Pray for Paris

There have been enough words shared about this, but I feel that to let it go unacknowledged on this site is inappropriate, especially as a resident of Paris. I will try to keep it short and to the point, because there is so much being said on the internet that just does not need to be said.

It’s always hard to grasp an event as monumentally tragic as this, especially when it happens so near. In the days afterwards, there is a somber mist that hangs just out of sight, shrouding some deeper than others. It’s tangible, walking through the metro, that the energy has shifted. The city is in mourning. At work on Monday we, like much of France, participated in a minute of silence at noon. The weight of the entire city taking that breath at one moment, in the suddenly beautiful burst of sunlight filtering through the clouds, was something I will never forget. Because I felt then that I was not an outsider looking in, I was not a foreigner experiencing someone else’s national tragedy. This is not just a tragedy for France, and maybe that’s why the outpouring on social media has been so incessant. Because this strikes a deep nerve in humanity. A lot of people have thrown out the term “clash of civilizations.” But ISIS is not a civilization; this is not Islam against Christianity, East against West, third world against first world. This is a radical group of extremists against anyone who stands in their way. While I have political opinions, I’ll leave that to greater powers. What I can do is be grateful every day for my freedoms, for my blessings, and for the future stretched in front of me filled with nothing but opportunity. Because that is something that many no longer have - refugees escaping the terrors of ISIS in their own country, victims of terrorism all over the world, and those who happen to be born into a society that is much less free than my own. What we can all do is be kind with each other, because there is already too much hate in the world.

I love Paris, and I will always consider here to be home. This city has survived a thousand years of hardships far worse than this, and come out all the more beautiful - partly because the fierce will of its people to not just survive, but celebrate life to its greatest extent.

Paris: La Rentrée

After four incredible summer months at home drinking in as much of the salty ocean spray, thick foggy nights, deep redwood soil and golden rolling hills as I could, it was time to return to Paris. I am acutely aware of my situation, and how lucky I am to be in it. After a scramble to pay wayward bills from lazy summer months, renew immigration papers, and fix my defunct French phone number, I found myself strolling across the Seine, Eiffel Tower stoic and stark in the distance, on my way to meet a friend for Asian-fusion burgers followed by African drinks at a defunct consulat-turned-bar in the Canal St Martin. It was beautiful out, temperate, the sky awash in that pink glow and speckled with those textural impressionist clouds you only see in Paris. I felt utterly in love with my life, with this anomaly of a city that I belong to even though I can barely get a handle on its language, with the cobblestones and the distinct identities of each neighborhood, with the fact that I discover new things every single time I step outside my door. I was grateful.

    Going home for the summer with the intention of returning to Paris for another year meant a lot of questions of a certain nature. “Are you happy to be home? Do you miss Paris? Are you excited to go back? How long will you stay there? Are you fluent yet?” (my least favorite). Constantly being asked about my life in this way revealed a habit that I am trying to combat, a habit which I think many people, especially younger people, are guilty of: compensation, excuses, an acute awareness of the other person’s perceptions and stereotypes and previously harbored opinions. I found myself qualifying everything, which I hate. I felt guilty for living a life that so many people professed envy for; I felt guilty for being fortunate enough to be able to lead this life.

I came to Paris for the first time in 2012 and fell in love. I left it vowing to return but not really believing it would happen for many years. Now, three years later, I have lived in this breathtaking city for a total of 13 months; I am working at the Parisian office of a global advertising agency; I am completing the final courses for my master’s degree; I can speak significantly more French than when I first stepped off the plane, but significantly not enough to be fluent. I did all of these things myself. Luck, fortunate circumstances, and generosity played a part that cannot go without acknowledgement; but I created value and opportunity for myself. When I first studied abroad here I had no goals for the future, no career aspiration, and no idea what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Moving to Paris was more than just a fortunate circumstance of situations that fell together - it was a calculated, strategic step in my life that turned out to be the greatest thing I have ever done for myself. It pushed me to figure out what I want out of life. It forced me to grow. This experience has given me my future, showed me what I value, given me purpose and direction.

    The next time you are feeling lost, directionless, confused, or dissatisfied, be brave enough to take a risk and make a change. Other people may not understand, may even outright disapprove. But listen to yourself and know that no step forward can be a mistake if you learn something from it.

Paris, la rentrée

Living in Paris is a little like falling in love with someone you know will eventually break your heart. Once you know it, you can never know another city in the same way, with the same depth and propensity of feeling. It’s a magic that sinks you’re your being, an inexplicable truth that fills you with light and longing at the same time, even while you’re in the heart of it.

Exactly a year ago I posted about my second stay in Paris, one that would span several months. I talked about signs and symmetry and equilibrium, the fortuitous nature of my return to the only international city I had ever known. A few short months later I posted about leaving Paris, about the inertia and heartbreak and longing for a city I loved so quickly and so deeply. I vowed to return, visa in hand, French in progress. Well, exactly a year later, I’m a legal French resident, nestled into a new cozy apartment in the same sleepy suburb of Asniéres, buried in graduate school papers and research. For the next year, maybe even two, Paris is home. A lot of people talk about the difficulties of French bureaucracy and joke about how difficult life is here. That’s true. I’ve never encountered so many obstacles to day-to-day life as I have in Paris. But there is something about the city that makes you understand, that makes it all okay. It’s just another test of this great city’s love, a not-so gentle push – how much do you want it? How hard does it have to be for you to give up and go home? And that’s just another reason that makes Paris so worth it, because of all you put into it. It’s a relationship with a city like none other, a visceral give and take, textured and living and constantly challenging. For me there will always be that vein of serendipity, the touch of symmetry that settles my mind when things are difficult. I won't give up and go home; I am home.

valentine's day

I have always liked Valentine's Day. At my elementary school, every kid would bring in a bag full of candy and paper Valentine cards for each classmate. The teachers would create goody bags for us. We played games and baked cookies and had a feast to imitate the feast of Saint Valentine. Couple that with the heart-shaped box of chocolates that awaited my spot at the breakfast table, and I was running on a steady sugar high for the entire day. I'm not big on sappy or conventional. I often find myself disliking things out of pure over-saturation. That's not to say I'm not romantic or emotional, because I am definitely both of those things. But Valentine's Day is one of those things that seems to fall in the category of things I should despise. A profit-driven, gender role affirming, societal pressure of a "holiday" with all the implications those things come with...you can read into it all you want, but I could care less about all the statements Valentine's Day makes about the state of society or feminism or America or any of that stuff. I simply love the idea of eating sweets and spreading love. Romantic love, platonic love, familial love, it's all really the same basic element when it comes down to it. So be happy that on this day, the world is swelling with an overflow of love. It reminds me of Thanksgiving, almost. Valentine's day is a second day of Thanksgiving with a more specific thing to be thankful for. So many people want to whine and argue about the true origins of Thanksgiving, about the symbolic notion that we as a society feel the need to only give thanks once a year. Valentine's Day is not about saying "I love you" once a year, it's about taking a day to be grateful for all the love in your life. It doesn't mean that you are automatically not going to think of love for the next 364 days. It's just a day of intensification, of more, of excess. Be happy, because you are loved. It is an inherent part of the human condition. Now go eat a cupcake.

au revoir paris

Leaving Paris left me just a little bit heartbroken. Yes, I was leaving my boyfriend in the beautiful city of light and croissants while I embarked on a grueling 20-hour journey back to the West Coast of the US. But it was more than just that. After spending July in Paris a year and a half before, I was infatuated, but satiated. Paris was a beautiful adventure I could put in a box and take out to admire when I was tired of the monotonous routine of my life in California. This time, though, it was entirely different. I felt like I was leaving my home, the place where I wanted to be most in the world. I was in love. It felt wrong to leave, and all throughout my body I felt an inertia that may have played a small part in my nearly-missed flight at Charles de Gaulle. As I was convincing the airport workers to let me on the flight, one of them said, "What, you don't want to stay in Paris?" and for a moment I considered just lugging my bags back to the RER and letting it twist and tunnel me back to the tiny suburb outside the city I had called home for the past few months. But of course, thoughts of finances and immigration officers popped into my head and instead I was whisked through checkpoints and deposited safely on the huge aircraft that would escort me across the Atlantic ocean, without one suitcase of course. So I made it back to America, piece by piece, and emerged into a bone-dry January that feels like it doesn't belong to a season. It doesn't have the swelling, lazy heat of summer, and it's certainly not the starkly cool and wet winters I'm used to here. It has neither the fresh, bursting, blooming feeling of spring or the pivotal, ripe smell of fall. It's just a seasonless haze that stifles the usually breathtaking beauty of the Bay Area. I miss Paris in the winter, Paris in the rain, Paris in the gloom. I miss the dark, naked trees that jut out against a white sky, stiff and cold as the statues that litter the city. I miss how everything is made of stone, and how buildings are aesthetic as well as functional. The quaint alleyways, the bookcases of buildings with their prim windows sheltered by delicate balconies, the arches and fountains and monuments that exist just because. I miss the cold, wet cobblestones, the winding alleyways, the street signs plastered to the wall as though they want you to come closer and see, come and find out where you're going. I miss the smell of fresh pastries on every corner, the sprawling cafés inviting you to sit down and stay a while. Paris in the winter feels like it has a wonderfully juicy secret and the only way to discover it is to venture out into the cold and wander the streets. I miss the feel and the personality of the entire city. It's so accessible, so right there, so easy to be in. There's so much to do. The sprawling hill of Montmartre, the cemeteries dotting the city like secret silent gardens, the busy churning Seine around Île de la Cité and Île Saint-Louis, the proud glamour of Saint Germain, the crooked streets spilling with falafel and cheese shops and clothing stores with headless mannequins in Le Marais. I miss how grand it all is, how incredibly, impressively, unapologetically grand Paris is. The things I missed about California - Mexican food, my favorite sushi place, the hills, the trees, the Golden Gate Bridge - are paling in comparison to what I love about Paris. Paris has given me one thing I know with absolute certainty I will do in my lifetime: return. Next time I'll do things the right way. Instead of drifting off into the horizon like a starry-eyed adventurer, I will plan and apply for a visa and perfect my French and find a source of income. I'll be back, Paris. I don't know when, but I know I will.