There's so much to be said about this country, and this world right now... I fear words fall short. My hodge-podge of sentiments—anxiety, concern, exhilaration—is too intimidating to capture. Instagram feels more appropriate in its visual short form. As such, please excuse the self-declared banality of my reflection below. It errs on the personal side of Heather Havrilesky's words (via Ask Polly): "If you can’t own the life you have right now, ask yourself what needs to change to make you feel like more of a conquistador."
On November 17th, 2016, I landed in Paris. It was dark and chilly as I commuted from CDG to an Airbnb
a mere three blocks from where I'd once lived. The route itself was jarring in its familiarity. I affectionately recognized the corner brasserie, and neo-bistro, and all the other shops and bars (save for a few that were
obviously new). I WhatsApp-ed
Lorelei, "I don't know how you do this regularly. I want to relive every moment of life here, on repeat times a million, plus more memories." And then, after settling into my Airbnb, I texted Ben, "the apartment has high ceilings and antique furniture and my host is an older impatient woman who offered me fruit upon arrival, so I basically feel like France welcomed me back with open arms." I wasn't kidding. It felt painfully good to be back,
again.
The following morning, I woke up relatively early. I Facebooked Deanna to make plans:
petit-déj at a café across from a metro stop on his line so she wouldn't get lost, we'd figure out the next steps from there, Rémi would meet up with us after class. Some context: my sister is (quite ironically!) dating a French guy she met over the summer in New York; she has visited him (and Paris) twice since.
We wandered through the Latin Quarter across the Seine and into the Marais, stopping into
clothing stores we couldn't afford,
a free exhibition at the Swedish Institute, and a worth-every-penny visit to
the recently-renovated Musée Picaso. Then we lunched with Rémi at
our beloved Nanashi before dragging him
into Merci—at which he was the only consumer. They (being too cute) caught the bus home at Bastille while I returned to the 17th to freshen up. Later, I ventured outside the city to
join Mia at a
Salif Keita concert.
Those first 36 hours were too easy, too normal... it was hard to believe I'd ever voluntarily left! And then, before traveling to Amsterdam, I brunched
with Lou at
Rose Café. In her thoughtful way, she reminded me of my critiques:
the cultural superiority,
the unyielding otherness, the callous social capital bred from famous
haute-couture fashion houses and the like.
Paris, too, has an ego.
A week later, I saw Lou once more whilst
staying in Melun with ma famille française. I also arranged plans
with Melissa,
and Rithy,
and Julia, and
my AUP professors on campus. We spoke about
politics and ideals, life and love, ambition and responsibility. I was so perfectly inspired. I found myself overcome by immense gratitude as opposed to tragic-nostalgia. Every moment was to be savored, so I did exactly that. And I was actually ready to fly back to Los Angeles when the time came—even with its infuriating civic passivity,
empty "nice days", select inhabitants trying so goddamn hard to be seen as cool, laid back, and creative in unacknowledged privilege. As my sister reminded me today (from Paris, I might add!):
But don't you know that only fools are satisfied?
