Memory lane

I found yesterday an old picture of myself and without realising it, I was crying looking at it.

This is an ID picture which was to be used for my student card. I was then 22 years old and still learning how to be in this new world of adulthood. I still had lots of anger from the previous decade, did not give a fuck about other people. I had no friends and didn’t want any, pushing people away, escaping social interactions. I realised now how hateful and lonely I was.

However, at the time of the picture, I was starting to enjoy life a bit more and specifically my growing independence: I loved my studies in art history that I took against my family advice, I was paying for it with the money I saved, I just purchased my car with the money I earned, I had moved in a new studio flat that I found, did all the paperwork for it. I was in charge and felt proud for the first time. A few months later after this picture was taken, we lost the matriarchal figure of the family and so I realised that better to realise my dream now than to wait. So, I took my bag and moved to London.

I knew no one there, had no job, no place to stay, not even a hotel booked for the first night, nothing. A few days before, I had convinced a guy to join me and meet me there but the truth is I was too mean to really care or pay attention to him. It was an escape and everything around felt like collateral. I managed to find a rent on the first day searching on gumtree website at the train station, got a job as a waitress in Mayfair the following day. After several months and good GBP in my pocket, I decided to come back to France to finish my beloved studies and help the family in need. Soon, Bordeaux and home felt small, so I ran away to the UK once again, more prepared this time.

Then, for the first time, I was free with no one on my back and no one to take care of. What a gift! So, I relaxed and even started to make friends for the first time in my life. I was 25.

I am now 36, almost 37, and gosh I have not done too bad considering.

So yes. I cried looking at my picture not because I miss my youth but because it marked what was a turning point in my life and makes me realised that yes, ‘I managed’ as I promised to myself I would. My life is pretty good now, but seeing myself at 22 years old, and I found myself missing a bit my hate, bold choices and careless attitude of then. Therefore this picture is a good reminder of who I was and therefore who I really am.

Rob Wynne, I Saw Myself See Myself, 2018 (Poured and mirrored glass)

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