Au Revoir, Paris

And so closes a too-short chapter of ma vie. I can't help but wonder where I'll go from here. Will I ever flâne through your streets again, rainy Paris?

I cannot even begin to describe the emotions I'm experiencing right now. It's a little bit like leaving behind a friend, or a lover, for an indeterminate amount of time, but it's more than that, even. I'm leaving behind a part of myself - because I discovered so much about myself here, and I have discovered that so much of me is here.

It's very similar to the way I felt when we moved from the only house I'd lived in for 18 years. Except in that house I spilled oil on the rug, I drew a self-portrait on the wall, I chipped off part of the countertop when I busted my lip on it. Here, I don't feel like I've been able to leave my mark, so the departure is more like ending a relationship to which I'm just beginning to devote myself.

I cannot imagine who I would be, what I'd be doing, where I'd be going today if I had not studied in Paris. Being here, away from every jugement, every sticky-situation, and every important life-changing decision, is like being stuck in time - time allotted specifically for me and my self-discovery.

I feel so incredibly lucky to have had this experience, and I know it will affect the way I live the rest of my life. I love Paris.

Ô, comme j'adore le français

Paris, je rentrerai bientôt...mais à ce moment, j'ai besoin de soleil, j'ai besoin d'amour, j'ai besoin de ma ville, alors même qu'elle est ennuyante, c'est toujours chez moi, et j'en ai besoin.

On dit qu'on ne parle pas couramment avant qu'on commence à rêver dans la deuxième langue, mais moi, je ne rêve jamais de rien; mais l'autre nuit j'ai rêvé; j'ai rêvé en trois langues, et je n'en ai aucune connu.

Paris, tu me fatigues, mais je suis dévouée, je suis attachée à toi. Pourquoi est-ce que tu ne m'aimes pas? Ou ai-je tort? Tu ne me montres jamais ton soleil, et ma peau change à l'orangé, tes nuages pleuvent comme je pleure quand je pense au départ.

"The Waltz" Auguste Rodin

J'avais des liaisons, des aventures, avec tes écrivains: tes rues que je connaîs si bien. Et mes amants me manqueraient si je les avais quitté, mais ils voyagent mieux que toi, Paris, ils ne me laisseront jamais.

Paris, je comprends pourquoi tes écrivains sont si solennels - c'est la pluie qui crée cet effet, c'est ta pluie qui crée tes grands écrivains.

l'homme nerveux

You can always tell who are the tourists on the metro: those grey-suited businessmen nervously clutching their fanny packs, glancing suspiciously at the other occupants of the car. They never can anticipate the jerks of the train, and they make uncomfortable faces when they inevitably tumble onto the people they previously expected to pick-pocket them, and they check their fancy American watches every minute or so to make sure they're not running behind - to make sure the metro isn't running behind.

But then, that's how we all started out, I suppose. I remember holding tight to my zippered backpack, glaring at anyone who got too close. I suppose the man could have been starting a new job, a new life, in Paris, and was in the first stages of the adjustment period.

And then he got off at Trocadéro. Clearly a tourist.

et il pleut

Sometimes I forget how much I love sitting around with friends on a rainy day.