Pictures of us || BWS, The Vamps

1 | sometimes It rains in L.A.

"sometimes it rains in l.a.
it can't be perfect every day
come here with chances of hard rains
the skies were bluer yesterday"

August 31, 2014, somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean

Alex

As the immensity of the ocean unfolds before my eyes, the first notes of Do I Wanna Know? by Arctic Monkeys ring in my ears. Nothing exists around me anymore, there is only this wonderful blue expanse that I see through the window, and the delicious chords of an electric guitar. The sun is starting to rise and it makes the sky look like paradise: the colors are magnificent, inhuman, too pure to be real.

Nothing can pull me out from my daydream, except perhaps the robotic voice of the captain:

"We will soon start our descent to London! The temperature there is twelve degrees and we are greeted by a light rain. We hope you had a pleasant trip. All the team of British Airwaves hopes to see you again as soon as possible!" end the robotic voice coming out of the loudspeakers.

Twelve degrees? Until now, the only twelve degrees I knew were in December in Los Angeles! And to think that it's only September... All this announces a freezing winter. But I must admit that I'm happy about this: I'm delighted to find a little freshness. I am also - and especially - delighted to be able to say goodbye to those pesky mosquitoes!

Anyway, I have to explain to you what I am doing on this plane to London.

When I was six years old, my parents got divorced. Well, so far, you'll think "nothing special". But what is more delicate, it is that their divorce went extremely badly.

After months of being called to court and after having solicited a good dozen different lawyers, it was finally over. However, I was young and I don't remember precisely this period of my life - only a very unpleasant memory remains. Unfortunately, this is not the case for my older brother: he was eight years old when the war was declared and I can assure you that he was at the heart of this conjugal conflict.

Eventually, my father decided to move to California while my mother stayed in our home in England. The long distance between our parents forced the judges to make a choice: one child would have to live with the mother and the other would have to follow the father. My older brother stayed with her and I followed my father to the United States.

For the first few years, our parents cut off all communication between us and I never heard from James, my older brother.

But on his tenth birthday, he burst into tears. He said he wanted to see his sister and that the situation was terribly unfair. When my mother, Isabelle, saw her son's devastated expression, she gave in and contacted my father, George.

I will always remember the horrified look on my father's face when he saw my mother's name on his phone. He was so upset that he grabbed his jacket and left the house. I think he went to the beach next to our house. It's a relaxing place, where I liked to spend my days, and from his reaction to my mom's call, he needed to get some fresh air. He came back an hour later with a serious look on his face and asked me to come sit on the couch because he had something very important to tell me.

That's how I ended up, every year during the month of July, at my mother's house. To balance things out, James would come every August to stay with us in California. So, I could spend the whole summer with my brother!

However, the eighteen-year-old girl I am now is passionate about photography, and guess what? (Can you feel it coming?) I got accepted into a photographic art school in the big city near my mom's house! So, it's only fitting that I move in with her.

That's how I ended up in this plane.

Applause brings me out of my thoughts: we have apparently finally arrived on English soil. I never understood why people applaud the pilot as soon as the plane lands. Is it to say "Thank you for not crashing and killing the three hundred people on board"? It's a good thing he doesn't crash every time, it's his job after all! I'm sorry, I'm getting lost.

I got out of the plane, collected my luggage and headed towards what seemed to be the exit of this labyrinth of corridors. My mother is supposed to be waiting for me somewhere around here.

I have barely reached the exit when my attention is directed to a high-pitched voice that I haven't heard in nearly two months: "Alex! We are here!"

My mother takes me in her arms and whispers in my ear in a tone worthy of the greatest dramatic films: "Welcome to your new life my dear."