Creative Projects by the University of Montpellier's Master Students in English Studies
My body has always been up for discussion. Before I even understood what “overweight” meant, remarks were already flying. Little jabs at family dinners, unsolicited advice, stares when I reached out for a second piece of cake. Early on, the world made it clear: my body was taking up too much space.
While studying late at night for the upcoming exams, Emily almost fell asleep with her textbooks spread on her desk, but stopped her eyes from closing and looked up. Right above her desk, a picture of her maternal grandmother was hung. Emily had always been close to her grandmother, Mary. She was the kind of grandmother who cooked delicious apple pies for her on the weekends and who took care of her when her parents worked. Mary had passed away a few years ago due to a heart attack, when Emily was only 17.
Continue reading “Grief”
Session 1
“So you work at a bookshop, if I remember correctly? It sounds like a nice job.”
“Yes, I guess. I don’t have a lot of responsibilities. I open and close according to schedule. I organize the shelves and I sell books. That’s pretty much it. I like that. And it’s quiet. Most customers just browse. Sometimes they ask me if I have read something. I’ll often say it’s good, even if I haven’t opened it.”
Continue reading “Therapy Sessions”Click on the QR code to access the Instagram account.
“My name’s Killa, and I’m ten. I live in a village named Quentena, on the Altiplano in Bolivia. My parents and my older brother grow potatoes. I help them on weekends, but I spend the rest of my time in the nearest boarding school. I leave the village every Monday morning before the sun rises. I walk with two other children to the big road where we wait for the bus. We walk one hour, and we ride one hour.
She could not remember living a day without experiencing some form of pain. Not to say that the pain was always unbearable; as a matter of fact, it rarely was. Bearing the pain had become part of it all. Sorrowfully, she came to accept pain as normal. She always believed that she was born to endure her condition, that she would endure it all of her life, sensing somehow that the pain could not be eluded, that it was part of her, immovable and unyielding.
Continue reading “Pain”
There was once, in medieval Scandinavia, a Viking warrior named Thrymur. He was the strongest amongst his people. Famous for his fighting ability, as he swung a giant sword that could cut through folk like wheat. Thrymur was by far the most capable warrior at Jarl Bjornsson’s disposal. The Jarl had sent him at the forefront of every single one of his raids across Norway.
Continue reading “Thrymur the Wise”
Donald W. Winnicott meets Elizabeth Badinter, but not in real life.
As Simone de Beauvoir famously posited, becoming a woman starts with the birth of the first child and is a life-long achievement. Becoming a mother starts at childbirth, and it never ends either. Once a child is born, mothers are expected to care for and educate them. The art of motherhood is complex, and women are often overwhelmed by the challenges it entails. Many they have somewhat mastered the art of motherhood only once their children are grown.
It’s five in the morning. It’s completely dark outside. Alexia is awake. She has barely slept. Should she try to sleep a little longer and wait for the sun to come up? She knows she can’t. She is far too excited. And nervous. It’s today.
