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Have you ever wonder why it is so hard to celebrate your own accomplishments? Why you always feel so bad to say “I am proud of who I am”, “I did amazing just there”, “I deserve to celebrate myself”? If you are like me, it is more easy to celebrate others- prepare surprises and give lavish presents- then it is to spoil yourself once in a while. It is almost as if success was bringing guilt at the same time. I am wrapping my 10th year in the VFX industry, this month. In these years, I manage my way up from a junior rigger to a 6-figures CgSupervisor -before my 30s. I should be proud. I am. It just still feels weird to say it out loud. ​ 3 years ago, I had a skateboard accident. I broke my right hip in several pieces, had surgery and had to learn back how to walk. The recovery took about 6 months and scared the shit out of me. I still hear the doctor voice saying how lucky I was to broke my hip and not my back. How lucky I was to be able to walk again. We often take all of this for granted. We get wrapped so deep into our day-to-day lives, pushing our dreams to tomorrow -every day- until one day we wake up and tomorrow is gone. This accident gave me a slap in the face. I had achieve my professional goals, but it’s like I just gave up there and pushed my other dreams to this unattainable tomorrow. Like if I wasn’t worthy of making ALL my dreams possible.  ​ That accident put back everything in perspective. Work was great, but this wasn’t all I had dream of. This was just one goal amongst so many others. It was time for me to make something happen. I decided to bring back to life my most craziest dream of all: Leaving everything to travel the world. Now, I just had to make this dream become reality. I started to plan slowly but things change drastically after a dinner with my friend Guillaume.  He said something that to this day has changed my mentality and has make this dream possible, I’m sure.  “If you don’t do one action a day towards your goal, is it really your goal?” I don’t know why, but it resonated so deeply within me that the next day I started a google sheet with one action to do each day towards making this Round the World happen. I set the start date to October 2021 and I broke down in categories all that I had to do to be ready by that date. The pandemic pushed this trip one year further, but this only made it fancier and more complete.  Today is November 3rd 2022. I am leaving for 6 months, in 5 days. I will be travelling alone, to 14 countries on 5 continents. I am proud of who I am and I am proud of being able to make my dreams come true.  I will be celebrating myself without a fucking ounce of guilt and I invite you to follow me if that can inspire you to achieve your dreams too :)  Let’s the adventure begin!  zombiekillerRTW



I arrived in Tokyo after a 13 hour flight that was not even three-quarter full. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but I would later realize that the level of tourist in Japan is still very very low. My flight landed at 15H45, Japan time. The first thing that struck me was the efficiency at the airport: it legit took me 10 min to be out of the custom and ready to jump into my next challenge- getting to my Hotel. But even this turned out pretty easy as everything was so clearly announced.

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So I got drunk by accident at the airport. I went for my last japanese sushis and ordered a glass of lemon sour thinking it was like lemonade and to my defence- It did taste like lemonade. But it was in fact pure soju (a strong and dangerous alcool tasting exactly like juice). I only noticed when i stood up -and after googling if you could get drunk from eating too many sushis. I was early at the airport because my hotel check-out was at 11 -so I had time to wait it out before the flight.

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“Hold your bags”, the driver of my tuktuk tells me in a broken english. As of the rest of Asia, Cambodia is known for bag snatching travellers. I wave at him, sure sure. I guess I did well, looking like I’m a traveller. He doesn’t know what I have done. He doesn’t know that I’m a fugitive. I can’t believe I managed to escape the fucking FBI. I’m sitting at the back of this tuktuk in Cambodia, riding through the night in direction of my hotel in Phnom Penh -and no one will ever know I was here.

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For as long as I can remember, i never wanted to have kids. I always envisioned my futur full of travels, new experiences, tons of friends and animals, a job I love and my soulmate by my side. That, I knew I wanted it. But having kids was never part of my goals. Actually, as the years passed -not having them became one of the goal.

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I arrived in Singapore early PM, after a flight I haven’t even noticed taking off. I slept through all the journey, the moment my ass sat on the seat. It was sunny and hot when I came out of the airport. I took a taxi to what I knew would be one of the most luxurious stays of my life: Marina Bay Sands. At the check-in, I made the receptionist laugh and she granted me a room upgrade because of it. I was put on the last room-floor, on a suite with a view on the harbour. I felt like a rich ass biatch.

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Im here on the toilet thinking about all the possible cause that led me to this very moment. Is it the 27 mosquito bites i got in Phi Phi? The guy that sat next to me on the plane from Singapore (he asked to be moved to a row near the toilet cause he wasnt feeling good)? The questionable tuna i had in a poke bowl on the beach, my first night in Canggu?

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I arrived in Australia after two flights that were so noisy they confirmed even more my lack of wanting kids. There was a row of three absolute monsters banging, yelling and throwing things on the plane’s corridor and although I wanted to be pissed off at their mom for just sitting there doing nothing - seeing the emptiness in her eyes made me think that she had just reached a point of no return.

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South Africa


I had two very long flights to arrive in Cape Town. My first one turned out to be perfect- i had the whole row to myself. I was able to sleep a few hours and watch two horror movies: a very productive journey, as you can imagine. My second flight was more packed but the lady sitting next to me made it as enjoyable. She was an Aussie farmer with few relatives living in South Africa and she gave me great insight on where to go and what to see while I was in town.

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I arrived in Giza about 30 min late, due to a flight delay. I was about to learn very quickly that Egyptian run on another clock system. 5 Egyptian’s minutes are roughly equal to an hour of normal time. As usual, once I retrieved my backpack, I found a kiosk to buy a sim card. What took about 5 minutes in every single countries I’ve been to so far, ended up taking an hour and a half, here. So now, I was out of the airport with about two hours of delay -which didn’t look good as my hotel was supposed to pick me up.

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I arrived in Marrakesh with a sudden belief in Allah -I had almost missed my transfer in Casablanca, my first flight being late. I ended up being escorted in a private van to the airplane door, on the tarmac. “We were about to leave without you”, the pilot told me. The flight was about 30 minutes and I passed them all thanking life for being always such a sweetheart with me.

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At about 5 AM, I hopped in the taxi, direction the airport -my feelings being all over the place. A part of me was sad to leave Morocco. I knew that my memories of the last few days would slowly fade away -and I wanted to hold onto it a bit longer. If it wasn’t of meeting my best friend in Germany, a few hours later, I don’t think I would have been in the mood to discover a new country just yet. But, Rali was now texting me, her ass in the plane, half-way from Montreal to Berlin.

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“All humans are aware of death. So we’re all a little bit sad, all the time.”

I tried to hold the tears forming in my eyes, as I heard this sentence coming from Eleanor Shellstrop’s mouth. I remembered why I loved this show so much -but I totally forgot how it made me cried every few episodes. I wouldn’t have suggest it as a Netflix pre-sleep show to Marc, if I had remember that.

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Of all the airports I have visited during this trip, none was as chaotic and unorganized as the one in Geneva. The staff was fucking rude, on top of being completely useless, and I had a very hard time staying polite and understanding. I had arrived three hours before my flight, and yet, here I was with only twenty five minutes left -still with my luggage in hand. Literally everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong. The machine that scan your luggage? Didn’t work.

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I arrived at Lima by night, excited at the idea to pass out in the bed of my new airbnb. For my last country, I had planned some extravagant stays and my first two nights in Lima were one of them. The taxi dropped me on top of a cliff, in front of a grandiose gated building. I entered, gave my name, received a key and took the elevator to the last story. The doors opened directly in the penthouse -revealing a view of the pacific ocean that was even darker than the night. I knew that this view would turn out to be breathtaking, in the morning. Meow.

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