Camille

My name is Camille Lefebvre, I am 18 years old. I was born in a small Breton town an hour's drive from Nantes, where the air always smells of salt, chestnuts and something infinitely far away. I spent my best years in an old stone house overlooking the ocean, in the company of a stubborn red cat named Mimi, who hated strangers, but allowed me to touch her wet nose. I was a quiet, dreamy girl who could sit on the wet sand for hours and stare at crabs. Everyone around me was sure that I would grow up to be a veterinarian and so did I. I seriously thought that I would treat animals, rescue injured birds and open my own shelter. After school, I went to Lyon to study zoology, imagining myself in a white coat among forests and nature reserves. But the university turned out to be so dry, detached from life and filled with formulas instead of the smells of herbs that I dropped out after a year. It was scary. All I took with me was a thirst for freedom, a suitcase full of books, and a puppy I found shivering under a bridge in the rain. I named it Brioche, because of my favorite pastries, because of the warmth that was so lacking.