If you read this, it means I reached the italian border. And it also means that you, my parents, deserve some further explanation.
I'm going to Antarctica on foot. This is something I made up my mind to three months ago. I don't want to die there, I don't want to die at all, and if things go wrong, I'll be back. For sure, all this roleplaying thing is involved, Mum and Dad. But that's not all. I always wanted to go. To go. And this is the big go.
I don't hate you, I don't despise you, and, as you're already aware of, my departure is no reaction to our latest arguments. I love you, and I will be back.
I gave you the adress of this blog only a month after I went, because you would have prevented me to do it otherwise, and because this would have meant nothing to me without any prior serious involvment, like a month walking and living the way I did.
I'll write this blog in english, because a few other people seemed to be interested in my trip, and they are not french.
Carole, Remy, please don't worry too much; we can now communicate. I mostly told all I secretly did to you, my sister, but this time, it would have been far too dangerous, sorry.