Which is when our boss walked in. Exactly at the point that the
French intern said "I love you." Which, taken out of context, clearly
explains the look we received as our boss strode through the office.
________________________
Madame's been out of town this week, spending three weeks of
vacation time in between her countryside home in France and a rented home in Spain. I've had the apartment to myself--
neither a pro nor con. Although, I'll admit, I like the freedom of being able to walk from
the bathroom (on one end of the apartment) to the sink (on the other side of
the apartment) in my underwear, if I so please.
I’m only paying rent this week, rather than the additional costs
for my weekly four, home cooked meals. The plan had been to fill my last week with
friends, and so it had worked out that I wouldn’t be eating dinner in.
Monday rolled around and, as I left work, it was the only day I
had planned. It's Thursday now, and everyday's been filled with a friend to
spend the evening with. As will continue for tonight—as I enjoy my last dinner
with Joh—and tomorrow, where I'll cap off my six months with Shabbat at Chabad.
Really, quite fitting.
_______________________
It's 9.50 euros to access the Montparnasse Tower viewing point--
my Monday night plans with Julia and her friend. Parisians despise the
building-- a jarring scar in the otherwise skyscraper clear horizon. But it's the view that makes the tower worth it; 360 degrees of all of
Paris, the Eiffel Tower included.
I went for kosher sushi in St. Germain, the following Tuesday,
with Judith (a French friend I had met at a party a friend, Deborah, had
invited me to my first weekend during the summer)-- ending the evening with
drinks at a chic restaurant/ bar in Odeon.
Judith had told me of a Jewish soiree Wednesday evening, and,
come Wednesday, Eric and Audrey had too texted me to texted me an invited. But I hesitated to
accept given:
a) the entrance fee cost 10 euros. And that’s just under my week
budget. (So I compensated by buying a bag of pasta. And for the meager price of
1.48 euros, that bag provided dinner for Wednesday, in addition to lunch
Thursday and Friday and leftovers for 5:30 am breakfast this Saturday.)
b) Jews are cliquey-- and when speaking another language, it’s harder to break
through.
But
the French let their guard down if you’ve got a hand to ease
into their tight knit group. Eric introduced me to a range of individuals,
and within 30 minutes we had both branched off-- him with his friends, me
making new ones. I spoke with a girl named Arula for quite some time-- a girl
about a few feet shorter than me, who moved in closer every time she
wanted to talk. Judith found us, beelining her way over to say hello. She was
accompanied by her friend, Ilan, a 22- year old law student who, as
another man I met later that evening claimed, beared an
uncanny resemblance to Richard Gere. Which I had scoffed at, turning to
look at Ilan-- until I stopped. Because the man was right—Ilan had Richard
Gere’s eyes.
And then Ilan asked me how much I had drunk.
The evening continued, surrounded by such a spectacular range of
prospective, Jewish husbands (of course when I only have two nights left)-- all
apparently enamored with my, what they all like to tell me, Canadian laced
French accent. Several expressed interest in my life back in the states-- half
responding that they had already visited D.C, the majority of whom had loved the
district. Of course I invited them all back to visit, offering my shared, one bedroom
apartment as available lodging.
Eric and Audrey drove me home, later that night. They're my
first, real Parisian friends-- having met the two back in May during Chabad, Shabbat dinner. I had bumped into Audrey, the following
Sunday. She had been on her way to meet Eric for coffee, inviting me to join.
It was then at the party Deborah had invited me to, a few weeks later, that I
bumped back into Eric, spending the evening chatting-- him leaving me with a
rundown of Jewish events I could join him for. And it was from there that it all spiraled and my summer social life
had begun.
_______________________
Eric drove us through Place de la Concorde, the grounds just
opposite the Jardin des Tuileries-- the Louvre’s palace gardens. It was a full
moon last night, the moon’s vibrant white light highlighting the clouds around.
My SuperShuttle driver, the day I had landed in Paris, had taken
a detour to drive through Place de la Concorde. But then, all I could muster
was a little more than merci, given my French
vocabulary only barely extended past the basics.
That had been six months. Six months ago, when I had arrived,
hopeful of improving my French, of immersing myself in the European life I had
grown up without. I had no idea what was in store, six months ago; How my
semester would affect my summer—if there would be a summer—how my experience
who influence my future. Paris had been foreign. The experience, new. And what
it all would hold, unknown.
Six months ago, Paris was the beginning.
I recall so vividly my frustration of possessing complete French
comprehension but little ability to articulate. That too was six months ago.
The French intern told me this morning, that I’m a lot easier to understand
now-- and I feel it; in context, I speak without thinking. I rarely stumble if
I can’t think of a word. I don’t worry about speaking to strangers and words
I’ve never learned, somehow come to me. I think I’ve got the 17 years of my
mother speaking to me in French, to thank for that.
I’m proud of having reached my goal of returning home speaking
French. I am proud of where these six months have taken me-- grateful
for all that has shaped each step along the way.
A friend had asked me what of the experience would I bring back.
It was over Skype, and at the time, I had fumbled, trying to explain how
different the two lives are-- how I don’t know how Paris me translates to D.C.
me. But the real answer was that I wasn't sure what parts of me had changed,
although I recognized that in the time I’ve been abroad, there must be some level
that has.
Life abroad has taught me the meaning of possibilities: the
possibility of adapting and the ability to achieve. I recognize the process of
adjustment-- aware of the wavering periods of comfort and the eventual passing
of doubts once all settles down.
I come back with a refreshed notion that the world is ours to
choose from; My dream remains to pursue a career as a feature writer, yet the
future is an open book and my years post grad don't necessarily need to lock me
into work in the states.
I’ve reinforced my belief in the strength of connections in
leading us all to where we’re supposed to be. I understand the importance in
the constant changes within our lives-- and I want to believe that all that’s
meant to be won’t fade, rather follow.
I understand more than ever, how nothing-- the good, the bad--
lasts forever. I’m conscious of the importance of appreciating the moment
rather than wishing to extend the moment into the future.
And so in response to the question my friend posed-- what will I
bring home-- the answer is simply, me.
When taken out of the context of the familiar, forced to rebuild
in the surroundings of the foreign, you apply the parts of yourself that are
you. The parts of me I’m aware of both here and at "home," are the
parts that are real-- to me. The hopes and dreams, the worries and doubts. My
time abroad—as does every experience I embark on—leaves me with a greater grasp
of the core beliefs I use to structure the manner I view, live and experience
my life.
It’s a constant process of self- discovery, life is. It’s why
it’s important to keep moving forward, to not get stuck in the familiar of the
comfort. We learn a little more about ourselves each time we set out onto
something new—the challenges that test our character, the experiences that
strengthen our beliefs.
I had been nervous for the summer, nervous of staying in the
city without my friends from the semester-- nervous that I’d be staying alone,
rather than on a structured program. But my plan to find a summer job had
worked out, and my goal of befriending the stranger had happened. It sorted
itself out, as it should, because I believe that’s how life works. What feels
right, what’s meant to be, will somehow always fall into place.
I don't where this will take me, but I do know Paris isn’t one
I’m letting go of. I have foundations laid into my life here, one I’m confident
I could pick up should I ever find my way back. And, as I made Eric
and Audrey promise as Eric turned into the side road that leads to my apartment building,
they better both still be here once I return.
So the good thing is, I’ll hopefully have dinner plans the day I
come back.
Whenever that will be.
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