I think people imagine celebrity as a reward.
A finish line.
A summit.
Something that cures the wounds.
They're wrong.
Celebrity doesn't cure anything.
It simply enlarges what already exists.
If you're happy, it makes you euphoric.
If you're sad, it makes you miserable.
And if you're lost...
Then she misleads you even more.
The night I won the Victoire de la Musique for my last album, everyone congratulated me. Journalists. The producers. The artists. Fans. Even some people who had spent years criticizing me suddenly seemed to love me.
I was everywhere. On TV. On the Internet. In the papers. The radios were broadcasting my songs in loop. I was presented as a committed artist. A free woman. An important voice of my generation.
I was smiling. I was thanking you. I was standing in front of the photographers. I was doing exactly what I was expected to do.
Like a professional.
Like a star.
Like a lie.
Because in the end, that night, I had only one desire.
Call my grandmother.
Tell him:
- Grandma, did you see that?
Then wait till she answers me:
"Of course I saw it, my little one.
But Milenca was dead.
Three months.
Only three months.
And yet, I had the impression that several years had passed.
People often say that time softens things.
I never understood why.
For me, time was more like an acid.
Every day that passed, there was a little more absence.
My mother was dead when I was still a child.
I never knew my father.
And now, Milenca had left her turn.
For the first time in my life, I had no family.
No one to call.
No one to impress.
No one to make proud.
This thought crossed my mind at the very moment I was on stage. Under applause. In the spotlight. Under the screams.
I should have been happy.
I finally held what I had dreamed of for years.
And yet, I felt empty.
Terriblely empty.
When I came down from the stage, someone gave me a glass of champagne.
Then another one.
Then something else.
A habit that has become too easy.
A powder.
A pill.
A quick way to forget.
Or, at least, try.
I knew exactly what I was doing.
Contrary to what the newspapers say, people do not always fall into addictions out of ignorance. Sometimes they know perfectly. Sometimes they don't care. Sometimes they just need a few hours of respite.
I needed silence.
From a place where memories didn't chase me.
Then I was consuming.
Not every day.
Not yet.
But enough for it to cease to be exceptional.
Enough to make it normal.
And that was already worrying.
No one seemed to notice.
Or maybe everyone was pretending.
In this environment, as long as you are profitable, many things become invisible. The dark circles. Insomnia. Solitude. The drugs. Alcohol. Cocaine. It's empty. All this disappears behind the numbers. Sales. Rewards. Statistics. Contracts.
My public character was called The Unknown.
A name chosen years earlier.
At the time, I thought it was poetic.
Today, I found it ironic.
Because sometimes I didn't recognize myself anymore.
Fans saw a strong woman.
The journalists saw a committed artist.
The record companies saw a product.
Social networks saw an image.
What about me?
I saw a girl sitting alone in a hotel room.
A girl who had just won the greatest reward of her career.
A girl unable to share that moment with the only person who really mattered.
I slowly removed my makeup. Then my jacket. Then my jewels.
The mirror sent me back a tired face.
More tired than a woman my age should be.
Then I thought back to Milenca. To his last days. To her stories. To his almost obsessive need to tell over and over again his past. To this strange village story destroyed. From Kamino. Curse.
I remember thinking at the time:
- She's losing her mind.
Today, I was ashamed of that thought.
Because deep down, I didn't know.
I didn't know anything.
I didn't know what was true.
I didn't know what was wrong.
I only knew one thing.
I had won a Victory of Music.
And I would have exchanged this reward without hesitation for a last night with my grandmother.
Just one.
Just one.
To hear his voice again.
And so I don't feel so alone anymore.