Three days ago I hopped on a plane, got on a train, then rode by car until I finally reached the top of a beautiful mountain. After what seemed an eternity on the road, my body could rest at last... My mind, however, was just getting started as I found myself completely entranced by the surroundings. It was as if the whole world had grown white, everywhere I went I could feel the power of the alps' white symphony. It does things to you, you know, being this close to the sky. When a village drowned in fog lays at your feet and tree tops covered in snow seem like small tidbits seen from your chalet's balcony, you suddenly become a part of the greater scheme. And how I longed to be a part of it all...
So off I took to meet others who, like me, payed their homage to Nature too. We were dressed as if on a expedition to Mars, breathing was slightly hard, but sliding through the mountains while the wind caressed our skin felt truly glorious. With every slide my confidence grew stronger and I couldn't help but sing in my head: "Oh Lord, what a blessed creature am I! Skiing in the French alps, surrounded by such transcendental beauty. I'm one of the chosen ones, I know I am." The truth is I got carried away, baby followers, yes I did. I felt I owned the mountain, the mountain's curves and all it's secrets until the top. I got cocky... and it takes only once.
After my first fall I never stopped falling. To my utter horror I suddenly went from gracious being of light to one of these people you point your finger at and laugh with no mercy. At one point I managed to fall five times in a row. Somehow I also fell on my back with the skis still on (from afar it looked like I was fighting capoeira against an invisible adversary) and I managed to get every single one of my inner layers wet. I almost went through a tree while trying not to run over people on the ski lift, fell really hard on my face, ate snow through my nostrils and couldn't bring myself to stand up for several minutes while really small children wearing helmets flew passed me. I cursed the big white mountain for the whore it really was, wished a violent fate to everybody who was on it, said the F word about 73 times, was this close to crying and left, well, feeling defeated.
But please don't worry (those of you who aren't extremely pleased). I'm OK now, after much meditation my bruised ego is back to normal and I've actually realised a couple of things. For one, it could have been worse, like my dear friend Marta who managed to almost break her vagina while snowboarding. And even though it feels like I was gang banged by a hoard of angry vikings and my ass has a bruise the size of a dark sun, even though I can't raise my arms or put on a sweater without help, I'm proud. Gang banged with precocious arthritis and a hernia - I am proud. Because I realised now that I'm made of sterner stuff. You wont see me giving up this easily, ha!, no you won't.
It's been six years since I've left home to come to this cold new world, there were loads of falls since then and my ego has been bruised many times more than I'd like to admit. But stay I did and after much fight I found my place in the sun. And even if my whole life turns out to be a metaphor for that horrible day, even if every time I feel blessed you somehow manage to slap me in the face, all I say is: Bring It On life, you diseased bitch. Lulu's ready for ya. Even though my bottom hurts my heart sings, louder. Much louder! And I'll keep on seeing beauty everywhere I go. So put that in your pipe and smoke, you French alps you.

PS.: The trip was great and I'd like to note that I had the best hosts a girl could ask for... They gave me lots of wine and cheese.