Qui J'étais invites us into Barbara Pravi’s late-night confession booth, where glittering success has lost its shine and the big city lights feel colder than ever. The lyrics paint the scene of a soul running on empty: sleepless nights, nameless hotel rooms, and a carousel of strange faces that blur together. Fame once promised fire, money, and glory, yet the singer now aches for the simple warmth of home, friends, and familiar arms. Her repeated plea, “Rappelez-moi qui j’étais avant” (Remind me who I was before), pulses like a heartbeat, showing a desperate need to reconnect with her true self.
Listening to this song is like opening a travel diary filled with jet-lagged scribbles and tear-stained pages. We journey from dazzling stages to silent rooms where the only audience is her own doubt. In the end, Qui J'étais is both a cautionary tale and a hug for anyone who has ever chased a dream, only to wake up wondering where that dream has carried them. It reminds us that knowing where we are going starts with remembering who we are—and who we used to be.