• A la une,  Le Mag',  Littérature

    Baldwin à Paris

    A green moleskin reverberates in the chest pocket of my jacket. From the corners of its walls up the bridges of its binding, black soot crawls on its green plains, walking unnoticed. It is terribly old. Like hopeless hands clinging to pictures pasted on their plain damp walls, my diary puts up a brave face in its waning life. In its slow death and decay, it assumes the age-old belief that no one notices its wounds, that its pain and heartbreak—lie in disguise, only to realise that it’s truly not a phenomenal task to uncover wounds concealed. Impervious though wounds…

  • A la une,  Vie du campus

    Simone au Havre

    Segments of white glaring light seep past the grey shutters of my apartment. My phone hangs on to its finite battery. Reverberating, it slowly glides past my pillow onto the edge of the bed, crying out the 15 songs I have set as my wake up greetings. With the guffawing bellows of my fifth consecutive alarm simmering the living soul out of my phone, I am finally awake. Tip tap, Tip tap. Yawns subside as the alarm changes its tone. I stand up only to fall back again, these are sad efforts of a sleep-deprived student. I crisscross across the…