Not all storms come to disrupt your life,
some come to clear your path. (Paulo Coelho)

A New World

What does The New World collectively evoke for us?
Christopher Columbus? A place where things are better? Happiness?
Discovery? A light that promises brighter tomorrows? A clear horizon?

Mouscron was certainly that new world,
where the promise of a better life seemed obvious.
But that new world was not in my neighborhood,
It was in La Coquinie,
the other side of town.

There, everything overflowed with freshness. There were blossoming trees, long alleys with wide sidewalks.
The houses were big.
They touched the sky.
They were surrounded by colorful gardens where children ran and shouted.
But it was for play.
They splashed each other with plastic water guns.
The adults read books. They talked to each other.

La Coquinie — that was Julie’s, Manon’s, Charlotte’s, Coco’s neighborhood. My friends. The “poulettes.”
All looking so much alike.
That was the new world.

My new world had nothing of La Coquinie.
Workers’ houses, narrow, lined up like onions.
The sky was tinted grey.
Long considered one of the most disadvantaged neighborhoods in the city of Mouscron — a city called ZONING.

I was adopted in the neighborhood called Le Nouveau Monde, 1h23 from Brussels.
When I crossed the threshold of house number 355 for the first time,
I felt the threat — danger brushing against my face.

This new creation seeks to question what adoption truly is,
and the fantasy it conveys — through the act of adopting,
through the color of adoption,
its context,
its territory.