, on the train.. actually, we talk  about sex almost everywhere. As the young, left and hip feminists we are, my friends and I are not ashamed talking about the exchange of bodily fluids. In fact, we feel liberated discussing our recent one night stands.  It’s a form of freedom us women have fought for and now it seems we are finally taking back the night, the morning and even the day (why not?).

One Hundred Years of Solitude on an unGodly Earth – part 1: the existential loneliness

Caution – I have not penned an ode to Gabriel García Márquez’ downright magnum opus (if you wish me to soft-soap this tremendous author in an abundance of superlatives, I’d gladly be your guest). Before you send me to the gallows, I might be able to offer you a Mad Tea Party as a substitute. The guest list consists of Alice, Frankenstein, and later on Brave New World’s cast and Nietzsche will join us. Caution again – a certain Hatter and March Hare are not invited to this kind of tea party.

Ink and prejudice

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve been awestruck by tattoos. I don’t know why, I don’t know how, I just know I immediately considered someone 100% cooler if I could find some ink somewhere on their skin. It might have been Wentworth Miller in Prison Break, it might have been Angelina Jolie in Wanted, it might have been just David Beckham in general. I honestly don’t know. What I do know is that I am absolutely in love with this beautiful form of self-expression. But not everyone is, apparently.

Rizzo: the Pink Lady we all secretly wanted to be

Rizzo is the ultimate bad girl and a heroine for many girls, including me. She isn’t shy about her sexual escapades, doesn’t back down when times get tough and her leading skills are worth a big round of applause

Letter to a Woman with a Child Never Born

Today, splendid Child, as I was frolicking in the delicate April breeze, I have plucked you from the meadow, your honeyed odours falling in drops on the musings of my heart, apple of my eye. You lay sleeping, slumbering, rolling in the soft dust your dreams are made of, curled up between the early tulips in tones of orange and coral and cherry-red, but I only had eyes for you, stroking your petals painted blackest of night, beautiful one. Yesterday, heavenly Child, the pear-shaped tears of March’s downpours mollifying my skin, I have taken you from your bed of flowers, without permission, you were breathing my name, chiming like a cascade of water falling to splinters on the creamy lake of my eardrums, my beloved. You mirrored me, the one who gifted you with life, save my fair locks of hair, since I crowned your blossoms, those divine little ringlets, in gold, and I rustled the name I have picked for you in the ruby-coloured rose field, the name that my body has been reverberating ever since they have planted the idea of you there, my darling.

Little Miss Sunshine as critique on neoliberalism

I can still remember the first time I saw Little Miss Sunshine. Let’s say I was still in my pre-adolescent phase: naive, innocent but already unknowingly influenced by the big beauty  industry. Every time my mother took me to the newsstand, I couldn’t help myself from secretly peeking at those glossy magazines with beautiful women on the front page. I was determined that, when I was grown up, I would be just like them: tall, slim, blond, a white smile, the perfect makeup , not a single roll, not a single milligram of fat would cover my body.

Diversity in a galaxy far, far away

Before you read this, I want to state, for the record, that The Force Awakens was fucking awesome. It was amazing in so many ways. I’ve spent way too much money on seeing it (several times) in the movie theatre, and I’ll gladly do it again. The plot was amazing and I cannot wait for Episode XIII. For you three of four poor souls who didn’t enjoy the gift that is Star Wars, it is best to turn away now, because this post will be one big fangirl moment.