As the sun is painting his shadows on our skins, Cal and I sit on a bench in the Meadows. Imagining life with colours from the seventies, collections of grainy images, people laughing. Some kissing like a far away carousel we are indifferent to for our conversation holds us in a world of our own. We are having this wonderful moment that bounds all female friendships, this moment we tell each other about our loves, the story we carry in our heart with scars made of honey. Scars we lick sometimes to taste sugar memories. She reads my first true love letter written a few days ago, she sings about her near death experience and that moment she woke up to the poison of her relationship. Everything turns around our little bench in slow motion, catching glimpses of our confidence when our laughters interrupt its flow.
Cal is this powerful soul made of too many talents to name them all. Renowned for creating a safe environment for the queer community in the science world, she writes and sings with her ukulele, evolving from a gig to another, getting recognised by her idol Amanda Palmer while grabbing her coffee, dancing in her Audrey Hepburn burgundy skirt or Liberty pants, playing her flowery piano in pink lights for her friends. She is a sunrise colour palette, perfectionist, authentic, raw and infinitely warm. As she speaks about what it means to her to embrace this goddess-like feminity, she does not realise how her words connect me to my own feminine desires. Listening to her words is like an awakening, turning our vulnerability into the purest form of strenght. Inspired by Colette and Simone de Beauvoir, we talk about how powerful women had to explore their power first, and grow, how they became strong after they got broken. As a young woman who has shut herself down many times when I should have raised, this statement about becoming a powerful female rather than being born one, is essential for it gives us the ability to change and grow out of these restrictive patterns we are expected to obey. Cal inspires my inner Elizabeth Bennet.
Writing these words, one song echoes on the walls of the little café where I recall my afternoon encounter: Dis Quand Reviendras-Tu. Valse mélancolique forever bound to Cal and her soul made of springtime lullabies and sensual dreams.