(no subject)
I remember the poverty. Sleeping on a bare mattress on the floor in an empty room at my father's new house, like a young squatter. There were flattened cardboard boxes under the mattress, which I used to draw on with little sticks of coloured chalk. Practicing writing my name in three languages, drawing flowers and trees. When the chalk went down to stubs, I'd push them around the cardboard with the tips of my fingers. The room was completely bare, and each piece of furniture was bought with great financial difficulty, rare and with time in between. I remember sleeping on the ground with a huge, new, bright white and pink wardrobe towering over me, empty because I only brought the clothes on my back.