My falling star

Chapter 1 - The Life Before

"We survive for a long time before we truly begin to live."

I know what people say about me.
I'm the one they find closed off, hard to reach.
The one who keeps her distance.

But it isn't intentional.
It's just that I no longer really know how to do otherwise.

I protected myself—maybe for too long—and in trying to shield myself from the world, I ended up cutting myself off from it.

I'm afraid of the mirror. Afraid of what it reflects back at me.
Not only because of the image, but because of what I feel when I look at it.

That deep unease.
That discomfort—almost disgust—that I carry toward myself.

I've always struggled to accept what I see, and eventually, I even became afraid of it.
That gaze I turn on myself. That harsh, merciless judgment.

For a long time, I believed that this rejection came from others.
But no. Not only, at least.
It came from me.

I hated myself.
And I think that, deep down, I didn't even fully realize it.

I never knew how to love myself—or even tolerate myself.
So I stopped expecting anything from others.

What's the point of wanting to be accepted when you can't even accept yourself?

I ended up believing that my mere presence was a burden.
That I was in the way.

So I tried to erase myself.
To make as little noise as possible.
To never take up too much space.

I don't even know anymore if I wanted that life.
I think I was just there, without really knowing why.

I wandered in silence.

And yet, I was lucky.
I have good parents. Present. Loving.
But sometimes, other people's love isn't enough to heal what hurts inside.

I also had an anchor.
A fixed point.

An artist I discovered one evening in May 2008, on a talent show.
A singular human being.
Not just a stranger—no.

A guide. A light.

The one who saved me so many times that I stopped counting.

When everything around me turned dark, he was there.
His voice. His words. His very existence helped remind me that I was still alive.
That there was still something left to feel.

I had a few friends too.
Some sincere. Others less so.

With the first ones, I could breathe a little.
With the others, I wore a mask.

Because even if I didn't want to, I sometimes still believed that I had to be different in order to be accepted.
That being who I was simply wasn't enough.

As for love...
I always believed it wasn't meant for me.

Friendship had already hurt me so often—how could I open myself even more?
And who could truly love me, anyway?

No. That wasn't for me.
I had made peace with that idea.

So I lived my life without sparks.
Discreet. Faded.

So as not to disturb too much.
So as not to impose on others what I myself could no longer carry.

My name is Marine.
And everything I've just told you—that was before.

Before the shift.
Before the awakening.
Before that unexpected light.

Before I lifted my eyes and crossed paths, for the first time, with a shooting star.

That life from before—full of doubts, silences, and buried pain—had left me breathless.
With barely a glimmer of hope.
Distant. Blurred. Almost extinguished.

But sometimes, all it takes is a single spark to reignite everything else.

And I had no idea what was about to come.