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.
A ray of sunshine streams through my window, lighting up the white orchid sitting on the dining room table. I can hear the whistle of the song thrush, and the waves crashing on the sand. My hair is gradually changing colour, from grey to blonde, and my skin is taking on a rich golden tan. I put down my cup of herbal tea and look in the distance. I think about life, about who I am, everything I could have been, and what I have become.
My mother named me after a spring flower, Violet. My body expresses the colour of my emotions, like a chameleon blending into its surroundings.
This post is available in audio form, read and audiodescribed by the authors
Today Joan got in early and cut my hair. I like it straight and right under the ears. It always amazes me how good a hairdresser she is when she obviously never even trim her split ends. She is a strange scruffy young woman that one, but I like her. And I can no longer cut my own hair. My hands are so crooked and swollen, I can no longer take my rings off. Sometimes Joan massages my claw-like fingers with lotion. She says they feel like prayer beads under her smooth white fingertips. She is a cheeky young woman that one.
