i admit: my tumblr inactivity was very severe this past semester. part deux of junior year contained the usual and unforeseen highs and lows, moments that would typically merit mentions on this page. yet, i can’t put a finger on as to why i neglected writing these last couple of months. it’s hard for me now to process my thoughts coherently in words. i guess it’s just the rusty nature of a journal drought + the fear of inadequately condensing 4 months’ worth of memories in one entry.
but, let’s rewind it back even further.
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yesterday afternoon, i stopped by my mom’s store on the way to the gym. some of my mom’s long-time customers, all in their 50s-60s who’ve known me well since my rugrat days of old, were getting their nails done. it’s always a pleasure when i return to the nail shop after a period away from home, because they get all excited over my life stories and then i’m forced to ramble on and on until their manis or pedis are finished. it’s actually fun. is that weird?
anyway, one of my family’s closest friends, lorraine, was the first (and only) person with whom i spoke. unlike most, lorraine was one who i hadn’t seen in almost a full year because of her recovery from illness, so it was out of fulfillment that i narrated to her my life beginning from the fall. and at that moment, it hit me that i was to share my study abroad experience again…for the millionth time.
i prolonged this post for months, but after my conversation with lorraine, it’s about time i share it with the tumblr public. rather than an aimless summary of an entire semester or a bucket list of things i accomplished, i think one specific memory i have perfectly sums up my life as a parisian.
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(modified from a moleskine entry; finished on saturday, nov. 19) thursday, nov. 17:
i had my art history mid-semester exam this morning. to call it mid-semester with only a month left just shows how much of a joke academics are here.
regardless, it was a day just like any other in Paris. after the test, the crew and i decided to celebrate by having a picnic lunch along the Seine, as it was a blissfully sunny afternoon, quite rare for november. as we strolled towards the water, i came across a Holocaust memorial, flat and built right into the ground, bordering on clandestine. on a whim, we all decided to look inside; we were the only visitors present at the time, which is probably one of the reasons that today, of all days, became suddenly extraordinary.
it’s strange, but it was one of the rare times since the beginning of college that my emotions caught me by surprise, completely and utterly. gosh, it’s so weird, and maybe the fact that i had slept just 3 hours the night before made me that much more vulnerable to my emotions. but here, i simply walked down a narrow flight of stairs into the basin of the monument, glanced around and read a few plaques noting French losses during the Holocaust, mentally observed that it was an exquisitely designed piece of architecture, and promptly closed my eyes.
i probably stood there for a good ten minutes taking everything in, while everyone else had already gone up the steps to set up the picnic. the guard inside, who likely thought i was insane, then began to describe the place — the monument was designed to recreate the claustrophobic atmosphere of a concentration camp without actually resembling one. after, i emerged above ground and felt too dazed (and sleep-deprived) to say much over lunch. as the others conversed and ate, i merely laid down on the blanket just outside the memorial, observing the way that everything in the little square had been designed meticulously to look horizontal.
on the bridge, a soulful voice was singing “on the sunny side of the street.” the acoustics of the water amplified her song and channeled it over to me as a dream-like echo. i was still lying on the blanket with my head comfortably sitting on my friend’s thigh; i just wanted to rest and drink it all in, entranced and glued to the ground as i was. Paris was suddenly both vulnerable and vibrant, offering itself up, humming with energy, warming my cheeks with sunshine. i had fallen in love with Paris again.
Parisians themselves have always been perplexing to me — their seemingly endless disposable income evident in their expensive clothes, and yet no apparent working hours as they are always in cafes, looking skinny to the point of emaciated even as they stuff their faces with warm, buttery croissants. even madame pointed it out this morning in class: Parisians are, in short, a series of contradictions. but is that necessarily bad? i suddenly understood that intoxicating feeling of inner quiet, of being an observer, as if nothing in the world could be more innate and natural than lying there at our picnic along the Seine, jotting down a thought or two in my head from time to time. it was so… French.
there are some moments that stop time, change your views, and take your breath away even without you trying. this moment in Paris was one of them, perhaps more poignant than my first panoramic view of the city from atop montmartre in sacré-coeur, because it had evaded me for so long. it was like i was seeing everything in high focus. there was so much to take in, and yet, i felt mellow in the best way possible, like i had all the time in the world to absorb it.
the mysterious jazz singer jumped into a rendition of “i love Paris,” which was startlingly fitting. i felt a silly sense of pride flood through me as i laid there, in a city i had resisted and then learned to love, the place that forced me to listen to my own truth instead of saying what was presumably expected.
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“Les grandes pensées viennent du coeur.” - vauvenargues
