On The City of Light

I never got to write about Paris, and while this won't be a completely reminiscent entry on the beautiful city, it will be a slight attempt at convincing me to set my sights on it as a possibility of sorts.

When I visited Paris in April 2012, I was blown away. Not only was the city, in person, even more beautiful than the pictures, but it completely captivated me on all levels. I was lured in by the historicity of the buildings and monuments, the smells of fresh bread and cheese as I passed little cafes, the simplicity of tiny, family-owned shops, and the level of sophistication carried by the French men and women as they walked along the cobblestone streets in their black bomber jackets and Chanel sunglasses. This may all seem like a total cliche on so many levels, but those who have written little notes about Paris before, like myself, are simply writing from experience. This is what I saw, how I felt, and what I realized when I set foot on the City of Light.

Now that I am figuring out which path I should take by the time college graduation rolls around, I remember Paris and the reasons why I fell in love with the city in the first place. Today, my good friend Sam and I looked back on when we were there together, for just one day, that summer last year. I told her about that afternoon by myself where I sat in a cafe along the Champs Elysees drinking coffee and writing, playing it out like a movie, as though to convince myself that that was where I belonged. In Paris, nothing is ever a cliche unless you are looking in from the outside.

There is actually no point in writing this entry now, since New York is also on the back of my mind. Right now, I just have my tally board up and running, gaining its content by signs and symbols that I am letting control my direction, for now.

So far, the tally reads:

Paris - III
New York - II