Paris, France I care about you

A week into my time in Paris, I’m sitting on the oldest street in the city with Katie and my mom. Katie and I are about to spend the next three weeks studying abroad. But right now we’re nervous, so I’m shoveling my mouth with French onion soup and opening Instagram. The first thing I see is a poem by Alex Dimitrov called, “Someone In Paris, France Is Thinking Of You.” I know it when I read it, that this poem will sum up how I’m going to live my Paris life, and every other life after that.

The poem starts: This poem is happening in Paris, France / where it’s raining and we’re all so drunk / that it’s impossible to keep a secret.

This blog is happening in Paris, France, and we are drunk a lot of the nights, and I’m going to let you in on a secret. It’s not easy for me to show that I care. That may sound stupid coming from someone who’s been putting all of her thoughts on the internet since middle school, but my vulnerability in writing has not always translated into vulnerability in life. I don’t always try things that require failure and sometimes I leave before I get too close. I sometimes want to look cool instead of showing that I care, so I sit back and don’t say much. And god forbid I tell a guy I like him.

It’s no secret, though, that in Paris, France, you can’t help but feel deeply. I don’t just want to tell the world about it. I also want to live it.

Dimitrov writes, We’re all lost, even in Paris, / and if this place won’t take my mind off you / I guess I’m in love and in for more rain.

It’s been raining a lot here in Paris. When we’re leaving the metro station, when we’re stranded in Bayeux, when my mom and I just left the cafe we were at. I didn’t pack for rain. I have one jacket and no pants. But sometimes, rain will come out of nowhere and you just have to laugh through it. I’m talking about rain here. I’m also talking about life.

Everywhere I look, I’m met with proof that people were moved by something enough to devote a life to it. There are chapels built by normal people in order to feel closer to heaven. Hundreds of years later, candles are still lit in those spaces—quiet offerings for things I’ll never know the reasons behind. I walk past murals in the Marais begging me to write something, anything, on a city wall. I learn that Picasso created about 150,000 pieces in his life, and I am overwhelmed by his dedication. I visit Giverny and lose myself in the green of Monet’s gardens and watch how light reflects off his waterlilies. Normandy reminds me of the thousands who gave up their own lives for a shared battle. Evan reminds me to find god in the Louvre. Everywhere I turn, there are feats of people who weren’t afraid to show that they cared.

There’s a pause. The woman closing her eyes / opens them.

I’m probably not ever going to build a church or go to war or paint something that could bring an old man to tears. But I can look up on my walks home from class. I can hold Emily’s hand and tell Mary how much she inspires me and share meals with Bri and laugh until I cry with Izzy. We can all eat pasta on our floor. I can learn how to be a better person from my professor. I can look at the Mona Lisa without first taking a picture. I can sit along the Seine at sunset and accept that I don’t know much right now, but maybe it’s okay to figure it out while I go.

What I’m trying to say can all be summed up by watching Barbie. Maybe the only thing required to living a good life is accepting all parts of it, and really showing that you care.

The lights on the boulevards come on.

A year ago last night, I was at a Queen cover band concert outside of my hotel in Siena, Italy. I lost my voice from singing so loud and dancing in my leopard slippers, because I wasn’t prepared but I enjoyed myself anyway. And to my side the whole time was Katie, trying to climb onto stage and touch wannabe Freddie Mercury’s hand.

Last night, I found myself by Katie’s side yet again, listening to more live music sung by more old European men. It was sweaty and melodic and beautiful and we all have bruises from the mosh pit.

A lot has happened between the Queen concert and last night’s rock concert. People have come and gone from that time in my life; I expected some would stick around for a little longer. I no longer have those leopard slippers and sometimes I forget the things I promised I’d remember. But I still am here dancing with Katie. I am still quick to laugh. And I’ll stay dancing until the lights turn on.

Someone smiles.

Because sometimes that’s all you need to start something new.

Someone sighs.

Because everyone here is tired.

Someone lingers.

Because you can be scared and do it anyway.

Someone in Paris, France is thinking of you.

Because sometimes, simple words like those are all you really need.

Find a way to show that you care today,

Maya