I remember writing this just over 2 months ago – already – enjoying probably one of my last café crèmes of my sojourn in Paris. Although a bit personal, I had intentionally wrote this for my blog, to
attempt the ever so impossible summary of to try summarize my experience.
So as I sat there, tucked away in the 7th arrondissement, half-reading and half pretending to read the latest issue of Vogue Paris, distracted by the murmurs of the middle-aged women sitting around the table in front of me, I decided that it was time to go home. I felt as though I was in a dream, that it was ending slowly, and I knew it. I had the possibility of waking myself up, but my eyelids were still so heavy with slumber. However, I was so tormented and dizzy – all synonyms for
unhappiness profound confusion – the aftermath of recent events/disasters/blessings slowing sinking in blurring my vision and disabling me from seeing what was right in front of me, what was next. It was like driving a spaceship (oh my, geek alert!) and being sucked into reality orbit and if I shut my eyes… maybe just maybe it’d hurt less.
(Really mature, huh?)
This coming from a twenty-two-year-old post-adolescent idealist (thank you, Clueless) who’d just spent the last six months of her life creating a new one for herself, away from all comforts (even though living in the 6th arrondissement adjacent to the Café de Flore was one of the more luxurious episodes in my life) and mostly, completely alone. I wanted to slap myself, I wasn’t raised like this. To be miserable, ungrateful and lost. During the latter part of my trip, I’d given so much though to my two-year plan that I should have felt empowered by this new sense of responsibility and direction. I should feel thrilled with the promise of fresh starts and pending opportunities. Instead, I was living the worst hungover of my life, I felt beat up, tired, and well a bit catatonic. Am I a ghost? Is my life going through me instead of pushing me like wind on my back? Everything was out of reach, and the more I stretched the less I was able to grasp.
But wait… I don’t give up that easily. As much as I’m very dramatic and emotional, I’m not a fatalist. I have to say that I had defining moments in those months, moments that made me reconcile with life. For example, the other day I had was walking home from a friends house when I caught a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower. I told myself, wow! I can actually see the Eiffel Tower, in fact I can actually go up and touch it – it’s right there in front of me. Just then a homeless man scared me right out of my daydream and started yelling at me and I kinda almost peed my pants. So I started walking faster, changing directions right towards it (not the man… the monument of course!). About 30 minutes later, at 11 PM sharp, I stood in front of it and just as I adjusted the long exposure on my camera, it started to sparkle. There you have it, that was for me, it’s like it winking at me. I felt connected to something for the first time in weeks, it was like Paris’ over-the-top way of saying it’ll all be just fine.