I was born on April the 6th of 1991, at 11:15am. I'm not sure of the exact day, maybe Saturday or Monday I don't know which one. I strictly don't remember none of my early infancy. Obviously. My mum is called Lié Okuzumi, she was born over Paris. She's totally Japenese. Daughter of Hiroshi and Kazuko Okuzumi. From her 19 she is subjected to Schizophrenia and Bipolarisation. She's always loved me though. Always. My dad left before I was born. I've been told he is (was?) called Alain Perez, something like Spanish then. He was very young when I was born, about 18. So I don't have any father.
I lived one year with my mother, she had a boyfriend who wanted to recognize myself as his daughter. He's been rejected. My mum is the most talented person I've ever met. She may be medically crazy she is my model in my life. She started piano very young and she did art school. She was a singer in a choir, and she could have made a wonderful pianist career. She's able to draw, paint, color everything she wants. She sings very well, composes, creates life from her hands. She has the hands of God. By giving me birth, by leaving me out of her private life, she gave me the most wonderful heritage. A bit of her hands.
As I said she didn't have any other choice than leaving me away from her and the danger she was being. I lived one year in a kind of orphan. Not far from where I'm writing right now. I have no memories of this. Just some pictures. I was receiving visit very regularly, by a nice and big family. The Bailleul. Jean-Paul and Florence. Their sons Aurélien, Victoric, Augustin and their daughter Constance. Knowing my mother, they wanted to help her and taking the place of the sixth child they've always dreamed about. I wish I could have a feeling about these scenes. But I don't have any. Nothing.
At about two years old. It's at this time I moved to my new place, my new family, my new story. A dog, named Blacky. A big house in a tiny village called Figanières, where I've been raised the first year of my life. A new room I was sharing with my brother, then another one with my sister. Chips, steak and green beans. This is what was my first meal. In a high white child chair. I've been declared as bulimic, or kind of this. Stupidity, I was just replacing the confusion I had with food.
I was seeing my mother very regularly, as always, as ever. Even though she was multiplying trips to the psychatric hospital. I entered the nursary school at two years old and a half. Just to see, and finally integrated it at three.This is my furthest clear memory. First day at school. Torn. Torn out. Me with my little arms over my mom's waist covered by tears and Nathalie, my teacher, pulling me down my feet. I remember the cramps I got all day long, bent in the corner of the room. I remember these screaming colors outside on the tunnel, the slides, the rocking chairs, the same colors inside with the castels, the numbers carpets, the cubes...
My first friend. Marlène. The one who will be by my side for so long. From first day at school until today, still. Third year of nursery school, still too fat, too young and too lost. I was already too smart, too mature and too complicated. Reading, writing, at five years old none of these things had secret for me. At five years old I also started music, piano and catechism with Mr Lompré. Then Anna, my neighbour and my amazing friend.
Six years old, entering the primary school. Learning to read with Mme Rémy, in the corner of the library. Getting bored sat down, doing other exercises. Parents and teacher discussing a year skipping. At about this time I had my first boyfriend, Henry, my mom's god son, who I was kissing behind the doors not to be seen.
I finally ended up by skipping the second year of primary school. And like this I went until the fifth year.
Fifth year, the last one. Grown up. Still lost though. A new friend, Julie. Julie, sweet name, sweet person. Nathalie's daughter. Still by my side, by my heart. Fifth year, the end of the children court.
Entering the secondary school. In Draguignan, Collège Emile Thomas. 6°2 exactly. First serious questions. Menstruations. Friends who come and go. First bra. Second year, 5°4, about 13 years old. First pretty serious boyfriend, Aurélien. First in music. Still learning piano and going to the church. Third year, we switch school. Back in my village. 4°2, Italian, will of being a vet, liking math, music and art. That's it. 14 years Thomas, my first love. True love. Last year of secondary school, awesome friends. Last year of Latin, Robin as classmate, choices for highschool. It'll be Litterature program, with drama as major. Desire to speak English more than present. Omnipresent. One month in England. Ludovic, first time.
Entering highschool. Big children's court. Draguignan, again. Lycée Jean Moulin. Drama. Still piano. Bored of church, doesn't beleive in it anymore anyway. First year. The most aweful. Trying to socialize and change my minds through sports. After tennis, dance, gymnastic, swimming, badminton it will be track and field. I like it but don't have any talent. Aweful year. End of Thomas. End of illusions. End of myself. Kind of depression, the world is spinning in the wrong way and I'm losing myself in everything and anything. Actually, in nothing. A big nothing. Steven. Another nothing.
Autisming myself in drama, music, drawing. No idea of a future. No will, nothing. Self problems, I'm helping myself in the hole of the too much. Leading to nothing. Start of responsabilities, awesome. Mum's going very bad. A serious boyfriend who has serious troubles. A first night in an appartment that ends up with table, chairs and hands shoot. Frightened. Re orientation to art school. Rejection by passing the second year. Manue, so precious, the beginning.
The second year. The sun after the clouds. Alexandre, Renaud. Jerks. Julien, a waste of story, time and feeling. New Year's Eves, partys, birthdays, weddings... Exams. French oral and writing, math, biology, chemistry, TPE. Only shit, but passing pretty bravely. July, Maud. Vacations with Mom, dad and Auntie Pascale. Visiting all the French west coast. Attractions parks, tiny village. The last vacations like that. Savouring the love of my family. Eating shrimps the feet in the Atlantic.
Last year of highschool. The most important one. Clément. Philosophy with Mr Parlant. Grégory. Oh my god this name is still sore sometimes. Grégory, love, friendship and passion. The perfection, physically and mentally. The best personality ever. Clearing up my life. Helping me out. Last year of highschool, a big summer sun. Exam passed with a nice mention. Grégory, the hope of perfect life. But perfection is boring. Perfection just squish you down. Perfection is sore. First work, waitress in a military resort in the Alps. Money making, happiness making. Just a few months before the Canada. This huge plan. Work, the time I left my home. I knew it would have been for ever. It would have been the end. Florian. Co habitation, a very good experience. Not on the same point of view. Prefering freedom. And then some stories just roamming in front of my appartment. Poker nights, alcoholic breakfast and music blind tests with Toto, the Caliente lame nightclubs full of Nutella battle.
Canada. August 27th. Canada, for ten months. Pure aventure. Perfection biting you down again. Laura Secord Secondary Highschool. It's painful. I'm tired. Sue and Bryan. Abby. Elin, oh dear, Elin my love, my help. Secord, the most aweful school I experienced in my life. Low level, nobody talking to me, the same state as all the summer camps I did since I was four. Four months to get out this hell. Healing step by step. Losing perfection again. Robbie. Not perfect. Robbie, a character a help and an amazing crush. Four months trying to work out this thing. Jean and Sofi. January 17th. Tyler. Sweet man, one of my only Canadian friends. Maybe the only one actually. Robbie. Definately. Robbie, and Sammy. Robbie and Terri and Jim. Robbie and Goldsmith Ave. Robbie and all the love he gives me. Just Robbie. Canada. Secord, two exams, 88.8%, award of excellence, one award in Tourism, two awards in Art. Bullshit.
Back home. Sweet souvenirs. Year book. Farewell party. Torn again.
Home, mum's appartment, cashier at Carrefour, spending my life with July, dreaming about Robbie.
My name is Angélique Okuzumi and I am finally nothing but a dust in the universe, as anyone of us. I am today eighteen years, three months and nineteen days old. And throughout my past life I am still the same. I am still this girl with curves on her body, I still see my mum regularly who is still sick. I still have the same friends and I thank them for that. I'm still loving English and every other language. I'm still working out my life. I'm succeeding in life. There are still the exact same thing. Friendship. Love. Piano. Art.
I lived one year with my mother, she had a boyfriend who wanted to recognize myself as his daughter. He's been rejected. My mum is the most talented person I've ever met. She may be medically crazy she is my model in my life. She started piano very young and she did art school. She was a singer in a choir, and she could have made a wonderful pianist career. She's able to draw, paint, color everything she wants. She sings very well, composes, creates life from her hands. She has the hands of God. By giving me birth, by leaving me out of her private life, she gave me the most wonderful heritage. A bit of her hands.
As I said she didn't have any other choice than leaving me away from her and the danger she was being. I lived one year in a kind of orphan. Not far from where I'm writing right now. I have no memories of this. Just some pictures. I was receiving visit very regularly, by a nice and big family. The Bailleul. Jean-Paul and Florence. Their sons Aurélien, Victoric, Augustin and their daughter Constance. Knowing my mother, they wanted to help her and taking the place of the sixth child they've always dreamed about. I wish I could have a feeling about these scenes. But I don't have any. Nothing.
At about two years old. It's at this time I moved to my new place, my new family, my new story. A dog, named Blacky. A big house in a tiny village called Figanières, where I've been raised the first year of my life. A new room I was sharing with my brother, then another one with my sister. Chips, steak and green beans. This is what was my first meal. In a high white child chair. I've been declared as bulimic, or kind of this. Stupidity, I was just replacing the confusion I had with food.
I was seeing my mother very regularly, as always, as ever. Even though she was multiplying trips to the psychatric hospital. I entered the nursary school at two years old and a half. Just to see, and finally integrated it at three.This is my furthest clear memory. First day at school. Torn. Torn out. Me with my little arms over my mom's waist covered by tears and Nathalie, my teacher, pulling me down my feet. I remember the cramps I got all day long, bent in the corner of the room. I remember these screaming colors outside on the tunnel, the slides, the rocking chairs, the same colors inside with the castels, the numbers carpets, the cubes...
My first friend. Marlène. The one who will be by my side for so long. From first day at school until today, still. Third year of nursery school, still too fat, too young and too lost. I was already too smart, too mature and too complicated. Reading, writing, at five years old none of these things had secret for me. At five years old I also started music, piano and catechism with Mr Lompré. Then Anna, my neighbour and my amazing friend.
Six years old, entering the primary school. Learning to read with Mme Rémy, in the corner of the library. Getting bored sat down, doing other exercises. Parents and teacher discussing a year skipping. At about this time I had my first boyfriend, Henry, my mom's god son, who I was kissing behind the doors not to be seen.
I finally ended up by skipping the second year of primary school. And like this I went until the fifth year.
Fifth year, the last one. Grown up. Still lost though. A new friend, Julie. Julie, sweet name, sweet person. Nathalie's daughter. Still by my side, by my heart. Fifth year, the end of the children court.
Entering the secondary school. In Draguignan, Collège Emile Thomas. 6°2 exactly. First serious questions. Menstruations. Friends who come and go. First bra. Second year, 5°4, about 13 years old. First pretty serious boyfriend, Aurélien. First in music. Still learning piano and going to the church. Third year, we switch school. Back in my village. 4°2, Italian, will of being a vet, liking math, music and art. That's it. 14 years Thomas, my first love. True love. Last year of secondary school, awesome friends. Last year of Latin, Robin as classmate, choices for highschool. It'll be Litterature program, with drama as major. Desire to speak English more than present. Omnipresent. One month in England. Ludovic, first time.
Entering highschool. Big children's court. Draguignan, again. Lycée Jean Moulin. Drama. Still piano. Bored of church, doesn't beleive in it anymore anyway. First year. The most aweful. Trying to socialize and change my minds through sports. After tennis, dance, gymnastic, swimming, badminton it will be track and field. I like it but don't have any talent. Aweful year. End of Thomas. End of illusions. End of myself. Kind of depression, the world is spinning in the wrong way and I'm losing myself in everything and anything. Actually, in nothing. A big nothing. Steven. Another nothing.
Autisming myself in drama, music, drawing. No idea of a future. No will, nothing. Self problems, I'm helping myself in the hole of the too much. Leading to nothing. Start of responsabilities, awesome. Mum's going very bad. A serious boyfriend who has serious troubles. A first night in an appartment that ends up with table, chairs and hands shoot. Frightened. Re orientation to art school. Rejection by passing the second year. Manue, so precious, the beginning.
The second year. The sun after the clouds. Alexandre, Renaud. Jerks. Julien, a waste of story, time and feeling. New Year's Eves, partys, birthdays, weddings... Exams. French oral and writing, math, biology, chemistry, TPE. Only shit, but passing pretty bravely. July, Maud. Vacations with Mom, dad and Auntie Pascale. Visiting all the French west coast. Attractions parks, tiny village. The last vacations like that. Savouring the love of my family. Eating shrimps the feet in the Atlantic.
Last year of highschool. The most important one. Clément. Philosophy with Mr Parlant. Grégory. Oh my god this name is still sore sometimes. Grégory, love, friendship and passion. The perfection, physically and mentally. The best personality ever. Clearing up my life. Helping me out. Last year of highschool, a big summer sun. Exam passed with a nice mention. Grégory, the hope of perfect life. But perfection is boring. Perfection just squish you down. Perfection is sore. First work, waitress in a military resort in the Alps. Money making, happiness making. Just a few months before the Canada. This huge plan. Work, the time I left my home. I knew it would have been for ever. It would have been the end. Florian. Co habitation, a very good experience. Not on the same point of view. Prefering freedom. And then some stories just roamming in front of my appartment. Poker nights, alcoholic breakfast and music blind tests with Toto, the Caliente lame nightclubs full of Nutella battle.
Canada. August 27th. Canada, for ten months. Pure aventure. Perfection biting you down again. Laura Secord Secondary Highschool. It's painful. I'm tired. Sue and Bryan. Abby. Elin, oh dear, Elin my love, my help. Secord, the most aweful school I experienced in my life. Low level, nobody talking to me, the same state as all the summer camps I did since I was four. Four months to get out this hell. Healing step by step. Losing perfection again. Robbie. Not perfect. Robbie, a character a help and an amazing crush. Four months trying to work out this thing. Jean and Sofi. January 17th. Tyler. Sweet man, one of my only Canadian friends. Maybe the only one actually. Robbie. Definately. Robbie, and Sammy. Robbie and Terri and Jim. Robbie and Goldsmith Ave. Robbie and all the love he gives me. Just Robbie. Canada. Secord, two exams, 88.8%, award of excellence, one award in Tourism, two awards in Art. Bullshit.
Back home. Sweet souvenirs. Year book. Farewell party. Torn again.
Home, mum's appartment, cashier at Carrefour, spending my life with July, dreaming about Robbie.
My name is Angélique Okuzumi and I am finally nothing but a dust in the universe, as anyone of us. I am today eighteen years, three months and nineteen days old. And throughout my past life I am still the same. I am still this girl with curves on her body, I still see my mum regularly who is still sick. I still have the same friends and I thank them for that. I'm still loving English and every other language. I'm still working out my life. I'm succeeding in life. There are still the exact same thing. Friendship. Love. Piano. Art.
