Happy Birthday!

Today I am celebrating my one-year anniversary in Paris.

It's strange to even think about it, really. Some days I feel like I've just gotten here--I'm still struggling with communicating in French (at least longer than simple conversations, shopping, and public interactions) and although I am finished with classes and beginning my internship in a couple of weeks (eek!) I don't feel fully settled or at home. I miss my friends and family terribly right now. I never thought that I would be the type of person who needed to be close to her family (I am, after all, an only child and my family is relatively small), but having no way to communicate except by phone is beginning to take its toll. I want my mom and dad and Brit to see how I live, to know what I'm talking about when I talk about the market I go to each week, to know what my house looks like. I want them to know Monsieur, who has become such a big part of my life. It's a palpable ache that is always in the back of my mind. I have made this decision, and while I am so happy living in Paris for the most part, and I appreciate the fact that I am living a dream that I have had since I was a little girl, it's difficult to have only a couple of people close by who I can count on. It is definitely hard to make lasting connections in Paris.

On the other hand, I feel sometimes like I've been here forever. I chat with my market vendors now, I explore new neighborhoods every day, and I am in love. Monsieur and I have largely come to terms with our differing personalities, so even though he still drives me crazy about leaving his shoes strewn around the house and his finances left to chance, now I find it mostly endearing instead of fury-inducing. We just got back from an amazingly relaxing vacation and are leaving again in two weeks for a short trip to Portugal just before I begin working. I am happy and in love and although I get stabbing pains in my chest thinking about the "what ifs..." of the future and my future in France, I trust that our commitment to each other will get us through.

I'm planning on going on a pickle and hot sauce making adventure with Meg today and having a picnic with some girls from school on the canal tonight to celebrate my awkward leap into parisienne-ness. It's definitely days like these--cool, sunny late summer days spent cooking and laughing and lounging with friends--that makes all of the heartache worthwhile.

Recap: Part Two

Another sporadic post, to be sure. I feel very listless these days, but it seems more often than not that I am alone with my thoughts and unable to directly put a finger on what it is I am feeling, let alone what I want to say.

In April school began winding down. I felt like I could see the light at the end of the tunnel; yet, the "tunnel" was school in Paris, not necessarily school itself. I began worrying about the future. Monsieur and I were still going strong, but it wasn't just for him that I was feeling anxious. I honestly felt like I had only begun my journey here in France--only scratched the surface of what could be, what I could be--and knowing that the first stage was nearly over was frightening. Meighan had her birthday party where I came to realize that my anxieties over my French friends weren't only anxieties--most of them, while nice enough, weren't the type of people with whom I felt a real connection. A few were even shallow, hateful towards other girls which in turn made me feel like I had never really left L.A. Meighan and I began talking of our plan to move in together once the semester was over, as my apartment would be unavailable after May.

May went by incredibly fast. Finals, end-of-the-year cocktails and dinners for my program and graduating classmates, and desperate searches for an apartment occupied a great deal of my time. I came to realize that a mutual parisienne friend of ours had asked Meighan to live with her, and although M stated that she would never "leave me out in the street," that her loyalties lied elsewhere. This was really difficult. Monsieur, having to vacate his own apartment in the suburbs at the end of June, asked me to move in with him. Against my better judgment from lessons learned in the past, I agreed. What is life but an adventure? I would rather give my heart freely than be wondering "what if"... . After a few false starts (mostly having to do with my non-EU status), we found a tiny one bedroom in one of my favorite neighborhoods. We also had an opportunity to meet my friend Eva and her husband in Alsace for an amazing weekend filled with cows, mountain views, camping, and laughter. I honestly wish she lived closer because it was such a thrill to be in the company of someone who I can not only speak freely to, but who has known me before all of this! We finished the month moving into the aforementioned apartment.

June. Oh, June. I began classes again--a wonderful class on Food, Identity, and Communication which focused on comparisons between gastronomical discourse in France and nutritional discourse in the U.S.. We culminated our exploration by going to the Jura region of France to sample Comté cheese and other terroir products. It was a very intense three weeks, but it also offered a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Unfortunately, the time-consuming class, the coordinating trip, and unpacking/making myself feel at home took its toll on my relationship with Monsieur. We had such terrible, terrible fights over the stupidest things. I chalked it up to readjustment and stress, but he seemed completely at odds over what to do. Meighan and I bonded over the World Cup, which was nice. It definitely gave us an excuse to meet, google image photos of cute players, and generally hang out at pubs around town. Being with her gave me a break from the turmoil at home and reassured me that I really did have a good friend here.

In July, things began to get better, especially by midmonth. I finished my last class as a grad student (the most horrible class I have ever taken btw), and started searching for my internship in earnest. I was so completely stressed out by it all--I had sent out approximately 35 CVs and cover letters over the past two months with no response--that I began mentally preparing myself to have to write a thesis instead and at the very worst, to go back the U.S. I also succumbed to a horrible bout of depression and homesickness which was completely surprising and viscerally painful. I haven't seen my parents or my friends in almost one year and it is shocking to think I may go almost another year before seeing them again. I think seeing me like this really helped Monsieur to realize how difficult it is to live in another language all of the time, without those people who know and love you best. I think it really helped to have him take extra care to make me feel at home here. And, at the end of the month I had a whirlwind interview and offer of employment at a parisian ad agency! I can enjoy this last month off and look forward to going back to work....

And now, we're in august. I am more in love than ever, excited for my new job, and looking forward to going on not one, but two vacations. Paris is completely dead--I was told countless times, but it is still shocking to see throngs of tourists amid closed boulangeries, boutiques, and restaurants. It's difficult to be at home alone all day; I'm still terribly homesick, so I walk several miles around Paris when I can, avoid the tourists at all costs, and cook at night for Monsieur. I honestly think he's going to freak out when I begin working and all of the homemade desserts and complicated dinners stop. We are going to a friend's house in Bretagne, off of the Pink Granite Coast, in one week. After that I have to hurry to get my birth certificate translated for health insurance, submit my renewal for my visa, and take care of my loans before we leave for Portugal. Yes, Portugal! I am really over-the-moon excited to take this vacation, as it will be my first (successful) trip outside of France since I arrived last year (let's never talk of Barcelona again). It is also the last vacation I will have until at least next summer, so I am going to soak up the sun, the architecture, and the food of course for as long as I can.

I really do want to start writing more, even if no one really reads this blog. It helps me to relax, to focus, and to sort through all of the complicated feelings, both good and bad, that I have about living here. I hope I can get back into the habit soon.

recap: part one

True to form, I didn't have time to post at all last weekend, but true to my word, I'll give a quick recap on what I've been up to the past 9 months.

September: The weather was absolutely gorgeous. I felt like I was being pulled in 100 different directions; each day was a new experience. I became well acquainted with French bureaucracy as I navigated my way through the French banking system, the Carte de Séjour process, La Poste, and French cell phone companies. Classes began and I realized just how difficult it is to adjust to student life after 5 years on the outside. I connected with a few good girl friends, notably Meighan and Cassandra. Together we began to explore the city....

Lessons Learned: Give yourself an entire afternoon at least to run errands. American customer service and efficiency doesn't exist in Paris.

October: I found a Mexican restaurant for my 26th birthday party! (which has now since closed. of course.) Meighan began dating a frenchman who introduced us to another group of fun friends. At one of their parties, I met Monsieur, who slowly worked his way into my heart. I took a school trip to London and had a crazy Halloween in the East End with Meighan and two Londoners we met along the way.

November: The weather! I realized that winter was really something that I had forgotten about while living in Los Angeles. School became more intense, which cut into my newfound social life. Monsieur and I continued dating casually. It was really difficult to do, but I managed to explain to him the whole concept of "dating" in America and how I wasn't instantly his girlfriend just because we were seeing each other regularly. He seemed bemused by the whole idea, but he was totally a good sport about it and let me have my way. Meighan and I hosted an amazing Thanksgiving dinner party at Monsieur's huge house in the suburbs where we roasted two turkeys and improvised Thanksgiving classics. It was a complete success and people still talk about it.

December: School finally wound down and despite the cold, I discovered how truly beautiful Paris is at Christmastime. I met Monsieur's family at Christmas, and was happily surprised at how nice and welcoming his mother and stepfather were to me. I ate approximately 5 kilos of foie gras and terrine de canard and promptly went into a food coma which lasted several days. Monsieur gave me tickets to the Opera as a Christmas present and I had a major freakout because they were for March and I still hadn't made up my mind about our relationship....

January: Meighan and I went on an ill-fated trip to Barcelona that ended in us coming back to Paris early, sans computer, phone, house keys, passport, credit cards, or dignity. It's a long story, but let's just say that I will not be going back to that city. School began just as I was getting my life back in order. Monsieur was so very sweet during the whole thing. He held my hand and drove me around to my various appointments at the Préfecture and embassy without a complaint. I discovered a Lucha Libre Mexican wrestling bar in Paris with real nachos! and margaritas! Monsieur and I finally became "officially" a couple. I decided that I needed to let go of all of my past issues and either enjoy my time with Monsieur and a be open to our relationship or just move on.

Februrary: Planned a trip to Bretagne (Brittany) France to stay in Monsieur's family's house there.

March: Went to Bretagne for two weeks and had an amazing time, despite a battle with food poisoning. I learned how to roast a chicken and tasted some of the best oysters of my life.

more to come...

Well, that took longer than I thought it would....

I haven't written in almost year. At first, I thought that I would pick back up after my first semester of grad school had ended. Those first few months in Paris were filled with activity, new experience, shocking adjustments, and new friends. It was difficult to describe everything that was going on in my life, so I didn't. Then, I thought of maybe abandoning this blog, giving up on my attempt at documenting my life here in Paris and instead concentrating on staying connected to the people at home whom I have come to miss so much. Now, I've decided to make amends to my poor, long-neglected space. I have one more week of classes to go, so I really don't have an excuse not to write. In the coming days I hope to recap the past nine months to get myself back into the groove again.

I hope you won't be disappointed. I hope I'm not....

the girl's summer in denial comes to a screeching halt

I haven't written in so long.
That, of course, is an understatement.

I'm currently sitting in Brit's living room waiting for my homemade egg noodle dough to dry enough to cut into what will probably be my dinner (and the dinner of all my friends) for several days. I have been staying at Brit's house for over a week now, baby-sitting her dog and pretending that I once again live in LA. I've been seeing the boy regularly, going to dinners and shows, meeting his sister, brushing our teeth together and waking up in the morning to see him off to work. It has been nice. comfortable. Several times I have caught myself thinking, "I could get used to this...."

But like any complicated lie, the truth soon rears its ugly head. Brit returns tomorrow, and I will retreat back to OC to attempt to sell my car, give away an apartment worth of belongings, and begin packing for my move. My self-delusion will eventually give way to reality and all of the casual nights watching movies, taking dogs for walks, and generally playing girlfriend/homemaker will be replaced with "okay, so I can probably make it up next thursday, but only after rush hour, and only if I have a place to spend the night."

The truth is, I have enjoyed playing house back in my old neighborhood with a boy that takes me to my favorite restaurants and wants to spend every day with me. With only three weeks left, it becomes difficult imagining going back to the way things were a few months ago, meaning pretending that we're a couple and that i'm not going anywhere. In his painfully quiet way, I can tell the boy is feeling it, too. Instead of improvising, we've begun to make definite plans weeks in the future, trying to squeeze out every LA experience we can before I leave. I'm feeling the pressures of family, friends, and responsibility.

I still can't say whether or not anything would come of this if I wasn't leaving. Sometimes I let myself daydream about falling in love again, waking up next to someone who knows me best, spending holidays and weekends together as a complete unit, in sync with each other's moods and nuances, ways of speaking and telling jokes. I feel myself forcing myself to pull back, to assess the situation rationally, logically. I find myself questioning what the point of all of this is, what it's going to end up doing to me, or worse, to him.

It's always easier being the one who leaves. You have the opportunity to reinvent yourself, to change direction, to discover new things. Life isn't the same as it has ever been before. The person left behind, both physically and emotionally, is left with the same life and the same experiences, but without the person who has become a fixture in it all. I feel like a terribly selfish person when I let myself dwell too much on what's to become of him after i'm gone. In my own overly analytical and self-depricating way, I assume all responsibility for what becomes of this relationship, this friendship that I have allowed to develop. But is it really me holding the puppet strings? He has known, like all of my friends, that I am leaving. Isn't it ultimately his responsibility to take care of himself? Is he?

I'm not sure how to resolve this situation. I care about him, but i'm not in love with him. I've carefully distanced myself from those feelings on purpose from the beginning. I guess that all that's left is to enjoy the few, fleeting moments I have left, to embrace all of the good things that have happened to me this summer, and begin to prepare both myself and those closest to me for my imminent departure.

the girl and the boy

Life has sort of taken on a set schedule these past few weeks.  Monday through Friday I get up, go to the YMCA, come back and make myself lunch, study some French, watch a movie or surf the Internet, and then fall asleep by midnight utterly exhausted.  I don’t know where this fatigue is coming from because it isn’t like I’m working out that hard (or at least I haven’t gotten the results that I expected if I have been.) I go to my tutor twice a week now, feeling more and more ill prepared for Paris the closer I get to going.  I’m waiting for that lightening moment, like I felt in college, where all of a sudden I understood almost everything I heard on listening comprehension exercises and could express myself, although ineloquently, without stammering and racking my brain for the correct verb conjugation.  The website that my good friend Eva sent me has helped me to fit in a few more listening comprehension hours per week, and my Advanced French Review book is helping me recall all of those pesky verb tenses that flew the coop shortly after graduation, but I’m beginning to worry about how well I’ll do on my own. 

 

My weekends have become unexpectedly more interesting.  My “I’m a broken, lonely human being who feels unloved and superstitious about begininning the new year without a new year’s kiss” makeout partner, who then turned into my “we’re stranded and drunk so let’s try to get home safely” cinco de mayo karaoke partner has become, gulp, sort of the guy I’m dating? Spending time with? I’m not sure how to adequately describe our relationship, other than the fact that I sleep over sometimes, we go to the movies and to brunch, and he’s even gone to karaoke a few times with Brit, D, and me (which is admirable—most guys would run for the hills. Karaoke is a serious undertaking for us.)  He’s told me that I’m beautiful, he’s gotten up early in the morning after a night of drinking to get me a McDonald’s Diet Coke (my personal hangover cure), and he’s told me that he’s going to miss me when I move to Paris. 

 

That’s the problem, though.  I’m moving in two months, so I can’t determine whether I’m spending time with him because I genuinely like him, although he Is definitely not my usual type (which is probably a good thing), or if it’s just sort of a “practice dating partner” in order for me to get over my heartbreak, soothe my bitterness, and be open to falling in love again. I like that he’s seven years older than me; therefore, he’s not an arrogant asshole trying to go out every night to bars in order to sleep with as many 21-year-old aspiring actresses as humanly possible.  I like that he is extremely intelligent, especially about history and politics.  I like his apartment—superficial sounding, I know, but I happen to believe that how you decide to live says a lot about you.  His walls are painted in complimentary colors, he has actual furniture that goes well together without being too matchy, and he keeps his alcohol in those antique decanters with the silver labels hung around the necks on tiny chains.  I love those things.  I love that he takes me to Jazz Brunch in South Central LA and to grab drinks at the Frolic Room.  I love that I’ve known the entire time that I’ve known him that I’m going to Europe, so I’ve been able to be myself without caring what he thinks about me. If he is turned off, so what? I’m going to be having an illicit affair with the City of Lights.

 

He’s really shy, though, which bugs me.  Sometimes I don’t know whether he’s having a good time or is wishing I would leave. There’s none of the infatuated, silly conversations that guys I have dated before initiate late at night and in the morning.  He doesn’t try to impress me, which although refreshing to my independent feminist side, sort of smashes my idealistic feminine sensibilities of courtship. 

 

I don’t know if there would ever be a future for us, or even if I would want this pseudo-relationship to develop into something more.  I haven’t let myself entertain the thought.  When he mentions coming to visit me, I sort of smile and answer in a polite but non-committal way.  I have no way of knowing what direction my life will take, so I’m afraid to hurt anyone’s feelings.  I’ve mostly decided to let go of my suspicions and questions and just allow myself to have fun with someone without expectations.  I’ve never had this type of relationship before, so I’m treading in unfamiliar territory here, but it’s really my only solution to the realities of my own situation, without giving him up altogether.  And I guess that the fact that I don’t want to end our friendship is an indication that I should just roll with the punches, take things as they come, and generally simplify my last months in LA. 

 

I’m happier than I have been in awhile, and I guess that’s what counts, right? I feel like I’m mostly too neurotic and over-analytical, especially about friends and lovers. I find it difficult just to let things simplify themselves naturally, allowing people to come in and out of my life like the tide. I get scared, bruised, and end up needed to hold onto people tightly in order to make some sense out of things, when in actuality, the universe would continue unfolding whether or not I understand what exactly is unfolding around me, why people are acting the way they are, and how I’m supposed to be dealing with the sometimes messy world I’ve constructed for myself.

 

 

Random Update.

I've been incredibly lax in writing lately.  I could blame it on the good weather, the almost random extended weekends that i've had with friends in LA, or the fact that I haven't thought of what i've come to call THE EVENT in quite some time, but I can't pinpoint it exactly.  

I got my visa quietly, without fanfare, on May 5, Cinco de Mayo.  That day was overshadowed by an almost desperate need to celebrate one of LA's most revered holidays.  To me it has always heralded the beginning of summer--of pool parties and weekend trips and spontaneous, sun-soaked adventures.  This year I ended up stumbling around the east side in platform shoes, drinking tequila, sangria, and imported beer; watching hockey, catching up with friends and almost-friends, singing karaoke, and making bad decisions.  Getting my visa wasn't nearly as difficult as I thought it would be, so I breathed a deep sigh of relief and found myself embracing LA once again, acting like the kid I had been last year, when ambition was upstaged by simple happiness and idle days.  I probably wasn't the most responsible person, but I hadn't been so happy since college. . . .

I booked my ticket two days ago.  My move has been talked about at length, but it still seems so far away.  I now only need to secure my student loans to be completely prepared for my new life.  I've begun thinking a lot about how a drastic move forces (or allows, depending on how you look at it) someone to reinvent themselves.  Do I tend to move so often because I honestly love meeting new people and experiencing new places, embracing the personal growth that goes along with feeling alone in unfamiliar situations? Or is it some kind of personality flaw--moving when things become too difficult, or too banal; when people and things become oppressive it's better just to rip the seams and begin anew, building upon what was learnt during the last stage of mistakes?  I honestly hope that it's the former.  The Fiona Apple lyric comes to mind:

"I'm good at being uncomfortable so I can't stop changing all the time."

I think that when we leave a place, we think of the people we leave as just shuffling along as usual, making the same mistakes, sleeping with the same people, working at the same job.  It's a selfish thought, that we alone are embarking on some sort of idealistic idea of a "big life", while our counterparts are not willing to make one of their own.  We lovingly place memories into alphabetized compartments, taking them out in order to be comforted on lonely days, or to impress new friends with our witty world view. It's not a fully formed idea, just some random thoughts that have been filling my head lately.  I'm sure I'll come back to them in depth later.

In other news, I have joined the YMCA, and love practicing pilates and yoga with my (mostly) senior citizen classmates.  It's a nice, healthy distraction (and release) from my intermittent bouts of stress and boredom.  It's located at the base of the Upper Newport Bay Nature Preserve, so sometimes after class I hike through the quiet hills of indigenous plants, watching hawks and water birds. It's peaceful and fulfilling, something that seems to validate my presence on the planet, and yet allow me to escape to something that is so outside of myself. 

I feel like so much has happened lately that I can't adequately discuss it all, so I'll leave it at that for now. I need to get my writing groove back.