HERE

I've been putting off this last blog update for a while because I wanted to write once all was said and done. It's been three days since I have been back and it's a most strange feeling. Along with the jet lag and exhaustion of adjusting, I have had some time to think about what these last three months meant to me. To think that in just a few months out of the 23 years I have been on this earth, I have travelled to Belgium, Spain, Netherlands, Italy and of course France. This European trek exceeded my expectations- and in every fiber of my being, I felt full. I feel full (bear with me as I am having trouble deciding which tense to stick to)!

Honestly, I can say that I was fully immersed. Since the day I arrived, not a moment was wasted before I found myself walking the Parisian streets I so dearly missed. There was simply no time for jet lag! I was glad my body agreed. Eagerly, I scoured the French menus, signs, newspaper, magazines, billboards... as self-satisfaction set in with every word I was able to read. And the sights! What a difference it is from the vista back home. I can't say I was ever dulled by any street or neighborhood because all of it was just so beautiful. And beautifully aged. You could feel the history of France in its buildings facades. What was more amazing was the fact that the French were quintessentially nonchalant, as they passed by the Pantheon on their way to work, or through the Marais district.

There might be some bias here but I truly think I had the best homestay experience. I woke up everyday to the dreamy view of the Saint Martin canal as it changed with the transitioning seasons. When I first arrived, it was chilly and the fall leaves were abundant in the trees outside my window. I'd often see youngsters sitting on the quai with friends, sharing a bottle of wine and laughs. The chatter would fill the air and spill into the space of my room. But by the end of the semester, the trees were bare and remnants of the leaves it shed littered the ground. It was much too cold to sit by the canal though it was nice to see a couple groups here and there. Besides this, I got to eat some incredible home-cooked meals by my homestay mother, who we called Madame. Her son became a fond friend too and we shared many late nights, stories, adventures and giggles. I had grown accustomed to the neighborhood of the 10th and became a regular at the corner Mexican restaurant. I had grown accustomed to walking (and standing, waiting, pressed up against sometimes) amongst the commuting Parisians who relied on the metro to get them to their destinations. I had grown accustomed to a diet of even less fast-food/junk, and more mind-blowingly wholesome meals (I could write an entire post just on food!). I had grown accustomed to the French way of doing things and noticed how closely my own personality aligned. Even though anything that came out of my mouth gave my American origin away, I felt like I belonged. And I found special pleasure in those fleeting moments when a French person would approach me in their native tongue... thinking I was one of them, is an honor! I have this boundless well of fondness for France and I am so thankful I got to explore its depths this past semester.

The thing is though, the last three months didn't feel like it went by fast. The days were cherished and I held onto each moment before it passed. So no, it didn't go by fast for me, if anything- I wish I had more time. More time to sit by the canal and do as the locals do, more time to get lost, more time to explore the other parts of France, more time to learn from these people, more time to watch winter unfurl, just more time.

But alas, I am here. With a heart that's been changed, or rather- marked, in a way like a tree does with lovers. With each passing day, the etches deepen and become more prominent. The city carved into my heart an impression so potent, that it can only be satiated with a return. I can't wait to be back.

"Don't Send"

This is a poem I wrote for my Creative Writing assignment this semester. We were tasked with writing an ekphrastic poem about an art piece of our choosing. I picked Ed Atkins' Warm, Warm, Warm Spring Mouths (2013) to write about, I saw his work at a video exhibition during my weekend trip to Lille in October. I would advise watching the video first in order to grasp the content of my poem.

Don’t Send

Small movements cause ripples across coarse hair.

Dark curtains- hovering, ghostlike, in the air above the shoulders,

With his bareness obscured, but extending past the frame

where the strands know no end

Pause: Hear the dimming, unchanging nature of his voice

when he begins the perpetual chant, the only chant

“Once upon a time, a couple of people were alive, who were friends of mine…”

against stranger scenes

from an alien, digitized realm. He sits, though, amid the textures of

undulating water, blinding glares, the stars. But- is there rest? Or comfort?

Often, his only silohuette is blurred- deprived of senses, spawning

clear structures

of warped color. The celestial setting suspends the

ebony tendrils into eerie tentacles as he eclipses

the only light, an infant star gleaming rays of life

into the computerized vaccum

of simulated ashy explosions and stock photos.

unspoken words of programmed calamity displayed

“And I’m here in this trench.” “The final trench, perhaps”

an invasive zap interrupts

and startles the senses. Here, merely man and the

fluctuation of environment exist. Ensnared and

isolated in an existence confined to an interface,

the memory of life once lived

now lost. Do his earphones loop playback of earth’s tune?

Nonetheless he is a sullen error, eternal disparity.

Consumed, without a purpose, by technology

Piteous “Man” of cybernation,

A product of the mainframe, no longer man but avatar.

His fixation abducted him. Submersion has washed him out

and watered the flourishing locks upon his head.

The slightest droplet

Seeks to brand him, he thinks but only

Sorrentino’s words can he utter

“The weathers, the weathers they lived in!

Christ, the sun on those Saturdays.”

WEEK 10- THE PENULTIMATE WEEK

The cold is starting to settle in here. Leaving the apartment with less than 2 layers of clothing is just not practical. The wind kicks up my umbrella at least once a day (when it rains) and my cold hands turn red from being frozen. Today, I warmed up one of the many pastel green chairs in the Luxembourg Gardens as I waited for my French penpal to arrive. I took in the view of the garden in gloomy light, there weren't as many people around as when I visited earlier in September- when the sun beckoned crowds to the expansive spaces. I could see the Tour Eiffel behind a misty veil in the distance. And if I looked close enough I could see the rain ebbing as it fell with the current of the wind. It's about to be December so I listen to She & Him's Christmas album, it is very fitting.

Before this trip, I remembered seeing a picture of the Luxembourg Gardens while scrolling through my Instagram feed one day and wishing so badly that I could just transport myself there already. I sat there with this thought in mind and felt like I was buzzing. When I really stop to think about it, I find myself washed up with so much (thankfulness, emotion, joy, etc). Last night, Sarah & I came back from our weekend away in Belgium. We came home at a reasonable time and our homestay mother cooked dinner for us. I always love these weekly dinners because it's different each time. But this last one has to be one of the most profound so far! We talked about so many things but life was the topic of the evening. Madame Dugan discussed several aspects of it in greater detail, she was especially vivacious. She spoke of her own experience and how she really appreciates the elderly, who have lived their lives- a lifetime manifested in their eyes ("The eyes are a reflection of the soul", as she put it). There was something she said that made me still for a moment. And it struck me.

"The time - you can never get back the time" she said.

It's interesting to think about my anticipations prior to arriving in France. I thought that I'd be having such a fun time all the time and I'd be up all the hours of the night doing so many things. Traveling to at least a dozen countries (even considering Japan, but that was a pipe dream). But I think I found that once the hyperactive excitement wore off, I started to really live here. I didn't get to visit all the places I wanted to, but instead I learned to drink in the sights, sounds, feelings... and focus my efforts on reveling. Often times I found myself getting burned out after each weekend trip to another country, so staying up late wasn't much of an option- no matter how much I so badly wanted to do so. In fact, sleep is a necessity in order to truly enjoy the time spent here. But I think what was one of the most profound things I've experienced is home stay life. To come home to a family and share life with, even for only 3 months, has been remarkable. I connected with my home stay family so well, it's amazing to look back on how it's progressed in such a short amount of time. The conversations we had, the stories we shared, the laughter we relished- all of this, to my surprise, had such a profound effect on me. And this... this time spent here, has been truly fruitful beyond my expectations.

Every moment is fleeting and time never waits for us. For me, time well spent breeds bliss. And with delight, I want to tell my readers that I would be perfectly happy to give another 3 months to this beautiful country.

P.S. I am so stoked to spend my birthday here in Paris! A dream come true, really.