This was originally published on 20 February 2023 on my blog called The Anchor Within (theanchorwithin.blog).
I am someone who feels a lot. I can sense the emotions in a neighbourhood, and I can taste the emotions in a room. For me, they are like a strong perfume – I don’t only feel someone’s stress, I live it. It’s why I often seek places where I can be alone, completely.
Before I moved into the village of Valbonne, I didn’t realise that I was this much of a sensitive person. I had spent the majority of my young adult life numbing myself from feeling anything. Alcohol and lots of money were very helpful in that regard… but I wasn’t able to have much of either by the time I arrived in France. So at this time, I couldn’t numb myself anymore… and so everything suddenly hit me like a pile of bricks. Many of my nights were sleepless. I was having trouble living in an apartment in a small village, close to the lives of other people. Although the village may look picture perfect to many tourists, the reality is that real people with real lives, and real stresses, live there.
People who work in the tourism industry have to show up for work on the days when others are taking a break, and what’s more, they have to do it with a smile. Some people find this is a wonderful way to live life and serve others, but how many struggle to find the time to serve themselves? I hadn’t realised it at the time, but I was finding it difficult and a little overwhelming to live in this situation. After all, I thought I had wanted to belong somewhere… didn’t I? I tried to numb myself again.
Luckily, I had developed a few good habits and one place I always used to go for protection was the church at the bottom corner of the village. I would not consider myself to be religious, but in that church it was so peaceful. The energy there was clean and clear, and it was often empty with only a few flames flickering from the candles standing beside the nave.
One evening I was there late, and had heard sounds coming from the side entrance of the church. It was the middle of summer, and the festival of music was happening, so I assumed that it was just something to do with that. A little girl then walked up to the candle station, lit a candle and sat down on the bench behind me. As she passed, we exchanged a smile. The church was open but dark, with only a few stained glass windows to let in the dim light of the day, and so the smallest sounds had a strong echo. I heard the little girl shuffle into her seat. I bowed my head and remained silent. Sinking into the wooden bench, trying to remain invisible. Not long after, she leaned forward and whispered something to me in French.
My heart jumped. I didn’t know how to speak French properly. It stressed me out to try and communicate with someone who didn’t know any English… because there would inevitably be awkward silences and confusion. But when I spoke to her, she seemed to understand. She then came around and sat next to me, and told me, I think, that she had lit the candle for her grandmother who had passed away. I tried to continue with my broken French, and told her that she was a brave little girl. Our clunky conversation continued. She decided in that moment, that she would take it upon herself to teach me some French. I was happy to be her student.
She started with her name – Adele. What a beautiful name.
I took out my notebook and gave her the pen. We started to do sums together. I learned numbers, and things like… why I should bring my lips into a perfect circle to pronounce the “u” in the word huit, because the “h” was silent. I don’t know how much time passed, but it started to get dark outside and the noise from beside the church now turned into music. There seemed to be a rehearsal going on. We continued our lesson, with Adele now using the candle station as a teaching tool.
The atmosphere was magical. The summer night’s heat was hanging in the air, tempered by the coolness of the medieval stone walls. The lights were dim, straining to reach the bottom of the floor from the corners of the ceiling, and the glow of the candles were almost reaching up to meet the lights part of the way. The music of the rehearsal billowed in through the doors and seeped into the cracks in the floor, rising up majestically to the top of the building and down again, in waves. I felt as if I was somehow stepping back in time.
Then there was Adele, like a fire dancer she twirled a burning stick around the rails of the candle station… blowing the candles out and relighting them. Her tiny voice trying to rise above the music, so I could hear her. She told me that bougie was the word for candle, and brûler was the word to describe what she was doing to them. She then started to pick up new candles intending to burn each of them, and as she did that I swiftly took them out of her hand and put them back. I didn’t want to pay for all of these new candles… and she found this extremely funny. So we continued the dance of exchanging candles with each other. I guess I just wanted to do the right thing. To do the right thing… how many times have those words actually gotten me into more trouble than less?
At some point another lady about my age walked towards us and started to apologise to me, as if Adele was bothering me. I replied that it was much to the contrary. However, it was late, and it was time to go home. As they left, Adele organised with me that I was to be at the church the next day at 5pm – ready for the next lesson.
…
The next day came, and I was at the church by 5pm. I’d had a good day, as I’d gone on a date with a nice man to little village nearby, named Gourdon. It was a wonderful, peaceful experience for me, and I felt that sitting in a bit of silence allowed me to soak it all in. About five minutes later, I hear Adele come in. She apologised for being late, and I smiled that she thought it was necessary to apologise.
We continued our lesson, this time only with my notepad and a pen, and without the intervention of fire (thank goodness). She tested me on what we had gone through the day before, and I think that I may have passed with flying colours.
It was not long this time, until another lady joined us. Adele’s mother. She was directing a play that was going to be performed that night, that is what all the music beside the church was about. This woman was gorgeous. She stood before me speaking perfect English, stylish and confident. I was a little in awe that she was able to bring everything for the performance together, and that her daughter got to experience something so artistic at such a young age. So different from my life. Adele’s mother invited me to have an ice cream with them, as a way of saying thank you. So we walked and talked around the village centre, and I came to know more about their story. She invited me to see the play, even though I didn’t know very much French.
Later that evening, I decided to go.
I arrived minutes before the play began, and saw Adele sitting at the front with her friends. I had decided not to disturb her and instead found a spot in the back corner. Out of sight, just how I liked it. The music started to play and the actors started to recite their poetry… all the while the night grew darker. The play was about Jean de la Fontaine, and although I didn’t understand a word I could see that it involved sickness, despair, love and passion. I could not listen well, but I could feel it.
After the play had finished, I managed to catch Adele’s eye before she rushed off. She said to me crossly, in the most perfect English I had heard from her until that moment “You were here the whole time?” I nodded. “Why didn’t you sit with me at the front?” She ran towards me and gave me a big hug, and said good night.
As I walked back to my apartment that night, I started to wonder for the first time… maybe some people didn’t want me to be hidden? Maybe they actually did want to see me.
Sometimes it just takes a moment in the presence of someone younger than you to realise that maybe, maybe you matter more to the world than you originally thought you did.
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