My name is Aurelie.

I am young, uncertain, and unaware of what is happening in the world around me. I live in the countryside, surrounded by my sisters and brother, feeling the love I receive from my parents warming my heart. It is peaceful here. It is quiet here, apart from the singing birds and the leaves rustling in the wind. I do not feel lonely, but I do feel alone. Where am I?

Then I am eight and ten years old, eighteen years young. I become critical, aware of the dangers I read about. Every week I travel by train to the city, far away from the countryside. There I study journalism, overwhelmed by waves of information. I surf murky waters with a camera in one hand and a microphone in the other. It is busy here. It is loud here, and they deserve to be loud. Words blow around my ears. I don't feel alone, but I do feel lonely. What am I doing?

Twenty-one is still young, they say. But I have already been critical, asked questions, and received answers. I have lived in several places, traveled, studied, and received a piece of paper congratulating me. Doesn't that make me old? Shouldn't I know better by now? More questions, this time I avoid responding. I study photography instead. Not out of denial, but out of desire. I surround myself with strangers, swim through stories in a sea of creativity. Another camera in one hand that also rests in my other. It's busy here. It's quieter there. Somewhere it's silent, somewhere else I hope it will be loud. People talk. Images speak. I don't feel alone or lonely.

Where are you?