Waking Up From a Dream

This will be one of the last entries to my journal.

I open my eyes and it's pitch black. There's something different. There should be a faint swath of light from the streetlights on the ceiling. There should be a gentle, cool breeze from the window. Instead, the window is closed and there's a low hum of an air conditioner's fan from a duct on the ceiling. It's 3 am. It takes me a few seconds to realize that I'm not in Paris anymore. I'm back in my old bed in my old room in Virginia. I sigh.

I didn't expect this much wanting for a particular place to live in - or to die in. I didn't expect this much yearning, even if I stayed there for just for 7 weeks.

At first it was the sights. Like falling for somebody, you fall for what you see first:

I fell for the O'Paris cafe/bar that's at the corner of Rue de Lourmel and Rue de Javel that always has people spilling over on the cobblestoned street, drinking their coffees, aperitifs and beer all day. Whenever I walk by, I always imagine myself making an abrupt turn going inside and saying “ça va?!” to everybody and start having conversations about the weather, soccer games and the car fire that happened the night before.

I fell for the butcher shops and charcuteries along Rue de Lourmel and the cheese shop that sold expensive moldy cheese.

I fell for the bread shops, the shoe shops and the flower shop along Rue de la Convention that I always look forward to pass by on my runs because of the dewy, flowery, muggy smell of it that reminds me of the rainy Vigan City afternoons of my childhood.

I fell for the Andre Citroen park which is a constantly playing slideshow of children frolicking in the fountains, lovers smooching on the grass beside a bottle of white wine, families having picnics and neighbors having friendly chess and table tennis matches. A true picture of Parisian life.

I fell for the marriage of old and new in the architecture, the passionate aesthetic planning of its public spaces, the beauty of the wedding of technology and the human experience.

Cloudless mornings in Paris are extra bright. It might be because the humidity is usually lower compared to what I am used to. I made a decision to not wear sunglasses or earphones during my stay. I wanted to see everything, hear everything, breathe everything.

All is beautifully different to me in Paris. From this unfamiliarity stemmed a flood of wanting. Wanting to understand, to know. Like finding something you never knew you wanted and there's little time left take it. So, you drop to your knees to gather what you never knew you didn't have. Every sweep, you pick a little bit but you spill more.

I try to listen to every word of every conversation I overhear. I try to understand, digging in the shallow knowledge that I have, every time, I try to connect the dots, but the words pass by too fast. I become frantic from not knowing what passes me by, like catching the wind with my fingers - the beauty of the nasal and guttural sounds which sound like a musical woo.

I was lucky enough to meet people who have been living there for years who spoke my language. They shared stories of how society in general accepted them and made them personally flourish. We talked about decent wages, mandatory paid vacations, socialized healthcare and unemployment benefits which are just words I read in the news and argue about with my bigot acquaintances in the US, but here these words saved their lives. It's what got them on their feet. It's what helped them to better themselves so they can focus on enjoying life and following their dreams, not how to focus on three jobs so they can barely afford their high health insurance co-pays.

As a society in general, as a people, Parisians have a firm grasp of the past and are well within the future. They are diverse. They are of effortless beauty. They are proud but not flaunting. They're naturals. Their land is indeed the land of liberty, equality and  fraternity - a lot more than what that other countries claim to be.

Paris is a utopia that already exists. A future that's already here. This is how we all should live. If aliens came and asked why they should not kill us all off, I'd show them the life of a Parisian.

Lost is the closest word that I can find for describing our departure from Paris. I never really completely felt that I belonged in the places I've lived. There's always something that I think I wouldn't want to endure if I had a choice. Like mass corruption, mass bigotry, mass low-set aesthetics. But in Paris, there's little to none of these.

I feel that I'd give almost anything to be able to live and die there. But, alas, there's the language barrier, the job and the depreciated mortgage. So, I guess I'll be lost for a little while more.

Paris je t'aime.