“The scowling grey universe, relieved by pastry…”

This week has been a hard one.

Coming into Paris on the TGV (fast train) back from Nice, I started to feel a bit strange, apprehensive, unsure. I questioned myself  about my feelings: I know this city, I know where I’m going and how to get there, I love arriving here. So why do I feel so strange? It felt good to go to my new apartment knowing I had a home. Home. That was the word that was scaring me. So many thoughts and feelings about the word “home” that I was confused and overwhelmed.

On one hand, there are some days (and they happen quite often), I get so filled with emotion being here that I have to hold back tears. It will hit me out of the blue. It might be on a street I’ve walked down 20 times, seeing a bar thats like any bar, an interaction with a (French) person thats not particularly memorable. But something about it will hit me for 6. And I feel and know (heart and head) that this place is for me. Its like coming home, except its a home I’ve never lived in before (I acknowledge that this is a stupid comment, but emotion defies logic, non?). Its in my bones. Its like electricity flowing through my body and heart. Its something that I know.  A fact. Thats not to say that Sydney is not also home, it is and always will be. And there are so many frustrations here. I’m not and never will be French. But Nicholas Sarcozy is the son of a refugee, so there is hope for me yet!  My flatmates are great (head VERY dusty this morning after a night out with them at all their favourite bars), the apartment is great, the neighbourhood is amazing. I can finally say “I live in Paris”. I can finally stay in one place and get to know my neighbourhood: so that the waiters at the cafes around the corner greet me as I walk in, to know which boulangerie sells the best bread, to have the man at the fromagerie tell me honestly which is the best cheese that day. All I need is a job, some friends and the dream is complete.

And yet its all those things that are making me apprehensive. This has not been a quick process, by any interpretation. But it feels quick. It feels like my emotions, my emotional readiness, isnt quite there. I’ve wanted this for so long, worked towards it for years. And now its here. And I’m in shock. Reality has stunned me. How did I end up in the place I wanted to be? How did “home” become Paris? The dream somehow became real. Its like watching a really good movie and suddenly finding yourself as a character in the movie: the movie comes to life, in your life. Its meant to be a dream. Its meant to be something nice you say at parties “oh, one day I’d LOVE to live in Paris!” Lol. Me and my stupid dream chasing. Look what trouble I’ve gotten myself into!

Eve told me that for her, the first 2 or 3 months were the hardest when she moved to a new city. She said she spent most of her time on the internet, tracking what her friends were doing in France. She said it was really at the 6 month mark that she had really developed her own network of friends. And thats what I’m doing, still tracking daily my “old” life in Sydney. Its ok, there’s nothing wrong with holding on to whats familiar and what is still part of my life. Things will change once I start going to French class (starts Monday), start working, start meeting people at the pilates/yoga place I found, and all the contacts people have given me.

I cant allow myself to be down, or scared or unsure. I’m living in Paris. I can buy fresh baguettes every day. I can see the Eiffel tower everyday. I can speak French with native French speakers. I can travel to see Eve & Fred frequently.

The best way to approach this year, I think, it to try hard, be committed, calm, positive, flexible, self-assured, patient and persistent. But at the end of the day, I really just need to sit back, relax and enjoy the ride