It’s been quite a while since a last updated. Months, in fact.
Mainly, time is running short, and an hour facing my computer is one hour less I have to truly live every moment here in Paris. Whether or not such a justification is plausible, I feel I am once again threatened by a ticking clock, loudly counting down seconds until my departure. I don't know what to say about this possible departure, because my mind is perpetually changing about why and when and even if I will leave.
Should I stay? I'm in love with this city, although poor and altogether dissapointed with the studies at the Sorbonne. I want my college degree, yet know that I will eventually graduate, whether I spend three years in New York City or take classes everywhere from China to Argentina (both are going to happen). Here in Paris, I've encountered an enourmous amount of free-spirited students who take advantage of every international opportunity they can get their hands on, living out their dreams, juggling fluent languages, jam-packing their resumés, not knowing the slightest idea when and where they will graduate. They know they will, but that's not their aim.
Somehow, though, I feel it is soon time for me to move on.
July's departure from France will be my life’s least bitter, yet the attachment I have for certain aspects of my Parisian life will be strong considering I’ll be leaving exactly one year after my arrival. I've finally set up a life here, yet being so temporary, the future does not play a role in my present situation whatsoever.
Last March in Manhattan, I overheard something moving while waiting on a cosmopolitan table at my former restaurant. For me, torn between New York and France, it was a breakthrough. One of the more insightful faces in the group was asked to name his personal favorite city on earth. He thought for a moment as I poured wine nearby, his profound eyes revealing the confidence of his response:
"I can’t really answer that. I’ve grown to realize that it’s not necessarily a place I’ve ever been attached to enough to name, but the individuals I’ve met which have made some of my experiences so worthwhile."
One year has passed, and I still reflect on this man’s wise response. I find what he said beautiful, and I especially related to him after having met life-altering individuals around the globe, those who managed to influence my perspective on life. I had always been plagued with this "grass is greener on the other side" philosophy, yet only recently do I have faith that its not about the other side. Its about those who'll always be on my side.
I spent February broadening my global horizons further than they’ve ever been, visited the small villages surrounding Cannes, Nice and Monaco, a glamorous, turquoise speck of coastline on a French map I once studied before arriving the summer I was sixteen. Cagnes-sur-Mer, Antibes, Eze and Saint-Paul enriched the memories I shared in my previous entry, in between the waves of nostalgia I experienced throughout my stay with Matthieu.
We then took his Fiat Punto and sped thirteen hours towards my latest foreign destination, a country where he once lived: Italia.
Minutes after crossing the border, I fell in love with Italy. We turned on the radio, and the magnificent language filled my ears with curiosity: I realized that I was again disattached, unable to understand the language whatsoever, therefore unable to make unbiased judgements on the culture in general. All I could truly admire were the pastel colors of the villages dotting the valleys, the green landscape that led up to the Mediterranean Sea, the frothy cappuccinos that got us through the roadtrip, the passion I saw in the eyes of every Italian I encountered. The pictures, which I'll probably post next week, reflect everything worth describing.
In eight days, we managed to visit Parma, Mantova, Venice, Ferrara, Bologne, and Florence. Yet my stay in Italy was nothing more than my admiring the country from a distance. I was merely another tourist on the streets, searching for the most impressive restaurants, churches, bridges, museums. I did not befriend any Italians. I didn't find out what its like to walk out my doorstep and get a true glimpse of a place I could truly call my own, I never had to look for a job, to strip for a mandatory medical exam to get a visa. I couldn't even eavesdrop on locals.
Such thoughts ran through my head throughout my stay, yet I was not dissapointed whatsoever. Rather, I promised to come back, to settle in Rome for some time, to buy a mint-green Vespa, learn Italian, and get to know the people. I suppose I just never was meant to be a tourist...
For now, I'm Frenching out. Last night, my friends and I crashed a cocktail soirée for reknowned writers (one friend's father is a well-known literary critic, which gets him in everywhere). There I was, rue de Buci, the very place where I met every single Parisian I spend all my time with these days, drinking fine champagne over salmon, speaking about the past and the present in my second language. These days, none of us actually speak about the future, we live in the present instead, appreciating every moment we can call our own.
I finally live for today rather than tomorrow. It makes life more precious, I suppose. For now, though, my time has run out in this net café and I must hit the streets of Paris--sunny, warm, refreshing, and full of amazing individuals now so dear to my heart. I promise to update and post those pictures soon!
Mainly, time is running short, and an hour facing my computer is one hour less I have to truly live every moment here in Paris. Whether or not such a justification is plausible, I feel I am once again threatened by a ticking clock, loudly counting down seconds until my departure. I don't know what to say about this possible departure, because my mind is perpetually changing about why and when and even if I will leave.
Should I stay? I'm in love with this city, although poor and altogether dissapointed with the studies at the Sorbonne. I want my college degree, yet know that I will eventually graduate, whether I spend three years in New York City or take classes everywhere from China to Argentina (both are going to happen). Here in Paris, I've encountered an enourmous amount of free-spirited students who take advantage of every international opportunity they can get their hands on, living out their dreams, juggling fluent languages, jam-packing their resumés, not knowing the slightest idea when and where they will graduate. They know they will, but that's not their aim.
Somehow, though, I feel it is soon time for me to move on.
July's departure from France will be my life’s least bitter, yet the attachment I have for certain aspects of my Parisian life will be strong considering I’ll be leaving exactly one year after my arrival. I've finally set up a life here, yet being so temporary, the future does not play a role in my present situation whatsoever.
Last March in Manhattan, I overheard something moving while waiting on a cosmopolitan table at my former restaurant. For me, torn between New York and France, it was a breakthrough. One of the more insightful faces in the group was asked to name his personal favorite city on earth. He thought for a moment as I poured wine nearby, his profound eyes revealing the confidence of his response:
"I can’t really answer that. I’ve grown to realize that it’s not necessarily a place I’ve ever been attached to enough to name, but the individuals I’ve met which have made some of my experiences so worthwhile."
One year has passed, and I still reflect on this man’s wise response. I find what he said beautiful, and I especially related to him after having met life-altering individuals around the globe, those who managed to influence my perspective on life. I had always been plagued with this "grass is greener on the other side" philosophy, yet only recently do I have faith that its not about the other side. Its about those who'll always be on my side.
I spent February broadening my global horizons further than they’ve ever been, visited the small villages surrounding Cannes, Nice and Monaco, a glamorous, turquoise speck of coastline on a French map I once studied before arriving the summer I was sixteen. Cagnes-sur-Mer, Antibes, Eze and Saint-Paul enriched the memories I shared in my previous entry, in between the waves of nostalgia I experienced throughout my stay with Matthieu.
We then took his Fiat Punto and sped thirteen hours towards my latest foreign destination, a country where he once lived: Italia.
Minutes after crossing the border, I fell in love with Italy. We turned on the radio, and the magnificent language filled my ears with curiosity: I realized that I was again disattached, unable to understand the language whatsoever, therefore unable to make unbiased judgements on the culture in general. All I could truly admire were the pastel colors of the villages dotting the valleys, the green landscape that led up to the Mediterranean Sea, the frothy cappuccinos that got us through the roadtrip, the passion I saw in the eyes of every Italian I encountered. The pictures, which I'll probably post next week, reflect everything worth describing.
In eight days, we managed to visit Parma, Mantova, Venice, Ferrara, Bologne, and Florence. Yet my stay in Italy was nothing more than my admiring the country from a distance. I was merely another tourist on the streets, searching for the most impressive restaurants, churches, bridges, museums. I did not befriend any Italians. I didn't find out what its like to walk out my doorstep and get a true glimpse of a place I could truly call my own, I never had to look for a job, to strip for a mandatory medical exam to get a visa. I couldn't even eavesdrop on locals.
Such thoughts ran through my head throughout my stay, yet I was not dissapointed whatsoever. Rather, I promised to come back, to settle in Rome for some time, to buy a mint-green Vespa, learn Italian, and get to know the people. I suppose I just never was meant to be a tourist...
For now, I'm Frenching out. Last night, my friends and I crashed a cocktail soirée for reknowned writers (one friend's father is a well-known literary critic, which gets him in everywhere). There I was, rue de Buci, the very place where I met every single Parisian I spend all my time with these days, drinking fine champagne over salmon, speaking about the past and the present in my second language. These days, none of us actually speak about the future, we live in the present instead, appreciating every moment we can call our own.
I finally live for today rather than tomorrow. It makes life more precious, I suppose. For now, though, my time has run out in this net café and I must hit the streets of Paris--sunny, warm, refreshing, and full of amazing individuals now so dear to my heart. I promise to update and post those pictures soon!
1 comment:
I stumbled apon your website, and I think it's genius. I lived in Paris awhile ago, and am looking to move back. It is inspiring to know there are others like you who share my same passion, whether it be Paris or Italy.
Keep on Truckin'!!
Sara
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